"HhhHHHHhhhhh—hhhhhHHHHAAAaaaAAHHHHhhhhhHHhh—!!"
Michael shot upright in bed, his chest convulsing, sucking in ragged gulps of air as though he had been buried alive. Sweat poured from his skin, beading on his forehead, rolling down his temples, soaking the sheets beneath him. His eyes were wide open, bloodshot and dilated. he scanned the room in a frantic sweep. Shadows lay heavy across the walls. Nothing moved. Yet his heart hammered like a war drum in his ears.
He clawed at himself, fingers running down his throat, his chest, his arms, his stomach. Searching. Expecting to feel torn flesh, warm blood, a hole where the knife had gone through. But there was nothing. His skin was unbroken.
His breath came fast and shallow.
A strangled laugh broke from his lips as he collapsed backward onto the mattress. His body sank into it, trembling. His eyes locked on the ceiling, still wide with terror.
"It was a dream," he whispered, the words breaking in his throat. "Just… just a dream."
Thank God.
The relief hit him so hard it almost hurt. His muscles loosened, though his hands still trembled, He rubbed his forehead with the back of his wrist, smearing sweat across his face.
I should've known. Which dumbass just runs straight at the killer like that? That's suicide. That's how you get fucked up in horror movies. That's how you get your ass killed.
He let out a bitter chuckle. The sound was dry, humorless, but it steadied him. Slowly, he turned his head to the window. Beyond it, the night stretched, endless and still. There was no movement or threat. Just the whisper of wind against the glass. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slower. His pulse finally started to level out.
Until—
"KRSSSHHHHHhhhhh—tkkk…tkk…tkkk…"
The noise sliced through the night like an axe. Michael jolted upright, his entire body rigid, eyes bulging with horror.
No. No, no, no, no…
The sound replayed in his head, overlapping with memory. His heart kicked against his ribs so hard he thought it might burst. This was the same. Exactly the same. Déjà vu wrapped around his chest like barbed wire.
He scrambled to his feet, bare soles slapping against the cold wooden floor, and rushed to the door. He pressed his ear against it, praying he'd misheard, praying it was the house settling or some animal outside. For a moment, silence. Then—
"THOOM… creaaak… THOOM… creaaak… THOOM…"
Michael froze. Every hair on his body stood on end. The sound reverberated through him, shaking him to his marrow. The steps were steady and measured like they weren't steps at all but a ritual.
His mind spun out of control. No. This isn't real. This can't be happening. It was just a dream. It was just—
But the dread told him otherwise. This wasn't a dream.
He staggered backward from the door, his chest heaving, eyes scanning the room. He couldn't fight. He'd seen how that ended. He needed to run.
he needed a way out.
Then his gaze landed on the window. His breath caught.
"Yes…" he whispered, a desperate gleam sparking in his eyes. His body lurched forward, and he clawed at the latch, fingers slick with sweat. The window creaked open. Cold night air rushed in, biting his skin.
He glanced over his shoulder. The footsteps were closer now, heavier. Right outside Jessica's room.
"Shit."
He swung one leg over the sill, then the other, and carefully lowered himself onto the slanted roof. His feet slipped slightly against the shingles, still damp from the evening's drizzle. He gritted his teeth, crouched low, and began edging his way across. His hands splayed wide for balance, palms scraping the grit and moss of the roof tiles.
Jessica's window glowed faintly with light. She was awake. She had to be. She must have heard it too.
"THUNK! … THUNK! … THUNK-THUNK-CRAAACK!"
Michael froze. His stomach dropped. The sound was sickening, rhythmic and relentless. He looked toward Jessica's window in horror.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
The scream shattered him. His body flinched so violently he almost toppled off the roof. His arms flailed, his fingers clawing desperately until they hooked the edge of a shingle. He hung there for a breathless moment, heart hammering, before dragging himself back to balance.
"Motherfucker," he hissed, shaking. His body trembled so hard he thought his bones might rattle apart.
He forced his eyes back to the window. Inside, shadows jerked and flickered. The sound of splintering wood echoed, followed by another piercing scream.
"Jessica!!!" Michael roared, desperation cracking his voice. "Climb out the window!"
No reply.
"Jessica?!" he called again, his throat raw.
Then—
KRRRRAAAASHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
The window exploded outward. Shards glittered in the moonlight as a dark figure burst through, tumbling violently onto the roof. It rolled once, twice, before plummeting off the edge.
THUD.
The sound of the body hitting the ground was final, brutal.
Michael's breath caught. His entire body went cold. Slowly, trembling, he looked down.
Jessica lay crumpled on the earth below. Blood streaked her face, her limbs twisted unnaturally.
"No… no, no, no…" Michael whispered, his whole body shaking.
Then a shadow filled the shattered frame of the window.
Michael looked up.
And there he was.
The mask. White, cracked, burned down one side. The coveralls dark as the night. The figure loomed in the window, framed by the jagged edges of broken glass, moonlight gleaming off the blade in his hand.
Michael's breath caught in his throat. His chest heaved. His vision tunneled.
"Jesus Christ…" he whispered, barely audible.
The killer tilted his head, a subtle, unnatural motion that froze the air itself.
The knife rose.
Before Michael could even scream, the blade left the killer's hand.
It whistled through the air. A flash of silver.
And then—impact.
The steel buried itself deep into Michael's forehead with a sickening crunch. His body jerked, blood spraying across the tiles. His eyes went wide in shock, mouth open, but no sound escaped. His legs buckled.
The world around him tilted as his body toppled backward, arms flailing.
The night sky spun above him. The roof vanished beneath him. He was falling.
Weightless.
Helpless.
The last thing he saw was Jessica's broken body below. The last sound was the pounding of his own heart, louder than the wind rushing past.
Then—blackness.
Nothing.