thump came from inside. Like the other rooms, this door was also shut. On the outside of the door an Evil Dead poster was proudly displayed.
“My room,” he whispered, swallowing so hard it made a wet sloshing noise. His legs felt weak and rubbery. The knife quavered in his hand.
Relax , he thought. He’s not going to hurt you .
So he hoped.
He’d felt so brave downstairs, but now he cowered as he traveled to his bedroom. He eased an ear to the door, and listened. He couldn’t hear anything on the other side. Joel pictured a beefy arm bursting through the thin wood and latching onto his hair and pulling him inside.
He quickly pulled his ear away.
He clenched his mouth shut to stop the rising soft squeals, and folded his lips inward. The quick gasps shot out of his nostrils in rapid hisses.
Just do it . Go in there. Get it over with.
He began wondering if he really wanted to go through with this plan. Plan? Had he actually had one? There was a point to all of this, right?
Wrong.
It was stupid. He’d been more in love with the idea of it all than the actual reality of it. What was he thinking? He had no clue, and that would probably be why he‘d die soon. Yet, with that in mind, his hand rose to the doorknob. His fingers curled around it. The knob was cold in his sweaty palm. He removed his hand, then quickly wiped it dry on his shorts. The stale odor of wet metal had clung to it. He grabbed the knob again and slowly turned it.
The door popped loudly when it opened, thunderous in the still house. He recoiled. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat, could hear the wet clucking it made while doing so. The door stopped in mid sway, leaving only a small band for him to see through. It seemed to be darker than normal in there. He could partially see his table, littered with masks and molds he’d made himself. His walls were covered with posters, leaving no spot bare. His bed was empty and unkempt. If Haley would have known he hadn’t made it this morning, she’d surely have added that to the list of his chores.
Shit…he had those to do yet. He had time.
If he was alive later to do them.
A musty odor drifted out of his room. It smelled sort of like the petting zoo at the county fair. It had to be the man who smelled like that. He was in there somewhere. Joel needed to figure out how to handle this.
An idea struck him that made even less sense than what he’d already been doing. So, what could it hurt? He’d gone this far, might as well see what happened.
Plenty could happen, and none of it good.
He’d decided to kill the prowler…with kindness.
“Excuse me?” His voice sounded higher than normal. And dry. Why was he so thirsty? “I know you’re in there. Just make yourself at home. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Yeah sure . Like he’ll believe that. You’re only armed with a Myers knife for Godsake.
“Tell you what I’ll do.” What am I doing? “I’m going to put my knife down to prove to you that I don’t want to hurt you.”
Am I crazy?
Yes.
He released it, letting the shiny blade fall to the floor. It bounced on the carpet near his feet with a soft thump. “Did you hear that? That was the knife hitting the floor. I don’t have it, listen.” He lightly clapped his hands to prove his point as he edged closer into his room. It was silent in here. Too much so for his liking. Felt like something was waiting.
For him.
Ignoring it, he said, “I’m coming in.” He cautiously entered all the way into his room. Psychos and madmen were everywhere, but they’d always been there and none of them was the one he was looking for. Toys, models, and statuettes of Jason, Freddy, Michael Myers, and Leatherface. Posters, lobby cards, and papers printed from the internet depicting scenes or cover art from various horror movies wallpapered
“My room,” he whispered, swallowing so hard it made a wet sloshing noise. His legs felt weak and rubbery. The knife quavered in his hand.
Relax , he thought. He’s not going to hurt you .
So he hoped.
He’d felt so brave downstairs, but now he cowered as he traveled to his bedroom. He eased an ear to the door, and listened. He couldn’t hear anything on the other side. Joel pictured a beefy arm bursting through the thin wood and latching onto his hair and pulling him inside.
He quickly pulled his ear away.
He clenched his mouth shut to stop the rising soft squeals, and folded his lips inward. The quick gasps shot out of his nostrils in rapid hisses.
Just do it . Go in there. Get it over with.
He began wondering if he really wanted to go through with this plan. Plan? Had he actually had one? There was a point to all of this, right?
Wrong.
It was stupid. He’d been more in love with the idea of it all than the actual reality of it. What was he thinking? He had no clue, and that would probably be why he‘d die soon. Yet, with that in mind, his hand rose to the doorknob. His fingers curled around it. The knob was cold in his sweaty palm. He removed his hand, then quickly wiped it dry on his shorts. The stale odor of wet metal had clung to it. He grabbed the knob again and slowly turned it.
The door popped loudly when it opened, thunderous in the still house. He recoiled. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat, could hear the wet clucking it made while doing so. The door stopped in mid sway, leaving only a small band for him to see through. It seemed to be darker than normal in there. He could partially see his table, littered with masks and molds he’d made himself. His walls were covered with posters, leaving no spot bare. His bed was empty and unkempt. If Haley would have known he hadn’t made it this morning, she’d surely have added that to the list of his chores.
Shit…he had those to do yet. He had time.
If he was alive later to do them.
A musty odor drifted out of his room. It smelled sort of like the petting zoo at the county fair. It had to be the man who smelled like that. He was in there somewhere. Joel needed to figure out how to handle this.
An idea struck him that made even less sense than what he’d already been doing. So, what could it hurt? He’d gone this far, might as well see what happened.
Plenty could happen, and none of it good.
He’d decided to kill the prowler…with kindness.
“Excuse me?” His voice sounded higher than normal. And dry. Why was he so thirsty? “I know you’re in there. Just make yourself at home. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Yeah sure . Like he’ll believe that. You’re only armed with a Myers knife for Godsake.
“Tell you what I’ll do.” What am I doing? “I’m going to put my knife down to prove to you that I don’t want to hurt you.”
Am I crazy?
Yes.
He released it, letting the shiny blade fall to the floor. It bounced on the carpet near his feet with a soft thump. “Did you hear that? That was the knife hitting the floor. I don’t have it, listen.” He lightly clapped his hands to prove his point as he edged closer into his room. It was silent in here. Too much so for his liking. Felt like something was waiting.
For him.
Ignoring it, he said, “I’m coming in.” He cautiously entered all the way into his room. Psychos and madmen were everywhere, but they’d always been there and none of them was the one he was looking for. Toys, models, and statuettes of Jason, Freddy, Michael Myers, and Leatherface. Posters, lobby cards, and papers printed from the internet depicting scenes or cover art from various horror movies wallpapered
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