I was exhausted, running for so long. I'd tried circling towards the Police station but he was always there behind me, pushing me on, cutting me off. Did he ever give up?

I had to get somewhere safe. The problem was he seemed to be everywhere. I jumped on the nearest bus and took a ride out of town to a nearby village. He surely wouldn't find me there. I would call the cops again, find out about the kids, contact Mrs Jove, maybe stay for a while until I was sure the coast was clear. It seemed a brilliant idea but as I sat in the dark of the bus, it hit me that I was going to miss work, that I would have to call in when I found a place to stay, that I would never be asked to babysit again…in fact, Mr and Mrs Jove would probably never want to see me as long as either of us lived. That didn't seem long for me. I kept seeing the maniac's face, feeling that sense of dread build, feeling his cold hand on my throat and pulling my hair…I looked down at my long ponytail that flopped over my shoulder. The dark made it look like a black river running down my chest and arm.

I hunched myself up on the seat, feeling my heart jump about inside my chest like it was on a trampoline. After a few minutes of quiet deep breathing I started to feel better. Then the maniac's mutilated face flashed through my mind again and the fear returned. I tried to busy myself my checking my bag (and folding it neatly – to pass the time) and eventually my eyes turned to the window, watching trees go by, eventually giving way to small bungalows and the corner shops of the village. The bus stopped. I got off and watched it roll away into the night.

Having no idea what to do, I turned and went into the pub behind me, thinking I'd probably feel better with lots of people around. The pub was full of mostly men, some of which eyed me suspiciously. I tried to make myself taller, standing up straight, showing I wasn't afraid of them, and meaningfully took my place at the bar, perching on the worn and stained red bar stool. A youngish guy with geeky glasses and brown frizzy hair looked in my direction.

"What can I get you miss?" he put down his bar rag and the glass he'd been cleaning.

"Pint of bitter please," I fished a few notes out my bag. He took the money and returned a minute later with a pint glasses full of honey-colored liquid.

As I sipped I looked about. There weren't many women. I thought it a bit of a shame really. I was in need of a nice conversation. I had always found women easier to talk to, maybe because of our similarities. The men at the bar seemed too caught up in some football game blaring out of the TV to have a conversation. It looked like their home team was winning.

I too got caught up in it. Even though I had no interest in football, nor any knowledge of the team, I still jumped up and down when they scored and complained when they missed. By the time the game had ended and the commentary rolled, I had completely forgotten about the maniac, the kids and that bloody budgie.

It all came racing back when I stepped outside though. As I trudged (or more stumbled – even though I'd only finished half the beer, my head still swam) over to a nearby bed and breakfast, I saw a figure sat on top of a car roof, silhouetted against the moonlit sky. I didn't actually recognise him until he'd swung down from the car and grabbed my throat, kicking my legs out from under me and pinned me to the floor.

"Thought you could get away did you you little bitch I'm gonna rip your fucking head off-" he rambled, pulling out his knife and chilling me with those horrible staring eyes.

I instinctively kicked at his stomach. He somehow managed to dodge and knelt on my legs, making me wriggle on the cold ground like some demented worm.

"Huh smart one aren't you let's see how smart you are when your guts are all over the pavement…" his rambling started up again, the moonlight catching his blade. I wanted to scream, to hurl abuse, to close my eyes and weep…but I couldn't stop staring at him. At his face. I wasn't screaming, I stood wiggling and just studied that face…

So familiar…

And then it hit me. The boy. What was his name? One of the boys, from the family twelve years ago. The family that'd been murdered. This man here, kneeling on stomach, about to slash open my throat, had once been a sweet, innocent, good-looking boy. One of the many people that passed my house nearly everyday. He had been there at the time of the murder.

He was the killer. He had to be.

That innocent boy had killed his family. Why? The mental recuperation rumour…had it been true? I was too young to understand, but now everything seemed to fall into place…

"What the fuck are you staring at?!" the man yelled, looking at me with some distaste in his unblinking eyes. I noticed the skin around his eyes, black, torn…He'd cut off his own eyelids.

Dear God what was his NAME?!

I felt so frustrated. Here I was, certain doom looming above my head like an impeding guillotine, and I didn't even know the name of my killer.

"WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?!" he screamed.

"You," I said simply, without even thinking about it. He growled and brought the knife down. I rolled my head to the side, the blade chipping off the ground just by ear. Stinging pain. He'd clipped me. I put my hand to it, feeling the warmth trickle down my neck. Not a big injury, but enough to scare me. I wiggled upwards, but his hand grasped my neck and lifted me. He brought my face to his.

"Little bitch think you're so smart don't you?" he growled, a sickening smile on his thin red lips. His eyes looked red and sore. Not being able to blink was taking its toll.

"I know you!" I cried desperately, pulling at his hand.

He drew back just a bit, "What?"

"I know you. I remember you, you lived on my street when we were kids! I saw the police at your house…" his grip tightened just a bit, "You did it didn't you? You killed your family…"

He looked at me in some form of shock. Then he frowned, dragged me up and tossed me onto the curb. I yelped, pain crippling me through my spine where I landed. I turned and tried to get up, unsteady on my feet and watching hopelessly as he picked up his knife and advanced.

"I killed my family because they didn't believe I was beautiful…I'm beautiful…" he stopped momentarily, laughing to himself, his hands tracing the scars on his mouth. Then he realised what he was doing and resumed his defensive stance, "They lied to me…They lied…" The rage was etched upon his face.

I began to back away. Would I be able to run again? I honestly wasn't sure I was up to it. He saw this and stepped closer. His grin widened.

"You give a good chase. Took me a while to find my way here. You like to play…"

"Please, just leave me alone,"

He had a good laugh at that, insane maniacal laughter ringing down the street.

"No," he said when he'd calmed down, "You're too much fun!" his laugh began again, like he was stuck on a crazy loop, "Let's play a game,"

"What kind of game?" Fear began poling into my heart.

"Ahaa," his grin became evil, "Let's play a game of Chase."