Would you believe me, if I told you there was someone who couldn’t be killed, as if he could control the way you move, like he could be scratched, but within a second it would disappear as if nothing had happened. That was him, he followed me that night, he attacked me, pressing the knife to my throat, I defended myself from his attacks but he just kept coming. I ran until I fell, I grabbed a large rock and got up. As he ran towards me, I slammed it against his head. He was wearing a mask, yes that was something he wore, that was what made me realize he wasn’t going to just let me live. Why hide his face? It was because he doesn’t want others to accidentally see him and catch him for what he was doing. What he was doing was for pleasure, for some reason in the back of his mind he loved it. His mask was broken now, it was white, covered in a red paint-like substance from the forehead down to the middle, like it was dripping down, the mouth of the mask had x’s on it, like stitches, which was more terrifying because he made no noise, no grunts, no instincts to the blunt attack, no sounds.
After I cracked the mask, his crystal blue eye stared at me, covered in real, liquefied blood. He ran at me, striking with his knife. It’s safe to say that he was more than mad, he was insane, narcissistic. He had no moral and tried his best to attack me, to kill me. What was it about me that he hated so much. Was it my skin color? Where I live? What was it that this serial killer wanted, or was there any reason at all? He just kept swiping his knife at me, each swipe closer to me, after he slowed down, the smallest bit, I turned around and bolted into the trees that infest the used-to-be riverbed. He came after me but I kept running, no matter what, I just wouldn’t let him get me.
I ran through the trees but I heard something running right behind me, he was fast but I was agile. I kept going more and more until I saw the thicker trees. I ran in and hid behind some branches, he was still behind far enough where he lost track of my traces. I watched as he walked past my hiding spot and when he was far enough, I took that chance to run. I just kept going and headed my way out of the riverbed. When I got to the edge I noticed something, on the back of one of the “No Trespassing” signs I noticed there was an X made of a red substance.
I got closer to the sign, I took two fingers and swiped it, smelling it. It smelled metallic, like something I’ve smelled before.
“Blood?” I said feeling the texture. But then I heard something that was haunting, something no one could match, it sounded like a mixture of metal being shredded and a static sound, turned into a voice.
“You don’t know where that’s been.” I turned my head to see him staring at me, blood covering his eye, the one I hit. He then held up a rock in his right hand, and slammed it against my head. I fell down, close to the edge of the riverbank, he got over me and held the rock up with both arms, I could barely see him, my sight was red from the wound. The last thing I heard before I stopped hearing, seeing, and feeling all together, was the raspy voice saying one last thing,
