I've only put this in 'SUPERNATURAL' because it's the same general idea and I didn't know where else to put it.
I peered out from my hiding place. I was trying to keep my breathing level, but I was on the verge of hyperventilating, so that was a difficult task. Resisting my body like this caused my blood to pound in my head and my vision to swim. Though that may just be the blow to the head I had received.
I reached up to feel the spot on my head where it had caught me. My blonde hair parted where the metal had cleaved in. Blood coated my fingers and I shuddered. Something clunked in the far corner of my room; my prison; and I gasped, turning around to peer through the slots in the wardrobe door.
It was playing with me.
I knew that much, though I held strong rejection of the concept of this reality.
I mean- If it had wanted to find me, it would have.
My hiding place- a wardrobe. How obvious! A wardrobe!
This highlighted to me that it obviously didn't want to find me yet.
What was I saying? I laughed silently to myself, the movement shaking me back to reality enough to notice the violent shivers that racked my body. There was no it. I was being irrational.
A shadow crossed through the slats in the door. Fear shot through me, numbing my body against the violent rigors that shook it. I fought, once again for control- I stilled the shivers and slowed my breathing, forcing myself to peer out again.
What I saw contradicted everything I knew about fiction vs non-fiction. My breath caught in my throat and I felt despair creep into my weary mind.
No, no, no, no, no...
He stood by my only exit- the door barred by some sort of heavy object from the outside. His large, solid frame was distorted from whatever gruesome event that had caused his demise. His milky, dead, brown eyes were twisted with hate and restlessness that matched the grime on his face, among the patches of decomposing flesh. His wide-brimmed hat, caked with filth, sat atop his long, knotty, blood drenched hair, and was tipped forward, shading his pointed features, but I could see the blood. It coated most of him, smeared by his hands in some places, caked on where it had spurted from the fatal wound, in others. His midriff was bare, save for a heavy black coat that fell from his wide, hunched shoulders, baring the rotting chest behind, his shirt was torn from him, exposing the large wound that revealed most of his insides. Things crawled in amongst the spongy red flesh that was exposed and I felt bile rise in my throat. The wound stretched from the base of his neck to his navel. No-one could have lived through a wound like that. No-one did.
Clutched in his left hand was a meat cleaver, tinged with the blood from where he had caught me on the back of the head. His mangy lips twitched into a demented smile, and a laugh, almost a distorted growl, floated across the room to me.
I recoiled, wishing I had done so sooner. I crouched in the back of the wardrobe. Squinting out the slats from my position, I eyed the dark, terrifying figure. He took one step... and then a haze claimed his form as he disappeared.
I edged toward the door, curiosity temporarily winning over fear. Where had he gone?
Wthout warning, cold fingers trailed across the back of my neck and I jumped, whirling around to face the far side of my wardrobe.
I'd found him.
His twisted grin was even scarier up close.
I began to cry out, but the sound stuck in my throat as he put one finger to his lips and shushed me. The sound was almost faraway, as if I were hearing it from outside the wardrobe.
He moved towards me.
Fear captivated me. And I couldn't move. I didn't want to move. I wanted to wake up, or for him to just disappear. But neither happened. The outstretched hands found the hem of my blue shirt and slid up the bottom. I didn't entirely realise until the cold clammy flesh met my own warm, alive skin and an icy shock ran through my body. I gasped, jolting away, but he was faster.
His grasp caught me, the dirty fingernails piercing the soft flesh of my stomach. I cried out, briefly, before swallowing shock as his fingers didn't stop their entry to my stomach. He dug them in, visibly using little physical strength. The pain escalated as he met no resistance from me and he drove his sharp nails into my insides.
I began to scream and he wrenched out one bloody hand, grabbing his meat cleaver and driving it into the left side of my chest, not stopping until the blunt, rusted metal bit into my heart.
A male voice sounded from behind the locked bedroom door.
"LIBY!?"
I didn't know his voice.
"LIBY MARR!?"
He knew my name.
The sound of the large object blocking the door being dragged away broke through my pain.
The vicious splintering of wood broke reached me as the man beyond attempted to break down the door.
I heard the door give, but was wrenched away from that focus as the ghostlike creature dragged his weapon out of my chest, and disappeared into thin air before my eyes. I felt his hand disappear from my insides, somewhere up around the bottom of my ribcage where he had driven it, slicing though muscle and bone.
Blood exploded from my wounds showering the inside of my wardrobe and raining down on me like a coppery summer shower. I slumped against the slatted door which gave under my dead weight, spilling out onto the floor where I'd thrown the contents of my wardrobe to make room to hide. My blood began to stain the coats and dresses I'd harshly spread out, and the door finally came off it's hinges, and the man who had known my name burst in.
But he, who had come to save my life- Was too late.