It Started With A Murder

┴┈┈┈┈■┈┈┈┈┴

EPIGRAPH

 No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks--Mary Shelley ​​​​​

┬┈┈┈┈□┈┈┈┈┬

PROLOGUE

10:30 PM

20th February 2016

Detroit, Michigan

The terror did not start with a bang, or a whisper, but rather, one scream at a time. The first scream belonging to eighteen year old Allison Abernathy. 

The girl sat crouched down on the ground, her breathing heavy, her heart palpitating as she continued listening to what appeared to be a symphony of mundane. Water dripping, wind howling from outside, a heavy iron gate creaking. There was nothing special to tell her where she was.

If anything, she was panicking. She could feel her chest tightening as she became conscious of her own breathing and she couldn’t help her body from quivering as tears streamed down her face. The little cuts under her eyes and cheek stung due to the saltiness of the tears. Scrunching her body as tight as she could, she held back a sob, hoping maybe, just maybe, she would become less noticeable.

“Allison?”

A familiar voice called out her name. She shuddered. She could, very distinctly, hear the creaking sound of the wood paneled floor as his weight pressed into it, beckoning for her in the dark like a predator in search of a prey. 

“Where are you, Allison?” 

There was a chirp in his voice, like a child calling her out to play with him and it sent shivers rolling down her spine.

Less than two hours back, Allison had been sitting in one of the diners laughing loudly at some joke her friends had made. She remembered leaving early because she had to do some grocery shopping for her mother. She remembered getting out of the diner and sighing at the sight of dark clouds in the sky. She remembered running towards her car the moment it began drizzling.

Alas, that’s all she remembered.

She had woken up an hour back  with unfamiliar classical music playing in the background on a bed that wasn’t hers, in a place that she didn’t recognize. The first thing she had noticed was the strange smell in the air. Like rotten fish. That was what it was.

But what surprised her more, was that she had faint scars on her body, shallow scars made by a knife. As though somebody had been poking and cutting her in her unconscious state at regular intervals; and  not with the intention of killing her, but doing something more. Much more. Like psychologically traumatising her. 

Frightening her to death. 

That was exactly when she had heard a grunt from the room nearby, unmistakably of a man, a man who seemed to be on the verge of opening the door that separated the two rooms. She didn’t have time to analyze anything. She didn’t have time to grab a weapon. She only had time to escape.

“Oh so you're hiding now?” The voice asked, “…it's a small world, love. You can run but you can't really hide,”

She had been softly mewling to herself, covering her mouth as she felt more hot tears wet her cheek. She had always been a good person, always respected her parents, always done her duties.

Why was this happening to her?

She had been sitting huddled up in that corner, under a table, sniffling to herself when she heard the distinctive footsteps. Dangerously close.

“I know you are here love, I can smell your blood…” 

Allison felt her heartbeat plummet. What was he, some homicidal maniac? Some madcap escaped from jail? Why was he even after her? Of all the girls, why her?

 She hoped he was lying. She hoped this was dream. She hoped she would wake up in her  pink bedroom to the faint smell of waffles made by her mother. 

 Was this a nightmare?

“…come out, Allison,” He called out to her in sing song way, “…come out, wherever you are,”

Allison was scared. Softly crying to herself, she covered her face. Why her? Why her? She wouldn’t go out. That was an established fact. If hiding was her last chance at surviving then that’s what she would do. Hide. Even if it were the last thing she did. Allison remained deathly still,  her head down as she softly whimpered, even still, she could see his dark leather shoes from beneath the table.

She closed her eyes.

A second passed, maybe two.

Maybe the room became way too silent. The only sound Allison could hear was the soft hum of classical music. Her head still down, her lungs grasping for air, she figured that maybe he had left. Maybe he had given up on finding her. Maybe she was safe afterall.

She opened her eyes, her cheeks still wet, her vision still hazy, her scars still stinging. Lifting her head up, she sighed. Only to shriek a second later. A pair of gloved hands were coming towards her. She screamed, trying to scurry back, her screams drowning out the maniacal laughter of her assailant.

Dragging her out by her hair, he forced her to stand up. She kicked. She screamed. Too focused on getting away from the tight grasp of the man in the mask, she failed to notice the knife he had pulled out.

One stab.

Two stabs.

 Five.

Ten.

As the blood gurgled out of her mouth, Allison could feel the world around her go hazy. Her knees become weaker. She heaved. Opening her mouth, but no words came out.

Only blood. 

She saw them then. Her family. Sitting at the breakfast table, talking, listening to her. She saw her friends, throwing food at each other as they sat laughing loudly at the diner. She saw her boyfriend. He had blue eyes. Mesmerizing blue eyes, the kind that reminded her of waves lashing the shore.

As she took her final breath, she thought of her mother, giving her a small shopping list of the items she had to purchase from the grocers. She wondered if she were still waiting for her.