Chased by a Shadow (Part III)

I covered my mouth with my left hand to prevent a scream coming out. I started to breath uncontrollably and my eyes filled with tears. I was sweating and my nerves were on the edge.

I pressed the knife with strength between my fingers.

I took the right path silently, looking for a place to hide, or a weapon to use. There were many doors along the wide corridor. A thick carpet covered the floor, which represented an advantage to me, as my steps remained silent.

I did my best to hear the sounds coming from downstairs, but it was an impossible task. He didn’t make any sound. I just couldn’t hear anything.

Not knowing if he was still downstairs or coming my way, I decided to open the third door on my left and entered. I immediately closed it and locked it.

I turned around and contemplated the enormous room I came into: it was definitely the girl’s bedroom. Her king-size bed, perfectly made, had light pink sheets. She also had an antique dresser with mirror. It had so much dust that I couldn’t see my own reflection. Placed in one of the corners, there was a wardrobe, twice my size, with the same style of the dresser.

It wasn’t the smartest hideout, yet I was in a hurry.

I opened the doors and got inside among the old and smelly clothing.

I decided not to close the doors yet, as I needed to hear him. I needed to know how close he was from me. I kept my eyes on the door, waiting for the worst. The bedroom was darker than the living room, but I still managed to recognize the place I was in.

I would have described this as the most disturbing moment of this chase. I was filled with anxiety and nervousness, hopelessness and desperation. I couldn’t hear a single sound, not even from outside, as the only window in the bedroom was closed.

I patiently waited for him. My plan was simple: I was going to remain in the wardrobe for as much as possible, with the hope that he might as well leave the house with his hands empty. On the other hand, if he happened to find me, I would use the knife that I was still holding in my right hand. I had never hurt anyone with any kind of weapon before, but my life was being threatened by a man who wouldn’t doubt twice before hurting or killing me. Why did I have to have some sort of contemplation?  My worst enemy was weakness; not having the guts to do what I had to do for me.

I couldn’t tell how much time I spent inside the wardrobe, but after a while I finally heard a familiar and terrifying sound:

His whistle.

Once again, I covered my mouth with my left hand in order to hide the sound of my own breathing, which was irregular and uneasy. I closed my eyes to prevent the tears form coming out.

In that moment I understood that, even though I didn’t want to, I had to do it. If I had the chance to stab him, I would have to do so. He would kill me, otherwise.

The images of my life crossed my mind out of the sudden, making me feel nostalgic. If I didn’t survive this, I wouldn’t see my family or my friends again.

What were the real odds of surviving?

I did my best to relax; to calm down a bit.

But his whistle was disturbing and lasted more than the previous times.

I heard him opening and closing doors. He was on my corridor. I closed the wardrobe’s doors as silently as I could.

Then, before I could even prepare myself for what was coming, he opened the door of the bedroom. I couldn’t see him, but I heard him. I knew he was here.

I barely perceived the sound of his steps on the carpet. He was moving like a ghost.

His whistle made me shivered.

I held the knife with resolution. I was ready. I was willing to do whatever it was necessary to save my life, even if that implied taking his.

He was approaching my hideout. He knew I was inside the wardrobe, but he wanted to create some sort of sadistic suspense; perhaps he just needed to make me suffer psychologically.

In any case, he was certainly enjoying it.

I was sweating, nervous and expectant. I felt that sweat in the hand that was holding the knife. I started to pray in my mind. I asked God to help me on this one. Just on this one. I was willing to do anything in exchange of this.

Seconds passed before I felt it. He was right in front of the wardrobe. The doors didn’t let me see him, but I knew he was there. I pressed the knife between my fingers and took a deep breath.

It was time.

After a full minute of suspense, he finally opened the doors.

 

Chased by a Shadow (Part II)

I threw myself towards that “safe” place, hoping that someone lived there and had a rifle or something. Even a knife could be of use; anything to keep that bastard away from me.

My speed decreased against my will and I began to stumble more than before. I felt like a prey chased by a hunter. It was the maddest feeling I experienced in my life. I saw my own breath, the result of cold weather and a fast and anxious breathing.

I approached the mansion screaming, begging for help. But I stopped doing it when I realized something that I didn’t notice before: all the windows were dark. It seemed like there was no one inside, or maybe everyone was sleeping.

However, it was too late to back out. I was half way the entrance door and there was no time to turn back into the woods. I heard the man whistling again, yet he wasn’t in sight.

I finally got to the entrance door, which I knocked hard with my fist.

Surprisingly enough, it opened itself.

I rushed inside without thinking about it twice and closed the door.

Inside the mansion, everything was dark. The only illumination came from the moon, coming through the closed windows. It was enough to recognize most of the interior.  I had never feared darkness, but still it was a creepy environment. I was standing in a wide room where there was nothing but two tables near the window, two pillars and an immense chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I had the feeling that the place was abandoned. The windows had no curtains, which seemed weird considering that the mansion looked like it was owned by rich people.

I took one of the tables and dragged it to the entrance door. It wasn’t too heavy, but at least I would know when he came in. Then I walked apprehensively towards the living room, where I found an old but refined set of couches, two floor lamps following the same style and, the scariest part, the paintings. They were actually portraits. One of them, the biggest one, showed a family of four. The mother seemed to be a strict person. So did the father. However, he had a solemn stance. The children, one boy and one girl, had both sad faces, reflecting the misery of their childhood. The rest of the paintings showed similar portraits of the family. It was noteworthy that, in all of the paintings, they looked the same age. There were no pictures of the youth of any of the children, and there was no picture of the parents in a different stage of life, either. I also found an antique piece of furniture, which I didn’t dare to even touch. It was all so frightening that I ran towards the kitchen, avoiding the rest of the portraits of the family on my way there.

The kitchen wasn’t small, but it was, in the best case, out of date. There were a couple of saucepans lying on the stove. The crockery, neatly put on a rounded table, could be as old as my great-grandmother. In other circumstances, all this would have been so interesting, but I couldn’t forget the reason that brought me to this phantasmagorical place.

I quickly looked for a knife in all the drawers and cabinets, finding at last a small and sharp one. It would be useful later. I held it firmly in my right hand, determined to use it if necessary.

I left the kitchen and went upstairs. The wooden staircase was straight, but the steps were narrow. When I reached the end of the staircase, I found myself in a divided hall: left and right were my only options and I wasn’t sure which one to take.

But just as I was deciding such stupid thing, I heard it.

The table had been moved and the principal door opened.

He was here.