Page 40 of Sinister Legacy
A whimper dances on my lips as I begin to hyperventilate. I steady myself with a hand on the locker. Now is not the time to panic. If he wanted me dead, he would have killed me already. The killer wants to scare me, that’s all.
My eyes snag on a red item on the bench closest to the door. Lowering my hand from my mouth, I take hesitant steps closer.
It’s a metallic, red devil’s mask.
Bending down, I carefully pick it up, despite my better judgment. An evil smile reveals sharp teeth.
I swallow audibly, my eyes darting across the room for any sign of danger. “This isn’t funny!”
Even now, my rationalizing mind wants to believe this is a practical joke.
A door slams shut somewhere in the hallway, making me jump as my heart nearly explodes inside my chest. Bent at the waist, I stifle a sob, tears pouring from my eyes. I’m not strong enough for this.
I don’t know what to do. I’m naked.
My clothes are gone.
My phone…
I try to inhale a breath, but another sob rips loose when footsteps sound in the hallway. Inching back with the mask clutched between my fingers while my other hand presses over my mouth, I watch the closed door.
One step back, followed by a second.
Heavy boots thud on the floor, closer and closer.
I toss the mask on the floor with a whimper, unable to look at it anymore. My heart thuds in my head, my hands are clammy, and my breaths are too shallow.
I feel dizzy with the mounting panic.
The footsteps stop, shifting outside the door, and I hold my breath, not daring to make a noise.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I shift back while counting to ten in my head to force myself to focus on something other than the shadow in the gap in the door.
My attempts to control my mounting fear turn to ashes when the handle is pushed down. It rattles once, twice, three times, as if the person on the other side enjoys my whimpers.
I can’t control them.
I’m sobbing uncontrollably now, pressed up against the lockers. Is this what Jessica felt in her final moments? And Madison, before she was rescued?
I let out a scream when the door slams open to reveal a robed figure with the same devil’s mask as the one on the floor. I stare, breathing harshly. My eyes sting with tears as he enters the room, his head cocked to the side. In his gloved hand is a baseball bat.
As I watch, he drags it over the tiled floor. The sound will haunt my nightmares if I survive this.
“Poor little Keira. The pathetic daughter of a serial killer.”
The distorted voice sends my heart ricocheting.
“What do you want?” I choke, barely able to recognize my own shaky voice.
“I just want to chat with the main star of my little reenactment.”
“Fuck. You!” I’m shivering from both the cold and the adrenaline, my teeth clattering violently.
My response must amuse him, because he laughs.
Loudly.
Then he rams his baseball bat into the nearest locker, causing me to scream. I try to dart past him, but he jumps in front of me and presses the bat to my sternum.
