Here's a little oneshot inspired by the Twilight characters. Don't think I'll continue... but I do have a couple of ideas. So it's your call.
She awoke with a start. Someone was there, in the room. She could feel it. Him. She could feel him. Some male presence was there, breathing in the corner of her room where the gauzy curtains fluttered around the open window.
She fought to control her breathing as she took in her surroundings. He seemed to have just entered. Nothing was disturbed. She surveyed the room with slitted eyes, trying not to betray movement, anything that would give a sign of wakefulness. Perhaps, if she pretended to be asleep, he would pass her by.
In the seconds it took her to make this decision, he too had stilled. Now he stood, melting himself into the corner of the room, scarcely breathing. She thought she would have been able to hear his heart beat had hers not clamored so loudly.
She did not know how long they stayed like this, but eventually it was too much for her to bear. Sighing gently, she shifted her weight on the bed, tensing, then relaxing, watching carefully to see what his response would be.
He moved.
It would have been barely perceptible, but he brushed a potted plant he had not noticed and the leaves began to rustle. In the shadows, she saw him tense. She knew she would have to act quickly and immediately if she hoped to escape.
Carefully, she slid her hand toward the hangings that surrounded her bed. Thanks to a long-ago accident, any firm tug would bring the canopy crashing down. Gripping the fabric, she pulled and thrust the bed curtains toward the intruder with the vague prayer that the heavy
wooden canopy would not fall on her instead. Leaping off the other side of the bed, she stood still a moment.
He surged forward as she began her leap, but was caught by the edge of the falling canopy.
He made no sound; only the soft "whuff" of air escaping his lungs betrayed him.
She turned and ran.
Not daring to flip on any lights or even to grab a flashlight or candle, she raced through the old house, silently cursing ostentatious ancestors and their need for slippery hardwood floors and long, winding staircases. Even in her bare feet, the floors were treacherous and threatened to spill her over a railing at any moment. As she reached the end of the first hallway and hesitated, choosing her path, she heard his light footstep emerging from the bedroom.
Blindly, she turned left and hurtled down the hallway. She fell, but was running so fast that her momentum carried her to the door of the back stairs. Staggering, she rushed down the stairs, not daring to stop and see if he had chosen the correct path behind her. Halfway down the stairs, she realized: she had gone the wrong way. From the back of the house there was almost no escape. All back exits were in the kitchen wing, at the other end of the house. Any door she found here would lead her into the enclosed courtyard: a trap. There was no way she could turn back. She would have to try to reach the kitchens.
At the bottom of the stairs, she ducked into a library. She was breathing too hard to continue: wayward panting would easily lead him to her. She pressed her back against the wall, struggling to conquer her lungs, her eyes rolling about in terror. Then she heard it.
A light footstep.
If she had been running, she never would have been able to make it out. He walked like he weighed nothing, and yet his silhouette looked like that of a well-muscled athelete.
She froze.
In the light streaming through the space between the double doors, she saw him pass the library and move towards the kitchen. His already faint footsteps fading to nothing.
She allowed herself a small whimper and collapsed to the floor. Soon, she would get up and escape from the house. The neighbors weren't too far away. She could run there.
Her senses drowning in relief, she did not hear what she night have and thus was taken by surprise when, suddenly, the doors burst open and a great shadow loomed over her.
Finally, she screamed.