I was standing in front of the killer's house and it started to get cold. I could feel the breeze on my face. It was dead silent. Slowly, I moved closer to the killer's house, tiptoeing. I decided to try the back door, which luckily for me, was open. I entered inside and carefully walked through his old-looking house, which was almost completely dark with only a TV in the living room providing light.
I moved slowly but nervously, looking around to see him. Suddenly, I heard footsteps casually approaching me. I found myself in a rough spot because I had nowhere to hide. The only chance I had was to crouch down and hide next to a chair. The murderer got to where I was and put his newly cleaned shoes next to the door. I was right behind him and he hadn't noticed me. I was extremely nervous, my heart racing out of control. I put a hand around my mouth and held my breath. I could have pounced on him and started strangling him, but this man was a cold-blooded killer. I wouldn't take my chances without a weapon.
The man started to go to the kitchen and then suddenly stopped. I became frightened and worried that he may have heard me. He whipped out his phone, checked something, and headed to the kitchen. I would normally have felt relieved, but I still held my breath, refusing to let it out just in case he heard me breathing. I waited for him to exit the kitchen, and when he went into the living room, I let out my breath, though still quietly. I still did not stand up and remained very low as I slowly headed to the kitchen.
He had many knives, so I decided to take all of them. My adrenaline was pumping, and in the midst of it all, one small knife dropped. I heard footsteps frantically approaching, so I took two large knives. I put one in my pants while tightly gripping the other in my hand. I stood next to the door so that the madman couldn't see me. He entered the kitchen, not looking to his right, failing to realize I was there. He looked at the knife on the floor while I planned to attack with my knife. I must react quickly, but I was slow. I couldn't do this. I had never premeditatedly killed anyone, and this time, I would have seen the aftermath. But I knew it had to be done, so I decided to take a swing. However, just before I took the swing, I let out a bit of my breath, and I was heard. That was all it took for the killer to turn back and point a gun at me.
"I'm surprised you made it this far. I would have thought the police would have caught you. I did plan to visit you in jail," he said smugly and confidently, with a face that you couldn't resist not wanting to punch. I was horrified at this. I dropped the knife, tears streaming down my face. I felt every human emotion, but fear was the most prevalent one.
"Why did you do this to me, you psycho fuck? Why? Why? Why?!" I screamed, demanding answers.
"Why, you ask? Oh why? How about your drunkenness that disabled my brother!" I was horrified to learn that the other man I hadn't killed but injured was his brother. I was never told that he ended up being disabled. All I knew was that he was in a coma and then woke from it.
"I-I'm sorry. I was a party animal. I was drunk. I didn't know any better," I begged, crying.
"Shut up! I don't need to hear your fucking excuses! You ruined my brother's life. He had a promising career as a biologist, and now he's paralyzed from the neck down!" he said, his voice now filled with fury. The smugness was gone.
"Look, I may deserve hell for what I've done, but killing my mother, killing Michael who I hurt too, framing me for his murder, blowing up a fucking children's hospital! Why them? Why?!" I demanded, wanting to know his reasoning.
"Because I enjoy killing, and I enjoy making people I despise suffer, especially the ones that crossed me," he laughed, a sick and evil laugh.
"You're a fucking sicko! And the man you killed in the woods, what had he done?!" I was getting furious.
"Oh, he did nothing. I was just practicing, you know? I was in jail serving time for stealing a car when my brother was run over by you. So I had to sit in that jail and be on my best behavior to get out early. And when I finally did, I had to kill someone, anyone, before I got to you. And I would do the same to you as I did with that guy. But then I saw you coincidentally there in the woods, and it dawned on me. I should drag it out for a bit, really make you suffer," he said, stern and sadistic.
"You're a sick fuck."
"Tell me something I don't know," he shoots me in the leg. I scream in horror, and he laughs sadistically. I'm blinded by fury, and now I want nothing more than to return the favor. So, I pull out my knife from my back and throw it at him. It lands directly in his throat. His smugness and laughter vanish, replaced by a look of terror. But he still points the gun at me. I then grab his hand, despite him being on the verge of death. He's still strong. However, I then grab the knife in his neck, push it in further, and rip it out. Blood sprays all over the kitchen, me, and the walls. He's stumbling back but manages to fire one last time, hitting me directly in the chest. The killer crashes through the window, shattering it, while I hit the floor. I'm losing my breath, barely able to breathe. I feel the cold breeze hit my face once more, and I hear the sound of police sirens as I fade into unconsciousness.