MY FIRST THREE HOURS ON the road pass in a haze of headlights and blurry scenery, my mind replaying my day. The fact Ryan actually spoke, and then the stranger who had no manners or people skills. Who knocks someone on their ass and doesn’t offer to help them up?
I crank the radio louder as Paramore’s Now fills the car, and refuse to think about the douche anymore. The fuel gauge catches my eye as I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, humming along before bursting out and hollering the lyrics, drowning out the smooth crooning from the speakers. The gauge blinks at me, forcing me to indicate when I spot a gas station.
The screen of my phone lights up with a text message. It has no name but I know straight away it’s from Ryan.
So, the guy from class found his passion. It happens to be aggression towards my pretty face. His name is Clive btw. I may not speak much in class but I do pay attention to my surroundings.
My anger spikes at the idea of the jock hitting Ryan. After adding Ryan’s name to the number, I hit save and slip my phone back in my bag. I hate gas stations at night; they’re eerie despite the lights illuminating the pumps.
The cool breeze nips at my arms, making me shiver as I exit my warm, safe car. Yawning, I pump the gas until the tank is full then go inside to grab a Red Bull to keep me alert for the rest of the drive.
“Is that all?” I look up into the brown eyes of the cashier; he has broad shoulders, a strong jaw and a shaved head. He keeps licking his lips at me, making me feel like I’m on display.
“And gas.” I point to my car, the only one in the lot.
He smirks at me, his eyes lingering on my chest while he gives me my total. God, has he never seen a woman before? What is it with guys being total jerks today?
“Hey!” I click my fingers in his face to bring his pervy stare to my face. “This is a gas station not a strip joint. These…” I gesture to my chest, “…are not how I pay for my gas, so stop staring at them like they’re going to spring from my top and dance on the counter!”
His eyes widen a fraction before he snatches my credit card out of my hand. I feel his eyes on me as I leave.
I will be taking a hot shower before crawling into bed when I get home.
I open my car door and slide into my seat, locking my doors, then grab my phone out of my bag to text Ryan back before setting off.
He hit you? How’s the damage? M x
His reply is instant, making me smile.
Not bad. I told you I look good in black. Even with black eyes.
I hope you at least got a hit in. M x
Nope, I just let him hit me. He wants to make assumptions about me, let him think I’m a freak.
I can imagine his mind working overtime trying to work out why you didn’t fight back but he’s so small minded he will still only come up with “because you’re a freak”. M x
I know and just to freak him out I’ll wear the title with pride. You’re a freak lover btw, according to Clive The Giver of Titles.
I’ll wear it with pride. M x
I slip my phone away and spot the huge grin plastered on my face in the rear-view mirror. I like this Ryan guy. He’s the first person I’ve met who I think I will enjoy being around since starting college.
Seven long, tiring hours in my car, only to break down a mile from our house. A grumble leaves me as I pull my overnight bag from the trunk and abandon my “safety net” car.
Walking for twenty minutes to get to our house in the dead of night, ignoring the high pitched call of grasshoppers shattering the night’s silence is a chore.
Grass hoppers creep me out! One jumped down my dress once when I was little and traumatised me against them for the rest of my life.
Familiarity engulfs me when I rush up the drive. The huge white house is a beautiful structure sitting on its own, only surrounded by nature. I love it here, the smell of the fresh cut grass, the muggy heat sticking to my skin turning to chills when the occasional breeze wisps through the air and reminds me of the long summer nights of my youth.
The house has five bedrooms, and although only three of us live here, with Mom’s touch, it still feels homely. Mom could have gone bigger with Daddy’s wealth; I think she was quite tame when it came to buying this house. Daddy works in banking and made some lucrative investments, sky rocketing him to become a millionaire. He’s country through and through, and the money never changed that, giving me the best of both words; wealth so we never had to worry, but also a down to earth, well-rounded daddy.
I moan at the darkness that awaits me; not one light left on. Thanks, Mom. Rummaging through my purse, my eyes already adjusting to darkness of the night, the only light is from the full moon casting a tinted blue glow. My fingers find my house keys and I sag in relief. I’m tired and just want to shower and slink in to my familiar bed, and wake to Mom’s coffee and pancakes.
I start to insert the key but the door is slightly ajar, barely noticeable to anyone not trying to get in. Mom must have left it open for me. I slowly push the door further and a chill races up my spine. I’m tired but my brain has caught up with me. She wouldn’t leave the door open, she knows I have a key. Intuition warns me not to go in but I shrug it off and tell myself I’m being stupid. Like most girls, I convince myself bad things won’t happen to me. This is my family home, it’s perfectly safe.
Lowering my overnight bag to the floor, I take a few small steps inside. It’s quiet and dark, but it’s late so that’s normal. Stop being paranoid, you’re just tired.
I walk to the console table and drop my keys down. They make a loud clanking sound, making me “shhh” them. My own image in the overhead mirror makes me squeal and jump a foot in the air. “Oh my God, Mel. Get a grip.”
It happens so quickly, like a cloud passing in front of the sun, a flash of lightning in a storm, a shooting star in the black night sky. A shadow crosses the mirror before a hand grips my throat. The cold leather of a gloved hand as it encases my life in its palm brings disbelief followed by a sheer dread I’d never experienced before. Fear solidifies my blood. “This isn’t real, this isn’t real,” echoes on repeat in my mind.
A warm body pushes up against my back. Mint scent from his breath wisps against my ear, dispersing down my cheek and invading my nose. A whimper escapes my lips and I reach up to pull away the hand gripping my throat, my survival instincts wanting to release the vice hindering my breathing.
The pressure eases with an audible gasp from his lips. The warmth from his body leaves my back momentarily as he takes a step away from me. Regaining his composure before I have a chance to act upon whatever spooked him, he reinforces his grip. I know it’s a man from his strength and size. There’s a hint of something from his scent clouding me, a strong soap… surgical soap.
I look into the mirror but I can’t see him. He’s behind me, in shadow, dropping his knees slightly so his face is covered by my head. The darkness of the lobby taunts me. Every child’s nightmare will forever be my fear no matter what age I reach if I make it from here; shadows taking form from the darkness
Please be dreaming, Melody. This can’t be real. This can’t be real.
His grip is so tight, his hand nearly wraps around my entire throat. My eyes gloss over and a single tear leaks from my eye. I can’t believe this is happening; is this really me? I feel like I’m watching someone else’s nightmare play out through my eyes.
“Life is too short, Mel. I want you to live it.” Zane’s words mock me instead of comforting me.
The growl from my reaper drags me into the present. My throat is raw as I choke out my final words. Death is close; I feel it in the air. I walked into my tomb when I didn’t listen to my instincts and stepped foot into this house.
“You fucking coward. At least face me if you’re going to kill me,” I rasp out, my last ounce of courage spilling from me. I won’t die whimpering, this is what sickos get off on. He can’t have that. I refuse.
He spins me around to face him so fast it leaves me dizzy. He’s so strong I’m weightless in his grasp. I lift my gaze to meet the face of my killer but before our eyes connect my head is forced backwards. A sharp pain explodes against my head before my body goes limp and I succumb to the dark fog taking my vision.
My skull is cracking in two. Oh God, it’s going to split right down the middle. Moaning, I reach up to hold my head.
I don’t remember drinking or tackling a truck last night so why do I feel so bad? My fingers are met with a huge, seeping gash. I wince on contact.
I quickly become aware, bolting up and scanning the space around me to see if I’m alone. Silence. Stillness. I’m alone but that same eerie atmosphere lingers in the air.
I want to go back to the two seconds of not remembering. Fear ricochets from the pit of my stomach to every nerve ending, my skin covering me in goose bumps. I’m vibrating, my teeth tap dancing against each other from the force of my tremors. I have no idea how long I was laid here. Minutes? Hours?
The dark corners of the house look like a black void i can’t make anything out. I need to turn on every light to expel the night. I check myself over for more injuries, making sure all my clothes are intact. I’m still fully dressed.
Pushing myself up, I flinch when the glass from the cracked mirror cuts into my palm.
“Argh,” I croak, my throat raw, my voice unfamiliar to my own ears.
I stumble slightly once I get to my feet, and use the console table to steady myself.
“Mom! Dad!”
My brain screams at me, telling me to shut the hell up and get out of here but I just want my mom and dad.
Venturing further into the house, the blood from my palm trickles, leaking down my fingers leaving a dripping path like the breadcrumbs trail from Hansel and Gretel, only this trial leads further into a nightmare, fitting that it be blood.
My heartbeat storms in my ears, making my head throb.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Stop!
No heartbeat, no breathing, just silence, death, then my own wail and the thud from my knees hitting the hardwood floor. My bloody palm covers my open mouth. Silent screams rip at my insides, tears setting fire to my eyes.
“No, no, no, no, no, no,” I mumble, placing my palms to the floor and crawling to my father’s lifeless body. His eyes are open, staring at me, the jade green that match my own is gone. They look like a sheet of ice has frozen over them, distorting the color. His tanned skin is pale and papery.
“Daddy. Daddy, wake up. Please wake up.”
I look over his body, the dark red stain spread across his shirt like a pattern on a tie dye skirt from the sixties. It’s crazy, the things that enter your mind when nothing makes sense. I look for the wound that is letting his life escape from him, placing my hand over it, my jumbled mind trying to sift through the CPR I learnt in school. My hands are shaking so much I can’t steady them.
He is dead; my palms can feel the cold, congealed ooze of his blood beneath them. That’s when I notice the moistness under my knees. I scoot back like I’ve been electrocuted, my butt skimming across the room, kicking my legs forcibly against the wood to move me away faster, away from the nightmare I woke up in.
I rush to my feet and run towards the phone. That’s when I see her. Her head is down; the blood covering her chest completely disguises the color of her top. Her dark hair is limp, falling into a plate of food set out in front of her. The rest of the table is a mess, there’s food everywhere, and a bottle of wine has tipped over. She would be so mad at this mess.
I slowly walk towards her. “Mommy,” I whisper, knowing she’s dead, but the small girl that believed in fairies and Santa Claus has come to the surface. “Mommy, I’m home. Please wake up. Please wake up, Mommy. Mommy!”
I’m at least eight feet from her but her river of blood pooling beneath her chair is cutting off my path to her, more blood then I’ve ever seen; how can this much blood come from one person? Her skin is so pale. Snow White, the little girl taking hostage of my mind whispers.
I reach out to her. “Mommy.” But she’s not here anymore. There is nothing but tainted air and the shells of my butchered family.
Collapsing to the floor, I don’t know how long I sit there but it feels like a lifetime. The scent from their decomposing bodies fills my nose, making me gag. The metallic taste from the blood in the air attacks my taste buds.
There’s a buzz of noise around me, and the silhouette of a man fills my vision. I scream and try to push him away but I’m quickly restrained. I fight, screaming until I feel a sharp stab in my thigh. A numb reprieve seeps over me, blanketing me, protecting my frail splintering mind, and then… nothing.