The cloaked figure slipped between shadows. The knife dripping with red yet catching the light and sending a beam towards the hills, it slips out of grasp and descends to the cold hard cement ground. She woke suddenly to a sharp sound coming from outside her window. She rose and drifted slowly toward the ice cold window; she peered out but saw nothing. Pulling the curtains shut she went back to bed but this time with an unsettling feeling in her gut. She could feel something was wrong. The feeling was sending chills down her spine. Suddenly, she felt as if the room was spinning, she built a fire in the fireplace and decided to ignore her feelings and go to bed. Ignoring her feelings wasn't as easy as she had thought it would be. She stayed alert all night, defining every squeak, crack, and moan that the house made. Sometimes she felt as if the house was trying to tell her something but decided she had a sever case of schizophrenia due to her insomnia instead. As the sun rose, she did also, and went to make a pot of coffee. Putting on her robe she stumbled down the stairs, but on the way she detoured to the bathroom, as she entered it was on the floor that she saw him, lying in a pool of blood, his blood. His arms stretched out and looked as if an angry cat had gotten to him. As the police arrived all she heard were a sea of chatter, sirens, and the knocking on doors. As people came and went she sat in disbelief. The police had condoned that it was suicide, even if there was no explanation for it. The cuts on his wrist were evident enough. She felt worse then the past night. She felt guilty; she hadn't wondered why he hadn't come home. She tried to reason with herself saying that he could have been working late but he would never work throughout the night. He didn't like his job that much. The police hung around to drink her coffee, eat her muffins, and ask her questions but it was already evident that they were only staying for the coffee and muffins. She got up and moved to her room excusing herself saying that she needed her rest, which wasn't all a lie. She sat in front of her vanity mirror and brushed through her matted down curly blonde hair. Tears slipped out of her ice blue eyes. She had promised herself that she would hold out until later but at this point she had no control over her eyes or her emotions. She continued to cry for most of the day, hunched over in the fetal position on her bed. When she thought she could cry no more she rose and walked to the same window she had the night before. She became bored of looking outside and just as she began to turn away she saw something unsettling, a dark figure standing on the top of the hill, the hill where just two years ago they had found fifteen slaughtered people all from this village just outside of London. The hill has been desolate for years now. However the figure just stood there. She noticed that there was something in the shadows hand, something silver that caught the light of the moon and was sending a stream of light towards her. She took the time to gasp and in that short of time the figure was gone. She believed it all to be in her imagination, but she couldn't get rid the growing feeling of terror that was in the pit of her stomach. The next day came upon her and the night was rough on her. She was sick of crying and did not want to feel so terrified in her own home. A shrill ringing came from the hallway. As she lay on her bed she covered her ears. The sound pounded in her head. It was the phone. She got up and trudged into the hall and picked up the phone. There was a slight breathing on the other end, and then a click. She hung up the phone and scurried back to her room. She began to convince herself that it was just a wrong number, she let it go. Half an hour later the phone rang again. There was slightly heavier breathing this time and a noise. No, not a noise� a scream.

Part Two

Hanging up the phone; the killer laughed hysterically at the thought of how the person on the other line felt. The killer took the body of the one that was just killed and cut it up into seven pieces, shoved it into a bag and dragged it outside. The murderer quickly flipped the hood of the cloak on and ran and quickly as possible to the top of the hill that was so famous for what had happened there. The killer flung the heavy cloak off and quickly dug a hole in the ground with the shovel that was left over from the time before. Threw the body parts in the hole and covered it up, put on the cloak and stood there looking at the accomplishment for a minute. Then turned around and appeared to be looking for something, then found it. She was sitting on her bead, crying. She slowly looked up as if she felt the killer's eyes on her. She got up and ran over to the window and shut the blinds hastily. Once again, hysterical laughter. Slipping through the shadows the killer walked quickly to the bottom of the hill and went home. Locking the door tight the killer went to the room where the pictures were taken. Looking through them the killer stopped at a particular one. It was a photo of the killer but the killer was off to the side while she got all the attention. The perfect blue eyed blonde� she was born rich and beautiful, went to school and did very well in it, and even went to finishing school. She was perfect in every way, and what did she have to show for it? Nothing and that was what the killer hated most about her. The killer was born with nothing but had managed to make a life worth living, all she did was get married to a rich man and continued a life of spoils. She didn't try to do anything with her life. The killer wondered what she would do now that she was a widow. The thought amused the killer considering that she had no real skills about life. She always had someone around to do her things for her. Wash her clothes, give her money, and everything else. The killer figured that she probably had servants there to do her nails for her. Disgusted by her failure in life the killer spat on the picture and threw it into a box labeled trash. Ready for the next task the murderer put on her cloak once again and fled from home. Heading towards the west the culprit reached the home of the blue eyed blonde. With a knife in hand running through darkness the killer came up to her bedroom window, moving softly the culprit looked through the window and saw her lying in her bed and appeared to be fast asleep. The killer moved around to the other side of the home where the door was located. The murderer slowly took out some lock picking devices and unlocked the door, moving slowly the killer opened the door and floated inside the home. Creeping up the stairs to where her room lay. Hoping that the door was already open she stepped closer to the room and realized that it was not open. In complete darkness the culprit slowly and carefully turned the knob on the heavy wooden door and pushed. The door creaked and moaned as it widened, the killer remained still in fear that she would waken, and she did. She sat up in bed and looked about the room. She called out too see if anyone would respond but the killer certainly did not. Instead the murderer stood in the shadow of the corner and waited until it was thought to be safe enough to keep going. That moment came long after, in fact, it was a bit too long after because the killers leg had become sleepy. Pins and needles were running up and down the murderer's right leg, the killer was annoyed by this and begun to shake it off, but that was a mistake because she began to stir in her bed again. She turned over to face the wall of the corner that the killer was leaned upon and stared at it for a long period of time. The killer could not move because of this, and that was a problem because the killer's right leg was sticking far enough out so that it could be seen.

Part Three

Frozen in fear she lay as still as possible. She saw the leg that was sticking out of the wall. Or so it appeared to be, was it a ghost or was it an actual person standing there in the shadows? As she stared a long time passed, not once did the leg move. She began to think that this could all be a dream she was having. No one she knew could stay still for that long, especially in that position. So she closed her eyes for approximately one minute and re opened them, the leg was gone. She was relieved yet worried. Relieved that it was just a dream yet worried that she was becoming delirious or just plain crazy. She lay there with her eyes open staring at that one spot for a long few moments then decided to try and relax and go to sleep, and she would have if it weren't for the creak that sounded off like an alarm. Terrified she quickly got up and turned on the light, only to find that there in the corner of her room was a woman with short brown hair and almond shaped brown eyes. There were two other things that she noticed about her, things that were not settling at all. The woman had a knife the size of along stemmed rose; the other thing was that the woman was her mother. The light hurt the killers eyes, standing in the dark so long made her eyes get used to the darkness but now the light shone on her and she was blinded. When her eyes finally adjusted she saw that her daughter was staring straight at her, not moving a muscle. The killer decided to get it over with and charged toward her daughter, the knife pointed at her chest but her daughter quickly moved past her and ran for the door. However the killer had left her tools on the floor and her daughter didn't see them, she plummeted to the floor hitting head first. She remained motionless. The killer reached the arm occupied by the knife into the air and swiftly brought it down expecting the knife to be driven into the heart of her daughter but that didn't happen. Her daughter rolled away before the knife reached her and it ended up being driven three inches into the wooden floor. The killer did not have any time to sit around trying to get it out so she picked up one of her lock picking tools and ran towards her daughter. She had to think clearly in order to avoid her mother, but it would be difficult because she had to keep moving, if not she could end up being killed by her own mother. She saw that her mother didn't have the knife anymore but some sort of tool which wasn't as big as the knife but would do the job just the same. She saw her mother charging at her and she ran out of the room, trying desperately to find a place to hide she ran into the next room and shut the door. As she was propping a chair up against the door she heard her mother on the other side. Her mother started banging on the door trying to break through but it was thankfully solid. Then all of a sudden, it was quiet. This was the only time that she would have time to think and she was sure it wouldn't be a very long time either. She decided that she could climb out the window and try to run but she figured that is where her mother was headed right now. So she decided to peer outside the door instead. Slowly taking the chair out of place and putting it aside, she ever so slowly opened the door, but only and inch. She tried to see as far as possible but it wasn't easy. She felt as if her mother was gone, probably trying to climb into the nearest window. She didn't have much time to try and decide all this, so she quickly opened the door and made for the stairs. The killers plan had worked, by pretending to leave (when actually hiding in the next room), it had drawn her out. Swiftly but quietly she went forward following her daughter. Her daughter had just reached the top of the stair case and was just close enough for one good stab in the back. The killer stretched out and jabbed forward but instead of stabbing her it only pushed her. She ended up tumbling down the stairs, and when she reached the bottom she made a grand finale with a perfectly executed summersault. A cheerful laughter exploded from the killer's lips as she walked down the stairs to confirm her beliefs. As she reached down to check the pulse she realized that her beliefs were true. She was dead. The killer had succeeded once again, and this time all she had to do was push.