I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of thunder shaking the house. It was pitch black. The side of my head felt like it had been beaten with a hammer. I was lying in a pool of blood.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness. I was in a living room. My head hurt. I did not recognize the house.

Lightening illuminated the entire room for a brief moment, before plunging me back into darkness. I managed to find a phone to call for help.

The phone was dead.

The room was spinning around me. I stumbled to the nearest entryway. I saw a light at the end of a hallway. Slowly, I managed to peer into the room.

A man stood there with a bent golf club, which was covered in blood. My blood. On the bed sat a woman, sobbing and gagging.

I backed away slowly and made my way to the kitchen. The pain subsided, but my mind was still foggy.

I grabbed a knife. I had to save that woman.

Quickly and silently I made my way back to the room. With a mad dash, I broke into the room and stabbed the man in the back of the neck. He fell to the ground.

To my surprise, the woman screamed in panic and grabbed the man’s golf club, swinging wildly in my direction.

As if it were reflex, I jabbed with my knife, puncturing the woman in the neck, and watched her slowly fall to the floor.

I was safe. I needed to leave.

Outside it was raining. I still carried the knife; I didn’t want any trouble with the police.

I stumbled onto the street, not knowing where I was or what direction I was going. I threw the knife into a nearby drain.

Somewhere along the highway I collapsed, and the cold embrace of the storm welcomed me.

I awoke in a hospital, with bandages covering one of my eyes. I was told by the nurse that I was lucky to be alive.

On the T.V., the news person was talking about a recent murder in a quiet neighborhood, a recent development of a string of murders. A man and his wife were found stabbed in their bedroom, the phone lines cut. Police never found the murder weapon.

Written by Benovere

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