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642words2026-01-26 11:21

My National Day getaway got ambushed by a typhoon, trapping me in this guesthouse.
“Heard there’s a serial killer nearby,” my boyfriend texted.
Thud. Thud.

“And it’s a gang.” Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Don’t go out, Viv, seriously.” My fingers hovered uselessly over the screen. I couldn’t reply because right then, the killer started pounding on my door.
….
The flimsy wooden guesthouse door groaned under the heavy blows, threatening to splinter.
“Viv? Vivian! Why aren’t you answering? Don’t let our argument keep you from listening! This is life or death!” My boyfriend’s frantic voice came through the phone speaker, sending a cold shiver down my spine. “The news broke it. Their methods are horrific – victims are hacked apart limb by limb while they’re still alive! They die from the agony!”
I shuddered violently. I’ve always been unusually sensitive to pain—even a shot or IV can bring me to tears. Hacked apart while conscious? I couldn’t even imagine that kind of pain!

THUD!
The heavy impact jolted me back to reality. He absolutely could not break that door down!
Forcing myself to think clearly, I assessed. I’m always cautious. Travelling solo this time, I hadn’t just relied on the door lock. I’d jammed a portable door stopper under it, secured the security chain, and stuck a tiny pinhole camera outside.
The camera feed showed a figure shrouded in black, wielding a scythe, hacking relentlessly at my door.

“Viv, talk to me!”
Outside, a stark white lightning flash lit the sky. Seizing the cover of the thunderclap, I whispered, voice trembling, “He’s here… at my door… hacking…”
My boyfriend sounded stunned. “You… you’re kidding, right? Is it maybe the guesthouse owner knocking?”
“Positive… I have… a camera…” I stammered.
A brief silence, then his voice snapped back, strained but controlled. “Viv, listen! Stay calm, stay quiet! I’m calling the cops right now! Barricade the door with furniture, then hide! Don’t make a sound!”
Ethan, my boyfriend, is three years older, always steady and reliable. I usually lean on him hard. Panic had me frozen, but his command cut through. “Okay… okay… I’m at…” I started to give the address.
“I booked the place, remember?” His voice quivered slightly, but he kept it soothing. “Don’t panic. I specifically picked one close to the police station. Just hold tight, protect yourself. I’m dialing 911 now. Hang up! Don’t risk him hearing you. Silence your phone. We’ll text!”
His plan was clear, logical. I pressed my hand over my mouth, nodding uselessly at the phone. “Mmhmm!”
After hanging up, I forced myself to stand. My legs were shaking so badly I could barely support myself.
I pinched my thigh hard, fighting back the fear as I looked for something to block the door.
Then I looked around my room. Despair hit me like a physical blow.
It was a Japanese-style tatami room. Apart from uselessly soft cushions and a low coffee table, there was nothing. Not a single piece of furniture substantial enough to block a determined fly, let alone a scythe-wielding maniac.
THUD! THUD!
The pounding continued, mixed with the sickening sound of wood beginning to splinter..
I had no other choice.
I grabbed the small table, held it by the legs, and shoved it against the door with all my strength.
Every second counted. If I could just hold out until the police arrived…
“Keep it down, you goddamn lunatics! What the hell’s all that racket? Sounds like someone banging on death’s door!” A furious, booming yell erupted from the hallway. The hacking stopped.
“Who the hell are you? What room? Are you the little tart in 103’s kept man?”
I recognized the voice. It was Mrs. Wilkins, the nasty old bat from across the hall in Room 104!
The monitor brightened abruptly as her light flooded the hallway.
She’d opened her door.