Despite the terror of not knowing what the hell I was going to find up there, I continued climbing. When I reached the bright, blue door with paint peeling off it, I found it was locked. I cursed. How on earth was I going to get in? To make matters worse, my head was throbbing and I was starting to feel faint. If only I had anything sharp enough to cut a hole through the door to get in.....
Then the perfect idea came to me: my Mom had a chainsaw in the shed which she used to cut wood for our fire! Rapidly, I climbed down the ladder and raced out of the back door again. But I had a really strange feeling that I was being watched. It was probably just me getting paranoid. Shaking the feeling aside, I grabbed the chainsaw in my hand. My hand was turning a nasty dark brown shade from the blood from my pounding head. However, there was no time to waste washing blood of my hands. I half-ran, half-tiptoed into the house and climbed up the ladder once again. Breathing heavily, I switched the chainsaw on. The irritating whirring noise began. Trembling, I sliced a huge hole through the door. Though it wasn't easy. I had to cut it several times for a large enough gap for me to fit through. Coughing out several wood chips from my mouth, I slipped through the hole in the door and I was met with a horrible surprise.
My Mom was dead.
She had a rope tied tightly around her neck. Wires were tightly bound around her wrists, tying her to some long planks of wood which obviously used to be propped against the wall, now they were collapsed on the floor, my Mom still tied to them. That must've been what the 'thump' was that I heard. But the ghastliest sight was my Mom's wrists, they were sliced open and she was bleeding freely onto the planks of wood which trickled down onto the floor. A bloodied saw lay next to my Mom. That must've been what she used to cut open her wrists. Another sickening sight was what I assumed to be the 'crash' noise that I had heard: the planks had given way and my Mom's head had smashed against a shelf, leaving her poor head bruised and bloodied, her pale cheek was sliced open.
And that's when I realised. Rope. Wire. Planks of wood. And the saw. All of the items my Mom had bought from the DIY store so that she could do some 'DIY projects'. My Mom had been planning her suicide for a whole week. And Axel had most likely helped her. The creep. I rushed over to her and lay her body on the floor, cradling her head in my arms. I untied the sharp wire from her wrists and the rope from her neck. I saw a huge, red mark where the rope had been. In horror, I started breathing heavily. So heavily that I thought I couldn't breathe. I was panicking. I fumbled in my school rucksack for my water bottle and took a long swig. I felt my eyes prick with tears. My Dad had divorced my Mom when I was 12 but he still kept in contact with me. We were very close in fact. I thought about contacting him when I remembered I had left my phone on the kitchen table. But I had a question: what had Axel said to my Mom which made her want to die? I probably didn't even want to know.
I cursed loudly and stood up, ready to leave when a dark figure entered the room.
"Going somewhere?" he grumbled. The man's voice was fairly young, smooth and sneaky. His voice was almost syrupy. I froze. Too shocked to move. For this was my stalker on the train. The same guy with the black cap and hoodie. I cursed my foolishness. I should've trusted my instincts when I felt like someone was watching me. Hastily, I snatched the saw from beside my Mom's body. "Come any closer and you'll be sorry," I growled, trying to keep my voice sounding calm and steady.
"Is that so?" he chuckled and pulled out a gun from his pocket. "All I have to do is pull the trigger and you'll die," "Who the hell are you?" I cried and kept on pointing the saw at the weird man even though I knew it wouldn't be any use.
"Now that's just the question..." he laughed in a sing-song voice. "Who am I?" "Stop messing around and tell me who the flipping hell you are and why are you here!" I practically screamed at him.
"Goodbye little Clay," he chuckled in a sing-song voice once again. Before I could react he pulled the trigger and shot me.