stuttering my key into the lock
and I could feel that presence,
a stiff, steaming stench
breathing at my back.
I turned on every light,
reflexes at the ready,
and I inspected the room
(there are only so many places
a psychopath can hide in a studio
apartment).
I snuck up
on the shower curtain,
and whipping it
to one side,
I found nothing
and then proceeded
to give myself a one-handed scrub,
with my kitchen knife
poised in the other.
Finally,
I lay myself down
in the darkness,
safe in the knowledge
of the gun in the drawer,
the knife under my pillow
and the door
chained and tripled-locked,
and I drifted
into slow, deep-breathed
slumber.
The last thing I remember
before feeling
the piercing of my chest
was the stench,
laughing and derisive:
“I knew you’d
eventually
fall asleep.”
[Written for Fireblossom Friday at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2014/10/fireblossom-friday.html - write something scary...boo!]
