The door to my flat was pushed open. The male crept in, closing the door behind him, making himself feel secure, unable to be seen from prying eyes. Creeping across the room, he drew the curtain on the night and switched on his torch. Keeping the beam of light low, he swept it over the piles of newspapers that cluttered the room.
Kicking out with his foot, he knocked a pile over. Bending, he thumbed through them, his hands gloved, so as not to leave any fingerprints. Turning on another pile, he did the same, spreading the newspapers across the floor.
What are you doing? I wanted to ask him, but the words wouldn't leave my throat. In the darkness I couldn't see his face, although there was something about him that was vaguely familiar.
Who are you and what do you want?
From the shadows of my bedroom door, I watched him.
He stood and went to one of the walls. Casting the torchlight over it, he looked at the hundreds of paper clippings. Clawing at them with his gloved fingers, he tore them from the wall. Wisps of torn black and white paper fluttered to the floor. I wanted to go to him, to stop him, but my feet felt as if someone had snuck up on me while I wasn't looking and nailed them to the floor.
The male turned away from the wall and came towards me. I wanted to move, but I couldn't. With the glare of the light from his torch shining in my eyes, I couldn't see his face. I wanted to reach out and grab the torch from his hands. I wanted to know who it was that was ransacking my flat. He came closer and my heart began to thunder in my chest.
Get out of here! I tried to scream, but my throat felt raw and dry and nothing came out.
He came straight towards me and my stomach somersaulted. As if I wasn't there, he passed me and as he did, I caught the first glimpse of his face and I wanted to recoil in fear. It was a mask of hideous scars. And in that brief moment, I saw that not only was his face scarred, but it looked as if the left part of his face was missing. It was almost as if he had been attacked by some wild animal which had ripped that part of his face away. Running diagonally from above his left eye to the right side of his top lip, his face was twisted out of shape where the skin had grown over the gaping wound.
I wanted to run from him, to get as far away as possible, but I just couldn't move. He went to my bed and pulled back the covers. Taking hold of one of the pillows, he raised it to his face and inhaled.
Once he had finished smelling it, he tossed the pillow to one side. Stooping over, he pulled open the drawers of the dresser that was next to my bed. The male rummaged through it, his movements quick yet precise, as if he knew what he was looking for.
But what could that be?
Tossing it aside, he pulled open the second drawer, searched it, then threw it aside, smashing it into the floor where it broke like matchwood. He did the same to the third and the fourth drawers.
His breathing began to quicken as he raced about the room, knocking over my CD player and stack of CDs. He trampled over the cases, and I could hear the plastic snapping like broken bones.
What are you looking for? I wanted to scream, but nothing came out.
Once my bedroom resembled something close to a demolition site, he came back towards me, this time the torchlight sweeping over the mess on the floor, almost as if making sure that he hadn't missed anything. And as he came towards me, I got a clearer view of his face. Although it was hideously disfigured, he reminded me of someone. Again, he brushed past me as if I wasn't even there. He stood in the centre of the room like a dog and sniffed at the air. He froze, as if he had detected a familiar scent. Hunkering down, he crawled on all fours across the middle of my living room and towards one of the armchairs. His nose touched it. He paused, then was off again, the tip of his nose brushing up and over the seat, arms, and back of the chair. Whose scent had he detected - latched onto?
Mine? No not mine. I never sat in that chair; I always sat by the window so I could look out. Who then? Who had been the last person to have sat there?
Lady Hunt! I wanted to shout aloud, but my throat felt as if I were being strangled.
The male stood up as if he had been disturbed in some way. Maybe he had heard something that I hadn't. Some noise that suggested someone was coming or was close by. Then I heard the noise that had obviously disturbed him. It sounded like water dripping from a tap that hadn't been turned off tight enough. The sound was close by. I looked down and in the darkness I could see the black spatters of blood on the newspapers spread about at my feet. I looked up to see the male sniffing at the air again. He looked in my direction, as I felt the warm sensation of red tears leaking from my left eye. I wanted to wipe them away, to stop them dribbling from my chin, but my arms felt as if they had been tied to my sides.
The male came towards me again. He stopped, the tip of his nose almost touching mine. It was then that I knew how he had gotten those scars and who had given them to him. I stared into Sergeant Phillips' twisted and deformed face and remembered how Potter had attacked him and left him for dead in the graveyard at St. Mary's church in The Ragged Cove. He sniffed the air and smiled.
"Oh Kiera," he whispered. "So what they said about you was true after all."
Before I could say anything, he lunged forward and... ...I sat up in bed. I drew in deep lungfuls of breath as I tried to figure out where I was. My chest was rising up and down and sounded like a clapped-out steam train, sweat covered me in a fine sheen and my throat felt raw. I looked al around me, and it was only when I saw the four wooden posts protruding from each corner of the bed that I remembered that I was in my room at Halowed Manor. Daylight glistened around the edges of the curtains. Slowly, it was al coming back to me.
But there was a noise - it sounded as if it were coming from miles away. It was music and it sounded hissy. Tilting my head to one side to listen, I realised I recognised the music that was being played. It was 'Party Rock Anthem' by LMFAO, and I had that particular track on my iPod. Straining to hear where it was coming from, I realised the music was closer than I originaly thought. Wrapping myself in my blanket, I crawled to the end of my bed and peered over the edge. Sitting crossed-legged on the floor was a girl. She was rummaging through my rucksack and was listening to my iPod.
Reaching out, I tapped her on the shoulder and said, "What do you think you're doing?"
Jumping with a start, the girl removed the earphones, looked at me and said, "Do you know that your eye is bleeding?"