My Cup Runneth Over
Credit: To Erik Kripke, maker of the wonderful Supernatural. They are your characters, never mine.
Chapter 1:
A soft whimpering escaped from the young woman as she huddled against the corner of two perpendicular boxes. She listened hard, trying to hear any kind of sound that would alert her of the person that was hunting her. She heard nothing, except her own erratically beating heart and her sharp breathing.
After minutes of waiting and hearing nothing, the woman finally closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. It was okay now. But no sooner did she think that did she hear a sudden sound— the sound of the floor creaking under the weight of another being. The young woman's eyes snapped open and she stopped breathing, listening hard. Her eyes were huge, and filled with utter fear. Beads of sweat dripped from her forehead as she listened for any more sound from the intruder, trying not to make a sound of her own. Finally she did hear something else; another creak in the floor. But this time it sounded farther away, and she could tell that they were on the other side of the room. The young woman focused her eyes through the darkness, seeing the exit only yards away from her hiding spot. If only she could just sneak over there, shut the door, lock it and call the police… She could get out of this nightmare and it would all be over. Breathe, the woman thought, trying to regain her self control, just peek out and see if he's there… The woman took a deep breath, and then as slowly as she could she moved just slightly, peering out above the boxes as quickly as she could. Nothing. The area was clear. There was no one standing in the dark, even near the other side of the room. The woman almost let out another sigh of relief, but instead she ducked back down, fighting back the urge to just scream from anxiety. She had to get out, and now was her only chance. With a burst of courage, the woman moved out from her hiding place, not taking her eyes off of the exit near her. She moved swiftly, and before she knew it, she could feel the fresh outside air on her face, and she could smell the scent of burning firewood. The woman almost burst out in joy as she turned around, ready to slam the door shut to her garage, locking the man inside for good. Just as the woman grabbed the handle to the door, she stopped. Something wasn't right. The woman listened, and what she heard made her skin crawl with fear. She could hear slight breathing. Right behind her. The woman's eyes grew big again as she realized that there was someone behind her. And there was only one person she knew could possibly be behind her. With a daring motion and a cry of fear, the young woman turned on the spot, ready to face the man who was hunting her. But when she did, she was faced with— nothing. There was only empty space behind her. No one was standing there. The woman let out a sigh of relief, inwardly scolding herself for her imagination. A nervous smile playing on her lips, the woman turned around, finally ready to triumphantly slam the door to the garage. When she did, however, she found herself staring at a darkened figure in the doorway of the garage. The woman immediately let out a heightened scream, her voice breaking the quiet night air. The woman spun on the spot, ready to run, but she was too late. She felt a hand wrap around her hair, pulling her back toward the garage. The woman screamed again, kicking, pulling, elbowing as much as she could, trying to hurt her attacker. But he seemed unaffected. He pulled on her again, and the woman could feel her scalp burning from the jerking of her hair. Her attacker pulled her back into the garage, even while she fought him. When darkness overtook them, the woman let out a cry of fury, and broke loose from her attacker, feeling her hair being ripped from her head. She whipped around, ready to fight. But again she was too slow for the man; he reached around, wrapping his arm around her neck, pulling out a silver knife. The woman screamed again, trying to pry off the man's arm. Finally she elbowed him hard into his stomach, and for a moment he let go. The woman took off again, heading for the door. But before she reach it, she felt a hand on her back, and she went tumbling to the floor. Her knees made contact with the floor, searing pain coursing through her. She crawled on her knees a moment, ignoring the pain in her legs. She flipped on her back to see her attacker, ready to kick him to fight him off. But instead he dropped to his knees and before the woman could do anything, he had her legs pinned to the floor.
"No," the woman pleaded, her voice hoarse, "please, no…" her attacker said nothing. He only leaned forward, highlighting his face. The woman glimpsed his face for a moment; bright cerulean-coloured eyes, dark hair, and a fierce expression like she had never seen. But that was all she saw, for the man raised his hand, a silver knife dripping in blood that was gleaming in the dim light.
"No, no," the woman pleaded again, her eyes growing large again. But the man showed no mercy, nor any kind of reluctance. Instead he brought the knife down upon her, blood splattering up onto his face. As he drove the knife into the woman, a bright light abruptly emanated from the woman through the orifices in her face. And so it was finished.
The man stood from his victim, and reached up, casually wiping the blood from his face. He then tucked the knife into his tan-coloured trench coat, his face impassive. Then in the blink of an eye, the man was gone, leaving the blood-splattered and dead woman on the floor of her garage, blood seeping onto the floor.