Sometimes she wondered why she did the things she did. Like watch horror movies at her old intern's house when she knew that they made her paranoid. But not as paranoid as being chased by the possessed truck that killed her father. Yeah, that had really made her paranoid. She was glad she didn't have to think about it. Or Dean.
Coming here had helped clear her head. She'd been transferred shortly after the incident. (The editor was probably afraid that she'd try and write stories about the truck or something equally "crazy" or "unpleasant.") She'd adapted quickly. Shortly after arriving, she met and befriended a murder investigator who gave her information for her stories. Also, she'd had an intern who quickly took a little sister role. Things were quiet and normal in her life.
Nothing freaky had happened since she'd left home.
After washing her face, she headed for the dresser for clothes to change into for the night. The cool breeze from the window blew on her face as she walked into the room.
I thought I closed that, she thought as she walked over to the open window.
She struggled with it for a while, but finally got it closed shut and locked it.
Brushing a couple strands of hair behind her ear, she went to the dresser and opened the second drawer.
"Oh, what a shame," a sadly sweet voice said.
Her eyes widened then narrowed. She knew that she had locked that door. Her hand went over the clothes to the back of the drawer and her fingers wrapped tightly around the weapon.
"Looks like I found the wrong one," she said her voice even more forlorn, coming closer.
The gun was firmly in her grasp and ready to shoot. She quickly turned around, her finger pulling the trigger. But the intruder was faster.
"OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"
She didn't even have time to scream.
The light from the streetlamp shined for a moment on the insane, white smile as another strike cut through the air.
Everyone slept soundly undisturbed by the incident in their building.
The trigger went off and hit a picture on her nightstand, causing it to fall over and for the glass to shatter into many pieces covering most of the floor.
Cassie Robinson was dead.
The red numbers of the alarm clock read 4:13.
Two people shot up from their sleep, wide-eyed and looking like death.
I hope you all liked it. Now, please REVIEW! Praise would be appreciated and flames will be added to the very badly written and/or Mary Sue fanfiction bonfire. REVIEW!