Hands closed around my arm and ripped me out of the shadows.
I barely had time to scream before my back slammed into the wall, the air knocked clean out of my lungs. My feet scraped helplessly against the ground as my body reacted before my mind could catch up. Fear exploded through me, hot and blinding.
"Who are you?" he asked. Eyes burning.
Ironically, his voice was calm. Too calm for someone standing over a blood-soaked street with death still warm in the air.
I couldn't answer. I couldn't even breathe properly. My eyes were locked on his face, on the way his gaze burned into me like he had already memorized every inch of who I was.
This was how it would end. I knew it with terrifying certainty.
Just minutes ago, my morning had started like any other.
I had gotten up at 5 a.m. for my usual morning run.
The alarm buzzed softly beside me, familiar enough that my body reacted before my mind fully woke up. I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the building around me. Nothing seemed wrong. Nothing ever did at first.
I live alone in a fairly nice apartment on a not so busy street. My neighbors are all nice to me.
Most of them, at least.
The building was old but well kept, the kind of place where sounds carried through the walls at night and silence felt heavier than noise. I had lived there long enough to recognize when something felt out of place, even if I couldn't always explain why.
After turning off my alarm, I got up and brushed my teeth, washed my face, and got changed. I drank some water and got ready for another morning run and exercise.
The routine was comforting. Predictable. I liked knowing exactly what came next, liked how my body moved on autopilot while my thoughts stayed quiet. Mornings were usually the only time my head felt clear.
But something felt off.
The feeling had been there even then, faint but persistent, settling deep in my chest like a warning I couldn't quite hear clearly enough to understand.
Just as I was about to step out, I hesitated. For a brief moment, the thought crossed my mind that maybe I should just take a break today.
I stood there longer than usual, my hand resting on the door handle. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror by the entrance, and for a second, I barely recognized myself. My eyes looked tired. Alert. As if I had already seen something I wasn't supposed to.
I should have listened.
I shrugged it off, plugged in my earphones, and stepped out, locking my door behind me.
The hallway had been empty, the lights flickering softly as I passed. The sound of the lock clicking shut echoed louder than it should have, making me pause before forcing myself to keep moving.
I timed myself and started my run.
The early morning air was cool against my skin, sharp enough to wake me fully. My footsteps echoed against the pavement, steady and familiar, grounding me.
Ten minutes into the run, the unease hadn't gone away. If anything, it had grown heavier. The streets looked the same as always, yet somehow different, as if I were seeing them through the wrong lens. I kept running, hoping the feeling would fade.
"It's probably just stress," I told myself.
The sound of my own voice in the quiet felt wrong, like I had broken some unspoken rule by speaking out loud.
Fifteen minutes in, I stopped to drink some water. I pulled out my earphones, tilted the bottle to my lips, and froze when the sharp hoot of an owl cut through the silence.
I startled so badly I dropped the bottle. Water spilled across the pavement, soaking my shoes.
My heart raced as I looked around, suddenly aware of how alone I was. The sound echoed in the distance, unnatural in the stillness of the morning.
I grunted in frustration and picked the bottle up.
"Can this morning get any worse?" I muttered, a little too loudly.
The silence that followed felt deliberate. Heavy. As if the world itself was listening.
I had been running for about thirty minutes when I turned at the first block and heard a scream.
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
It cut through the music in my earphones like a blade. Sharp. Subtle.
Every muscle in my body locked up at once.
I stopped and yanked the earphones out, straining to hear, my pulse pounding in my ears. For a moment, I convinced myself I had imagined it.
The street was empty. Too empty. Even the distant hum of traffic had vanished.
Then I heard footsteps.
They came from just behind the small bread shop, slow and measured. Not frantic. Not panicked.
I stepped back instinctively, searching for somewhere to hide, but instead I moved forward without realizing it.
Straight into the horror.
The first thing I saw was the blood.
A dark pool spreading across the pavement, thick and glossy under the streetlight.
The smell hit me next. Metallic. Overwhelming. My stomach twisted violently as my breath caught in my throat.
Just ahead of it lay a woman. She wasn't moving.
She looked young, her skin pale and dull, as if the life had been drained straight out of her. Her limbs lay at odd angles, unnatural, like she had been dropped rather than laid down.
Her clothes were revealing, and for a split second my mind tried to make sense of it. A robbery. A sexual assault gone wrong. Anything human.
She was soaked in blood, so much that I couldn't tell what color her clothes had been. I've always been someone who notices details, and my eyes betrayed me, tracing everything I wished I could unsee.
I almost screamed.
I clamped my hand over my mouth just in time, forcing the sound back down as my chest burned. I turned to run.
Then I heard the footsteps again.
Closer.
I froze.
Where could I possibly hide now?
Panic surged through me, thoughts crashing into one another as my body finally reacted. I spotted a dark corner and rushed toward it, squeezing myself into the narrow space. I was small enough to fit, barely.
I pressed my back against the wall, every breath shallow and silent, my heart pounding so hard I was sure it would give me away.
For a moment, there was silence.
Not the comforting kind. The kind that felt controlled.
As if they were communicating without words.
I dared to peek.
What I saw shattered whatever fragile grip I had left on reality.
Her head was gone.
Not mangled. Not torn.
Cleanly severed, like she had never had one to begin with.
My vision blurred as nausea surged violently through me. I slapped my hands over my mouth, tears spilling freely as my body trembled.
Then I saw him stand.
He held her head in one hand.
The way he moved was calm. Casual. As if he weren't holding proof of something monstrous.
He stretched his arm out.
"Clean this up, Bray. You know what to do."
"Yes, sir."
"And…" he added, then stopped.
The pause felt intentional.
I blinked.
A pair of shoes stood directly in front of me.
They were expensive. Shiny. Immaculate.
Too clean.
Except for the splash of blood staining one side.
Shoes didn't have a mind of their own.
They belonged to someone.
And that someone was about to end my life.
Tears streamed down my face as fear rooted me to the spot. My body screamed at me to run, but my legs refused to move.
Seconds stretched endlessly.
Then the shoes were gone.
Relief flooded me, brief and fragile.
And then hands grabbed me, ripping me out of hiding.
I was stuck to the wall now, waiting. Waiting for whatever atrocities were about to happen to me.