Each groan of the floorboards felt like another minute off of my life. Each noise became a beacon of alert to the intruder hypothesised to be inside my home. I can't die now. I can't.
My heart stopped after each step down. The usual twelve second trip from the landing to the hall now stretching into the best part of five minutes. I reach the bottom. I stop. I breath. I look.
The window has been put through, as suspected, but nobody seemed to have entered. Shattered glass, strewn across the carpet, glistened in the light of a full moon. In the centre of the constellation of tiny stars scattered upon the pitch black carpet it lay. It's dull husk sticking out in the array of minuscule beauty. A brick. Brown, hard, angular and alone. I squat, careful not to cut myself and aware that danger may still be lurking in the shadows outside. I turn it over and the message was there in thick, black writing.
I KNOW WHAT HE DID