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717words
“Hah! Young girls these days, I swear! Making such a godawful racket in the dead of night! Talks all big about travelling alone, and then some man comes sneaking around—probably her bit on the side!”
“I knew it! What’s a girl doing travelling alone? Nothing good, that’s for sure!”
Her vicious expression was even more repulsive than the killer’s.
Originally, I had booked Room 104.
Originally, I’d booked Room 104.
But as soon as I’d settled in, she’d bustled over, whining about how an old woman like her couldn’t sleep on a floor bed, her bones would ache.
She’d bullied and yelled her way into swapping rooms, stealing the lovely ‘princess room’ with its proper bed and balcony. She made such a scene that she ended up taking the “princess room” with the balcony that I had reserved.
That room had proper furniture. If she hadn’t taken it from me, would I be struggling to find something to barricade the door?
No—if she hadn’t taken my room, maybe the killer wouldn’t be at my door in the first place!
She was the one who was supposed to be targeted!
I clenched my jaw, refusing to make a sound to warn her.
On the monitor, the man turned around.
“Y-you! What are you doing?!” Mrs. Wilkins’s voice choked off as she finally saw the scythe in his hand. She stumbled back half a step, trembling.
The killer was a man of action, not words.
He didn’t utter a syllable. He just raised the scythe towards the old woman.
Under the stark, intermittent lightning, he looked like a demon escaped from hell, cloaked in black, wielding a harvesting blade.
I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to watch the monitor.
“AAAAAARRRGGGHHH!!!”
A bloodcurdling shriek tore through the door, stabbing into my eardrums.
“NO! DON’T! DON’T KILL ME!”
“HELP! SOMEBODY HEEEEELP—!”
The old woman’s shrieks mixed with sickening, heavy thuds, each one hammering against my heart.
Slowly, her cries grew weaker.
Hesitantly, I cracked my eyes open just enough to see the monitor.
Mrs. Wilkins’s legs were a pulpy mess below the knees, bone fragments gleaming white in the gore. They lay uselessly like fleshy worms on the floor. Dark blood pulsed out, spreading in viscous rivers across the whitewashed wall and floorboards.
The fierce, confrontational hag from earlier was gone. She clung to the killer’s boot like a beaten dog, trembling, begging for her life.
A pang of guilt stabbed me. If I’d shouted a warning… maybe she…
“P-please… d-don’t… I… I never hurt you…” she rasped. “Go… go to 103… or 101! Those young girls… pretty… kill them… kill them instead…”
My breath hitched. I nearly slapped myself. Feeling sorry for that? What a waste!
Suddenly, my phone screen lit up. Thinking it was a message from Ethan, I snatched it up. But it was the guesthouse group chat. Mr. Davies, the owner, had made it when we checked in, saying to message him there for anything.
How could I have forgotten? I’d been too terrified.
Remembering the owner’s thick, muscular arms, I typed frantically: “@Owner Davies! Serial killer! Mrs. Wilkins in 104 is being attacked!”
Owner Davies: “?”
Owner Davies: “What kind of sick joke is that?”
His room was at the back. With the storm raging, he probably couldn’t hear the old woman’s screams.
My fingers shook as I typed: “NOT joking! The killer is IN 104 RIGHT NOW!”
Room 101: “What? So the psycho bitch is getting hacked? HAHAHAHA! Serves her right! This ain’t a killer, this is a goddamn vigilante!”
The girl in 101 had a screaming match with Mrs. Wilkins at dinner because the old woman called her a “plastic-faced slut.” It nearly came to blows before Mr. Davies intervened.
I ignored her gloating and focused on the owner: “Mr. Davies, PLEASE! Help her! She’s dying!”
Owner Davies: “Alright, alright! Grabbing something. Everyone stay quiet!”
I clutched the phone, my palm slick with sweat. Forcing myself to look back at the monitor, I froze.
Mrs. Wilkins was no longer clinging to the killer’s boot. She lay sprawled like a discarded sack of meat, face and body soaked in blood.
And the killer… was gone!
