Hunted

The following was a flash fiction piece. A maximum of 450 words was allowed. There are 450 words so if I left out an aspect that you wanted to see, please keep that in mind. Personally, I have trouble chopping things down to 450 words. Most of my flash fiction pieces start around 700 words and get cut from there. The theme of the story had to be – Five minutes to midnight.

Stan wasn’t sure how long he’d been hiding in the closet. It had to have been hours. Before he slipped in here he had gone to the bathroom, now his bladder was begging for relief again. Was she out there? His fear came back and he started shaking. His heart kept pounding. He thought to himself, this can’t be good, hours with this level of anxiety and fear he just knew he was going to drop dead. He thought he heard some noise coming from downstairs. Was that footsteps coming up the stairs? The sound stopped. Had it been real? Stan wasn’t sure. He was ready to piss in the corner. He didn’t want to die peeing all over himself. He listened as hard as he could trying to decide if she had come back. Nothing.

    More time went by. Sometimes he heard noises but he still wasn’t sure if he was alone in the house. She could be downstairs not making any noise. What was he going to do? He decided at least the bedroom had to be empty. There was no way she could have come into the room without him knowing. He wished he had brought a watch, this was driving him insane. He heard a car door slam close.

       Shit! Shit! Was she only now coming back? He started shaking again. He could feel sweat running down his back. What was he going to do? This was nuts! He should have left before, but he had been too scared to move, too scared that she would get him. Did she know where he had gotten to? He had tricked her. After she saw him he had ran around a corner and then doubled back.

    There was the sound of a door opening downstairs. His heart continued to pound, it felt like it was going to burst. What had he been thinking? He knew he should have ran when he had the chance, he must be deranged. He could hear her moving around downstairs. Shit! Shit! She’s gonna come up here and kill me! What the fuck am I going to do! Then the footsteps were coming up the stairs. This time, he was sure he could hear it.

   Oh God! Oh God! I’m dead, he thought to himself. Someone came into the room. He was trembling like never before. Suddenly, the closet door opened. She screamed, Stan raised his right hand and slashed her throat with the knife he had been gripping.
    As he was leaving he noticed the clock said 11:55pm. Stan thought, wow, was I really only in there for fifteen minutes? That was fun, maybe I’ll get my heart racing again tomorrow.

 

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