Because the hallway was dark, it took me a few seconds of trying to find myself. I felt something sharp and cold at my throat so I blindly lashed out with a punch. Luckily I hit my attacker. There was a slam as he toppled backwards into the hallway table. The vase on it fell to the floor and smashed into a krillion pieces. I turned and ran out into the street, seeing that the kids had run screaming to a house at the end of the street, hammering on the door. I stood stunned for a second, then remembered there was a cold-hearted killer behind me, and turned to run up the street. I looked back over my shoulder, praying that he chased after me and wasn't distracted by the kids. Luckily he wasn't, but rather unluckily he threw his knife at me. It didn't hit me, and as he gave chase he stooped to pick it up. As I legged it down Second Street I looked back a few times to get a good look at him. White hoodie, jeans, tangled black hair…and his skin. So white. How? Then there was his face. At one point he might've actually looked pretty good, if it weren't for the horrendous pink scars at each corner of his mouth, twisting his lips into a permanent smile. And his eyes, rimmed with black, they stared back at me. I never saw him blink once in my frantic glances back.
I turned off and headed through a small tree area, managing to lose him for a second. I came out the other side without him behind me and pushed my already worn out legs to go faster, up Fourth Avenue to my own house. I raced up my drive, panicking and turning to look back while I unlocked to door. Then I was inside, throwing the door shut behind me and racing upstairs. There was no way I could stay here. If he found me that was it. I ripped open my closet, grabbed my rucksack and threw in a change of clothes and my nightie, plus a bottle of water and all the cash under my bed, which, being honest wasn't a whole lot. I then fumbled with the coat hangers and yanked my green canvas coat off its hook, throwing it on. I picked up the landline phone and dialled 911, taking it to my bedroom window while it rang.
Outside, the maniac had found the end of the street, frantically looking up at all the houses, kicking over bins and punching mailboxes while twiddling his weapon, toying with it, throwing it up and down in the air. Menacing.
"Hello, what service do you require?" the phone said.
"Er, police. Have two young kids phoned you regarding someone in their house?" My voice came out in a torrent.
"Er, yes ma'am, are you involved in that?"
"Well, yeah, I was babysitting and…" my eyes drifted back to the man. He was stood stock still, staring at my window. The breath caught in my throat as his smile widened insanely, eyes boring into mine.
"He's af-fter m-me," was all I could stammer before I dropped the phone, turned and bolted downstairs, to the back door, throwing my rucksack on my back. I sprinted to the bottom of the paved garden, vaulted the fence and through the next garden until I hit the road again. I was on the run again, and I could hear angry and taunting yells and screams behind me, then a window smashing.
"COME OUT BITCH…"
"COME OUT…"
"YOU SCARED? AHAHAA…" Insane laughter. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I was such an idiot. I should've taken the phone with me, instead of freeze like a dick and leave it behind. I could've explained on the way, gotten to the police station…
Shit. Shit. How did it get to this?