Page 30 of Haunt Me

Stepping out of my car, my heart pounding with anticipation, I arrive just as he shuts the heavy front door. Approaching it, I adjust the rings adorning my fingers, ensuring they rest perfectly in place, “Knock, knock… anybody home?” I taunt, the sound reverberates through the silence before my foot connects with the door, propelling it off its hinges. Stepping inside, my gaze locks onto him as he rushes out of the kitchen, shock contorting his features.

“You—I told you I was sorry—” His feeble attempt at an apology is met with a dismissive gesture from my hand.

“Oh, no—I just came to return something that belongs to you,” I remark, retrieving the item from my pocket, causing his eyes to widen in disbelief.

“Just seemed like the right thing to do, wouldn’t you agree?” I taunt, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of my lips.

“You cut my finger off! You’re a sick fuck, do you know that?” he shouts, his voice laced with fear, which causes my smile to widen.

“So I’ve been told,” I reply nonchalantly, flinging his detached finger in his direction. He scrambles to retrieve it, inadvertently releasing his wounded hand, allowing more crimson fluid to flow from the severed finger.

“You really need to get that checked out,” I say, stepping closer to him and, of course, he does what everyone does—he runs.

He bolts up the stairs and I shake my head at his stupidity. Haven’t this guy watched any horror movies? Running upstairs is abadidea.

I take my time following him up the stairs, the wooden steps groaning under my weight, each one emitting a faint squeak. I reach what I presume is his bedroom, the door old and worn, its paint chipped and faded.

“Open the door, Jason,” I demand in a low tone, my voice filled with a mix of frustration and determination. I’m not really up for kicking another door down.

It’s tough on the ankles.

With no response or compliance, I sigh and kick the fragile wooden door open. The sound of splintering wood fills the room, joining the mess that surrounds us. Entering his room, I see him desperately trying to escape through the window, the sound of shattering glass piercing the air. Sprinting towards him, my heart pounding in my chest, I grab him by his shirt and pull him back inside, the fabric rough against my hands.

“Nah ah, that’s a pretty high fall—you’ll get hurt,” I say, slumping him into a desk chair. Pulling my belt out, I tie his hands with it behind his back, the leather tight against his wrists.

“Please–”

“Shut up!” I yell in his face, the words echoing off the walls, the intensity of the moment palpable. He goes silent, his eyes wide with fear.

“Are you always creeping up on drunk girls who are just trying to get home safe after a good night out?” I ask him in a controlled tone, my voice steady butfilled with a hint of disgust. Leaning with my hands on both the armrests of the chair, I lock eyes with him, the intensity of the moment causing my heart to race. He just stares at me with wide eyes, his fear evident.

“If this was any other girl tonight, I would have beat the shit out of you as a lesson and pray to God that you learn from your mistakes,” I say, my voice trembling with anger. My blood is at boiling point and all I want to do is rip his eyes from their sockets.

“But unfortunately for you, you preyed on the wrong girl tonight—my girl,” I spit through gritted teeth, the taste of bitterness lingering in my mouth. Standing up straight, I glance around the room, my eyes scanning through the chaos. Amidst all the mess, I spot a baseball bat, its wooden surface worn and splintered.

Grabbing the heavy wooden bat, I stride purposefully towards him, my footsteps echoing through the room. As I approach, a mixture of fear and guilt washes over his face, causing his complexion to visibly pale.

“P-please... I didn’t touch her,” he stammers, his voice trembling with desperation but I don’t give a fuck if he didn’t—he wanted to. Just thinking of all the disgustingthoughts he had of her and what possibly could’ve happened—makes me snap.

With a swift swing of the bat, a sickening crunch reverberates through the air, accompanied by a sharp, agonized scream erupting from his chest.

“Oh, I’m sorry... did you say something?” I taunt, relishing in his suffering. Blow after blow, I relentlessly unleash my fury upon him. The rage courses through my veins, fueling my every strike, until his legs become nothing more than limp, useless appendages resembling wobbly gelatin.

Breathing heavily, I take a step back, my heart pounding in my chest. Satisfied with my brutal handiwork, I discard the blood-stained bat, its weight slipping from my grip. I start to ransack his drawers, searching for something specific.

Here we go.

I retrieve a lighter from his desk drawer, marveling at the flickering flame dancing before my eyes.

“See you in hell,” I whisper breathlessly, a sinister smile playing upon my lips, before releasing the flame onto the floor.

As the fire engulfs the room, a cacophony of crackling flames fills the air, drowning out his feeble cries for help. The scent of burning wood and charred flesh permeates the room, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through my body. Reluctantly tearing my gaze away, I make my way towards the exit, but not before loosening his restrained hands.

Can’t leave my favorite belt behind.

Sitting behind the wheel of my car, I watch in morbid fascination as the house succumbs to the relentless inferno. The sight of the roaring flames consumes myvision, their intensity matching the magnitude of his agonized pleas and I can’t help the twisted smile that tugs at the corners of my lips.

Like I said… no one fucks with my girl and gets away with it.

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