The Shepherd by Ethan Cross

about breaking the glass on one of the picture frames, but that would alert the killer to her position. And she wouldn’t know how to use a makeshift knife, even if she had one.
    She wondered how much time had passed. It felt like an eternity. She quieted her breathing and waited.
    A few seconds later, she heard a sound that conjured images of a freight train tearing through the house. She knew the source of the sound, however, and it wasn’t a train. The sound was that of a man running at full speed up the stairs and down the hallway.
    She heard the door to the bedroom, only a few feet below her current position on the other side of the ceiling, slam open with a loud crash.
    Her heart thundered. She couldn’t breathe. How has he found me so soon?
    She bit down upon her knuckle with crushing force in order to keep from issuing a sob or a scream. She trembled all over and felt colder than she had ever been in her entire life.
    She prayed for God to save her, or at least make her death quick, but then she reconsidered her prayer when she remembered that God doesn’t make life easy for his followers. He merely gives them hope that through faith, a greater plain of existence can be attained. Upon consideration, she changed her prayer and prayed instead for strength, something that with God’s help she had found at many difficult points in her life.
    She tasted a strange, coppery liquid in her mouth and realized that she had drawn blood from her knuckle. At this point, it hardly mattered. She bit down harder and tried to lose herself within the pain.
    With a creak, the killer pulled down the panel and said, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
    She heard him unfold the ladder and begin his ascent toward her.
    Tears flowed like rain down her cheeks, and she realized that she didn’t want to die. There were many times after her husband was taken that she had wished to join him, but now, all she wanted was another chance to live.
    In that moment, the realization that once again she had wasted the time she had been given engulfed her mind. When her husband had been alive, they had squandered their present on the hope of a better tomorrow. But after his death, she had not found a greater appreciation for life. Instead of devoting herself to some pursuit or enjoying all the time she could with her children and grandchildren, she had spent most days moping around the house.
    In that moment, she cried out to God for one last chance.
    Then, like a lightning strike on a clear, blue day, a thought struck her with great force. A possible hope for salvation sprang into her mind, and she leapt into action.
    She grabbed hold of the large trunk containing her old memories, and using all of the might she could will into her muscles, she hurled it down the stairs and onto the ascending killer.
    ~~*~~
    Maureen peered down into her bedroom and saw the madman sprawled out on the floor, his eyes closed. Nearby, the trunk lay on its side, its contents scattered. She could see a small rivulet of blood on the man’s forehead, and she hoped that he was dead.
    Her only thought was of escape. If the killer was merely unconscious, then he could awaken at any moment and finish what he had started. She needed to get as far away from the house as possible.
    With cautious steps, she descended. The killer’s limp body lay at the foot of the ladder. She would have to move over him in order to reach the doorway and freedom. She reached the bottom rung, took a deep intake of breath, and without exhaling, stepped over the killer. She took great pains in her movements, so as not to touch the man or even disturb the air around him. She didn’t want to take any chances of awakening the sleeping monster.
    As the killer had stated, time was relative, so it felt to her as if the climb down the ladder had taken minutes. In reality, she knew that only a few seconds had elapsed.
    As she cleared the madman’s body, she released her held breath. She reached out