Updated (Nomi)

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The One That Got Away

By Nomi

PROLOGUE

In a warmly lit and cozy double storey house located in Abbey Lane just off the end of High Street, a matured age woman was just getting out of a nice long bath. Her name was Mrs. Angela Hooper; a full time housewife and mother to a seventeen year old son Allan 'Biff' Hooper, who was also the star quarterback of Bayport High, and a loving wife to Mr. Alexander Hooper who ran his own subcontracting company in the local construction industry. They were the picture-perfect image of a typical happy Suburbia family. A very typical product of a successful American Dream living in a comfortably upper-middle income neighborhood in a little Hamlet called Bayport just off the coast of the Great South Bay in the Town of Islip.

Tonight, however, the mother was home alone. That was not a reflection of any family problems. After twenty two years of marriage and seventeen years with their golden boy, her family's still as loving and tight as ever. In truth, her husband and son were out at Bayport Super-Bowl for the local Annual Father and Son Bowling Championship. She looked forward to them returning with the trophy this year. They have been practicing hard after losing to the Hardys last year.

Men are boys! Angela Hooper muttered fondly under her breath with a soft laugh. She wondered idly which son Fenton Hardy would be pairing with this year. But since the father paired with the younger son, Joe, last year, it would be fair to assume that Frank would be playing this year. The Hoopers were close family friends with the Hardys, and the three boys currently attended the same school. In fact, she and Laura Hardy were childhood friends. Angela liked the Hardy brothers. She knew they were a good influence on her boy. Thinking of those two brothers always reminded her of her single regret in life: that she could not provide her Biff with another sibling to be his best friend and confidante. Biff's birth had been difficult, and complications had ensured that she could never have another child. That news broke her heart then. It still hurt her now.

Still, it's lovely to have a moment to yourself without having to cater to the men, Angela distracted herself as she finished blow drying her long blonde hair. She pulled her soft and fluffy bathrobe over her silky pajamas before heading down to the kitchen to make herself a mug of steaming hot chocolate. From there, she walked into her tastefully decorated living room and plopped herself down unceremoniously onto her favorite comfy couch. She set her hot mug carefully onto the little coffee table located conveniently next to her, and reached out for the book she had been reading for the last few evenings. It wasThe Shining written by her favorite writer, Stephen King.

Angela shivered enjoyably as she read Danny's premonitions. She could almost see the frightening visions as described by King. She reached out for her mug of hot chocolate to steady her nerves and to give her eyes a short break from straining to read those scarily seductive words as quickly as she could. After several sips, she paused.

Did she just hear something?

Angela took a quick glance of her house. Everything seemed normal. She strained her ears and heard nothing but the soft whispers of the night coastal breeze.

King's explicitly descriptive words must have spooked my nerves more than I expected, she chuckled nervously.

She took a long gulp from the mug of now warm chocolate to warm her unreasonably chilled guts and cold fingers before returning her attention to her book.

Then she froze as her fingers instinctively tightened on the pages of her paperback novel. There! She heard it again – that soft creaking sound like someone was making her or his way across the parquet floor somewhere in her house. A quick sidelong glance at the living room clock told her that it would be at least another hour before she could expect her husband or son home. Her heart started to thud just a little harder and louder.

She strained her ears again. The night breeze whispered and cooed outside her many windows. The rustling leaves from a nearby tree brushed against the glass, making soft wicked scratchy noises.

Goodness! I am getting as descriptive as the book! Angela mocked herself – for courage. She lived in a safe neighborhood and could not recall a single crime in her immediate surroundings ever since she moved in almost ten years ago. Bayport was a small town, and on Abbey Lane, everyone knew everyone else.

Crrreeeaaak…

This time she sat up straight on her couch, her heart pounding. There was an eerie feel about this.

Crrreeeaaak…

She could feel the beginnings of moisture forming on her brow, slowly coagulating and grouping, forming beads of sweat that would soon be visible along her brow.

Crrreeeaaak…

Another quick peek around the room told her she was alone – still. Quietly, she reached out for the cordless phone lying carelessly on the edge of the coffee table. The feeling of relief as her hands closed over the receiver was palpable. She pressed the speed-dial for her husband's cell phone, lifted the receiver to her ear, and hoped that he would pick it up.

There was no ring tone. A feeling of dread filled her as she lowered the receiver so she could see the LED display. There was no bars visible, indicating that there was no signal. It was then she knew that someone was in the house with her and had cut off her connection.

Crrreeeaaak…

She could not even call the police for help! Neighbors? She almost cried when she belatedly recalled that the whole family was overseas for holidays. She was totally alone. Dread turned into fear, fueled by the adrenaline that was already flooding her system as she reveled in the descriptive horror by her favorite author.

Move! She had to move! No matter how scary, she refused to be the sitting duck. The one thing she learned from reading horror novels was: one stood a higher chance of surviving, or winning, if one fights back. And if she could reach the kitchen, she could use her cell phone to call for help. Failing that, she could the kitchen's doors lead straight to the garage where she could drive off to safety.

Crrreeeaaak….

Angela reached out for her son's baseball bat that was always kept under the double seat armchair behind her couch. With the bat held firmly before her, she slowly made her way through her house. Her house that suddenly felt so unfamiliar and so alien.

Crrreeeaaak…

The hallway leading to the kitchen never felt so far in her life. It was as if her house doubled, tripled in size in the last few seconds. She could now hear other noises in addition to the monotonous creaking. She refused to think about what those noises might be. She refused to describe them, because the knowing those descriptive words would mean having to acknowledge what she was currently not ready to acknowledge.

And she was already far too terrified to think clearly.

Ah, yes! The kitchen! Come on, Angie. Just a bit more… You can do it! She psyched herself.

But her cell phone was not where it should be! She felt the weight of her heart as it fell, whooshed, down into her guts. She missed a breath, and was certain her heart missed a beat. Still she crept forward towards the door that would lead to the garage.

Crrreeeaaak…

It was only after a few steps that she realized that the door was slightly ajar. She strained her eyes and tried to peer through that tiny gap. She thought she saw a shadow moving beyond. Her breath started to come in gasps. She had no idea what to do next, and where to go. She only knew she had to back off, and so she did. Slowly.

She backed into a muscular chest and let out a squeak of terror. Strong hands reached out to stabilize her. She turned, saw the familiar face and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you. I think there's someone else in the house," she whispered in a half terrified, half relieved voice as she held on tight to the familiar figure.

It suddenly occurred to her that he should not be here. Why was he here? Her relief turned to suspicions hovering just above a bed of terror as those legitimate doubts started to assail her.

But she was not given any time to think, nor was she ever given the answers. In the next second, a fiery pain ripped through her belly and guts. Angela looked down, shocked to see one of her kitchen knives sticking out of her abdomen at a crazy angle.

Angela stared for an instant at that familiar youthful face that was looking back at her with inhuman black eyes. Before she could even choke out a 'why', she felt a force jerked her backwards and upwards. Pain radiated upwards from the base of her vertebrate to her head as she crash-landed on the ceiling. Blood spurted from her lips as her head banged hard against the rock hard cement. The knife slipped and clattered down onto the floor.

The next instant, she was the heart of a ball of fire. She watched her skin melted in the heat before even registering the agony of the burns. The fire started from her pinned by an unseen, unnatural force to the ceiling. The cool blue flames radiated outwards, gaining momentum as it spread outwards from the kitchen to the other parts of the house within seconds.

Angela died long before the fire ran its course and finished its work. And all the while, the killer stood and watched, untouched by the flames. Then he walked away from the scene just as the sirens of the fire brigade could be heard in the distance and disappeared into the shadows of the dark night.

---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---