“Secret Admirer”

Okay, I don't care what the others have told you. I swear I am being stalked. The guy is always following me on the way home from college. It started not too long ago, about three weeks when he started following me home. He was always wearing a hoodie. All of his hoodies varied in size, color and design. His face became visible when he wore only the short ones, being too small. I saw stubble on his chin, but no light from his eyes. I looked over at him often, only for him to look down at the sidewalk for a few seconds and glance back over to see if I stopped looking at him. He always stopped following me about a block away from my apartment. I was a Kentucky girl, being from a poor family, college was unlikely for my family, but I made it work. I was smarter than most people, but I was also very open minded to my friends. They always said I was paranoid of people, so I didn't call the police, but I made a routine of pushing my couch in front of my door. I kept my window locked and my alarms on.

Tonight marks the third week straight he's done this and this time, I didn't see him leave at the one block from my apartment, he left four blocks this time. He cut down an alley and took another turn. I got a little worried and started jogging a bit. I made it home without a sign of him anywhere near my humble abode. I ran in the house and pushed the couch in front of the door and threw almost everything in my apartment in the same manner. I slept on the floor, keeping a kitchen knife nearby.

I awoke on a carpeted floor. The room was lit up with a single bulb dangling from a wire going to the ceiling. The walls were equip with soundproof barriers, which made for a deafening silence. I was tied at my hands and bound at my feet, which made it hard to turn around. Behind me laid a table, caked with brown liquid and topped with several metal tools in which I had never seen. Above the table was a line of plaques. Each plaque holding the head of a woman, each looking like they were from Kentucky, save for the first two. There were seventeen in total, fifteen were perfectly in tact. I saw the first one, being completely decayed, except some hair and what was left of teeth and an almost liquefied eyeball held by a single vain. The smell was horrible, stench raised in the air all around with slight scents of air freshener. I'm going to guess it was my stalker that kidnapped me. The second face was still in tact, lashes and what looked like razor cuts all around and it looked like a blunt object had been hit on her pretty hard. Her skull was caved in, but the original head had been cremated saving it for ages to come. My heart raced, thoughts entering all around my head and then, my heart-dropped.

The door from upstairs opened, breaking the silence. The sounds of a person stumbling down was easy to hear, because of my adjusted hearing. It sounded like he almost fell a few times on the way down. I saw a head rear around the corner followed by a shell of a body. As I guessed, it was the stalker, clearly drunk with a half empty bottle in one hand and a knife in another.

"Hey, you're awake." He said lazily, eyes drooping from lack of sleep. His face was disturbingly contorted, showing scars from what I guessed were from the past people he had killed. "You're not the first, as I can guess you've seen." He motioned drunkenly with the knife over to the wall. "You Kentucky girls are so darn cute, I wanted to start keeping the beauty alive by mounting you on my wall. It's become a hobby of mine ever since my wife left with the kids." He hadn't showered in weeks, his hood being down this time, showed dark hair, severely greased and clearly had an "aroma" about him.

I struggled to my feet. Only to be helped by the man. He then shoved me over to the table and my head slammed against it. There were maggots on the table and the stench was overwhelming. I vomited on the table, mixing in with the decayed blood and random tools in which I guess were torture materials. "I love your pretty face..." He said struggling over the words. He picked up the one closest to my face, wiping it off revealing a saw. He didn't want to waste any time it seamed. He place the saw on my hand and paused a second. The man picked me up and the me into a chair next to the table. He then tied my right arm on the chair and placed my left on the table securing it with a metal wrist strap. He smiled as he picked the saw up once more and put it at the edge of my hand. "Please, don't do this!" I yelled. "Stop! No!" He didn't hesitate. With one fell motion, he moved the saw forward, the rust and blade, pierced my skin. Blood trickled out of my wrist and onto the table and the man had a smile stretched across his face. I screamed and squirmed all about as he made quick work of my left hand. As soon as he got half way, my vision went blurry and he stopped. He walked upstairs for a minute and came back down with a syringe full of a mysterious liquid. He pushed it into my neck and I felt energy shoot through my body. Adrenaline, keeping me awake so he could continue. He walked back over to his station, still with the saw in his hand. I noticed he had it in place of his bottle in which he placed on the table. He kept going with my hand. Blood squirting everywhere and my screams were suddenly mixed with laughter as he began shaking the more he chuckled. After what seemed like hours, my hand came loose. He cut it at the stub and I leaned downwards. He did a sloppy job at my hand restraints and had my arm in a place that I couldn't move from the seat.

I reached my mouth over to my right hand as he went upstairs once more to retrieve more adrenaline shots. The knot on my right came undone fairly easily and I reached my legs which were even more sloppily wrapped. I guess this is the first time he's done this drunk. I reached for the latch and unlocked it easily. I reached for one of the tools, but all the tools were rusted beyond use. The saw, which he took with him, was his last tool. I grabbed the bottle and walked towards the stairs as the door opened. I made a sobbing sound to make it seem I still in the chair. As the man turned the corner, I smashed the bottle over his head and stabbed his leg with the top of it. He fell to the ground with a thud. He wasn't knocked out, but wasn't capable of getting up yet. The combination of alcohol and the bottle on his head was almost too much for him to stay for. I sprinted up the stairs. I got halfway before I felt a sharp pain in my lower leg. He had reached up and stabbed me, holding the knife with the best of his ability. He stabbed himself with the syringe and lunged upward with newfound strength. I tripped on the stairs, four from the top and landed on my stump hand. Blood curled out and my sight grew dim again as the blood loss is getting to me. I won't give up. I kicked back and landed a blow straight to his skull. He fell backwards and fell down the stairs, knife still in hand. I limped up the last set of stairs. I reached the top and saw the door. I looked behind me and I saw the man sitting at the bottom of the stairs. He was just laying there. I looked at his chest and saw he had accidentally stabbed himself. I paid little attention as I grabbed a table cloth off of what I guessed was the dinning room and wrapped my hand and leg. I limped to the phone and dialed the police. When they arrived, they said the guy had bled out. I sighed with relief and felt a buzz in my pocket. My phone was still there! Maybe it was my friend. I looked at it. It was a text from a restricted number. I opened it up and it read, "John was a corrupt guy, but a friend of mine. Prepare yourself, because there's a whole lot of 'Secret Admirers' much worse than him. I'm going to be waiting for you. They can't help. They can't help. They can't help. I'm on the inside."