Fleeting Life

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

As the click of the high heels grew louder Curtis covered his mouth and held his breath. From under the bed he watched as the red heels entered the room and went straight to the closet. The closet door flew open, followed by an irritated click of a tongue, and then it was slammed shut. When the shoes turned to point at the bed Curtis broke out in goosebumps. The shoes turned when they reached the bed and it shifted as she sat down.

Curtis silently edged himself out from under the mattress and tried to slink out of the bedroom. He was army crawling out when the woman noticed him. She let out a scream that caused Curtis to jump to his feet and run down the hallway. Unfortunately for him, the woman was right behind him. He tried to fake a move to the right into a room but she didn't fall for it. Instead she gained enough distance to plunge a chef's knife into his back. The woman pulled it out and attempted another strike, but Curtis was able to jump down the flight of stairs to his left. He landed hard, but compared to his knife wound he could handle the pain in his legs.

He rushed for the door he had stupidly opened, but it was locked again. Did she lock it? The clicking of the heels reached the tiled floor and turned to clacking noises. She was right behind him. He turned to face her and was met with another stab, this time to his stomach. He looked down at the blood that had started to pool at his feet and then up to his attacker.

“You shouldn't have opened the door.” She smiled.