Marc was strolling through the aisles of the supermarket when he suddenly stopped. His gaze fell on a man at the end of the aisle, putting some groceries into his shopping cart. At first glance, the man seemed unassuming, almost ordinary. But something made Marc freeze. That posture, that look—it was as if his body had remembered the man before his mind had even comprehended it.
It was the killer from school. The one he had met in that nightmare, or rather, the one he thought he had met. The police had never found a body, no sign of the "machete man" everyone had been talking about. But Marc knew better. And now he was standing just a few meters away.
Marc felt a sudden rush of rage and panic that knotted in his stomach. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the man as he continued to secretly watch him. It was the killer, without a doubt. The pale face, the cold, expressionless eyes—all of it matched the image in his head.
Marc bit his lip and decided not to let the man out of his sight. He waited patiently until the killer finished his shopping and left the supermarket. With a mixture of fear and determination, Marc followed him, always a few steps behind, unnoticed. It felt like he was hunting an ancient enemy, someone who had never truly disappeared in his life.
The killer lived in a run-down neighborhood, in an old, dilapidated house. Marc stood behind a wall and watched as the man unlocked the door and disappeared inside. His mind raced. Rage and a desire for justice drove him to a single decision: he had to stop him. This time, the killer wouldn't get away.
The next day, after carefully scouting the area, Marc was ready. He had equipped himself with a few tools and improvised traps—nothing major, but enough to give him the advantage if a fight broke out. He knew the killer wasn't home during the day, so he planned to break into his house and prepare everything for a surprise attack.
Marc cautiously crept into the killer's house. It was even darker and more desolate than it had appeared from the outside. Dust lay everywhere, and the stench of decay hung in the air. He set about setting up the traps—trip wires, sharp objects strategically placed. Everything was ready. He was ready.
But then he heard footsteps. Faster than he expected, the killer returned. Marc had thought he had more time, but now he was trapped—along with the man he intended to kill.
Marc felt adrenaline coursing through his veins as the killer opened the door and stepped into the house. The trap snapped shut – a sharp wire that injured the killer's leg. But instead of falling, the man roared and ripped the wire away. Now he noticed Marc, and his face twisted into a grimace of rage and pain.
The fight began. The killer lunged at Marc, who just managed to roll to the side to avoid being struck. But in the chaos of the struggle, Marc suddenly felt a sharp pain in his face. The blade of one of the killer's improvised knife had struck him in the eye. He cried out, felt blood trickling down his cheek, and staggered back. His eye... he could no longer see. The pain was unbearable, but he couldn't give up now.
Blind in one eye, Marc fought on. Every blow, every kick was guided by an animalistic survival instinct. Finally, he managed to overpower the killer. With his last ounce of strength, he stabbed him in the chest with a sharp piece of metal. The man wheezed, his body twitching, before finally lying motionless.
Marc gasped for air and wiped the blood from his face, but the pain in his eye didn't subside. He had to get out of here before someone found him. He hobbled to the door, pushed it open, and stepped into the cool night air.
But his freedom didn't last long. As he stepped onto the street, he saw the bright lights of police cars driving into the narrow alley. He was covered in blood, wounded, and in that moment he realized there was no escape. The police rushed him, handcuffed him, and Marc let them. He had defeated the murderer—but at what cost?
As they led him away, he took one last look at the house where the fight had taken place. The murderer's face would always haunt him, but for now, it was over.