Despite taking numerous sleeping pills and other medications that are meant to calm my nerves, the sleepless nights persist. The thought of the killer targeting me still haunts me, even though it has been exactly one month since the incident and I am no longer in danger. I feel strangely watched, even with the entire apartment covered in darkness. I'm too afraid to turn on any lights, so I sit in my chair and stare at the door.
Every now and then, I hear loud footsteps and quickly jump from my seat to look through the peephole. It's always just a neighbor coming out of their apartment. Each time, it disappoints me that the revelation is not something more significant. However, I should be relieved that the killer isn't nearby, or at least that's what I believe. I've come to realize that looking through the peephole is not a smart idea. It only reminds me of the gruesome scenes from the shitty Stallone movie, "Eye See You," where the killer gouges the victim's eyes with a sharp object. I can't remember which object was used because my mind is consumed by thoughts of why the killer didn't kill me back at work. Maybe it wasn't him, but I'm sure it was.
As I ponder these different ideas, a loud noise startles me. My heart pounds in my chest, but then I feel a bit relieved when I realize it's just my phone ringing. It's my mother, whom I rarely talk to since my dad's death and especially since my previous encounter with Michael. I mention to her what has been happening to me, and she responds in her typical fashion, calling me an idiot. In the end, I decide to visit her as her birthday is tomorrow, and I'm ashamed to admit that I had forgotten it amidst all the uneasiness filling my head.
The road is bustling with traffic the next day as I make my way to my mother's house, which is a 30-minute car ride from my apartment. I struggle to stay awake during the journey and almost collide with another vehicle at one point, but luckily, nothing happens. Finally, I arrive at my mother's house. I know I must talk to her about seeing a psychologist, even though I despise them. I reluctantly admit that I am in desperate need of one.
Entering the old house, the familiar scent of the elderly fills the air. I chuckle to myself, knowing how much my mom dislikes being called old, even though she does fit the stereotype. Initially, I planned to surprise her, but I decide against it since our relationship is strained. I call out to her, but there is no response. She must be outside or in the kitchen or bathroom. I check the bathroom first, but she's not there. As I make my way toward the kitchen, a pleasant smell of meat, likely pork, envelops me. I've been craving her excellent cooking, so I quicken my pace.
Suddenly, a ray of sunshine blinds me, irritatingly. My mom always likes to keep the curtains in a way that allows sunlight to flood the house, causing discomfort to anyone passing by. I don't understand this peculiar habit of hers, and I decide to shut the curtains to block out the intrusive light. I extend my hand to shield my eyes, but as I touch the curtains, I feel something soft and wet. It crosses my mind that she might have washed the curtains but didn't dry them properly, as it has happened before. Finally, I see it.
Unspeakable horror fills me as I realize that the curtains are not curtains at all, but slices of human flesh and skin. My body immediately recoils as I back away in shock. I scream for my mom and rush to the kitchen, only to find an even more horrifying scene. My own mother's body is chopped into pieces and cooked to perfection in the oven. The image is forever etched into my mind. I scream, cry, and eventually vomit. I nearly pass out, but I manage to grab my phone and call the police, frantically explaining what has happened before finally succumbing to unconsciousness.
The police had arrived and analyzed the crime scene. The murderer had left no clues behind, no fingerprints or anything. The killing was done swiftly and quickly. I am a bit relived at the fact that at least my mom did not die a painful death, but I am still filled with rage and terror. I want to know who the bastard is, and I want my hands around his neck! The police are total scumbags, asking me if I did it. Can you believe the nerve of these cunts?! Of course, they have some justifiable reason, as I have a history of substance abuse and not to mention the incident before. However, no one under the influence could possibly commit such a heinous and disgusting murder. The cops are so certain that I did it that they questioned me for hours and completely ignored my theory on who could have done this.
Finally, once Michael arrived, I was cleared. I am surprised he helped me out, given our history. He doesn't say anything to me nor looks in my direction. I just want to leave this place and head home. I arrive at my street and am walking to my apartment. I am totally exhausted and I don't care even if I am being watched. I just want to lay in bed. I see smoke coming out near my apartment, it looks like someone is making fish stew. I am not a fan, and I ignore it.
As I am entering, I hear sirens. Firefighters stop right at the building my apartment is in, and I see several people looking at the building. I go to them and see that an apartment is on fire, specifically mine. I can't believe my luck at this point. I don't know whether I should cry or laugh at my situation. Before I go completely mad, my phone rings. It is an unknown number, which I usually ignore, but somehow I feel that I should answer this one.
"Hello?"
"Hey, how's your apartment? I hope it's warm in there. You know how cold it gets this time of year," the man says in a cocky and mocking way. It infuriates me, and I know this is the killer. Definitely the man I encountered the other day. It is the same voice. I quickly start to record the conversation, but I want to sound furious and desperate so that he doesn't know that I'm recording.
"You fucking monster! You think that you can fuck with me? I'll rip your fucking eyes out! You'll pay!"
"Careful now, John. If you want me, you can have me. Meet me at the mall at 3pm, alone, or else I'll blow up the hospital." I am horrified by this. The man is even sicker than I thought possible. But he must be bluffing.
"You're bluffing."
"Or am I? Now, do you want to fuck around and find out? Meet me at the mall at 3pm tomorrow, or I will blow up a hospital. If I see cops, oh, and I know where you are at all times." Then a shot is fired right next to my feet. The sound and the fire hurt my ears badly, and the surrounding people immediately panic and run like crazy. The killer was spying on me with a sniper rifle. I do not know how far he is or where he is exactly , but now I know that I'm in such deep shit that I have no idea on what to do now.