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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2042175-The-Check-Mark
by River
Rated: 18+ · Chapter · Horror/Scary · #2042175
Serial Killer On The Rampage, loosely based on an interactive story I participated in.
935 Words

It was a hot, muggy night with the promise of thunder showers. Laura pushed her unruly red hair away from her face, the humidity always made it curl wildly. She glanced out the window of the convenience store/self-serve gas station at the empty parking lot. Laura hadn’t realized when she applied for this job, how dark and creepy it would be here, alone, working the night shift. She needed the money, though, and this was the only job available.

She picked up a newspaper on the counter and fanned her face, of course, tonight of all nights the air conditioner would be broken. A car drove in and pulled up at the pumps, a slim woman with dark hair got out of the vehicle opened the door of her tank, unscrewed the cap, and lifted the gas nozzle. As Laura sighed and dropped the paper on the counter she noticed the bold headlines on the front page. Serial Killer On The Rampage – Claims His Third Victim.

She scanned the story as she waited for the woman to come in and pay for her gas. What was taking her so long? Laura looked out the window. The woman was leaning against her car and the nozzle was still in the open door of the gas tank although it had automatically shut off. What the hell? Laura muttered to herself, Has she fallen asleep, standing up? She watched the woman for a few moments, then decided to go outside and check her out.

"Lady, wake up." Laura shouted at the woman, but she didn't move.”Hey Lady, you OK?” There was still no response from the woman, so Laura walked up to her and gave her shoulder a gentle shake. The woman slid slowly down the side of the car and onto the pavement. Laura looked down at the woman who was now sitting in a puddle of blood.

“Oh my God," Laura moaned, realizing the woman was dead. She stared at the puddle of blood in horror, the sickly, sweet, metallic, scent of it made her gag. Her eyes slowly went back to the woman. A knife was sticking out of her partially slashed throat, and what appeared to be a red check mark was drawn in blood on her forehead.

Laura backed away shaking with terror. How could this have happened? She thought, I only took my eyes off of her for a few minutes while I was reading that article. The article, Sweet Jesus, it had to be the serial killer, but where was he now? Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked around the yard. So many shadows, so many places to hide. The rain had begun to fall and thunder rumbled. What should I do? Laura thought, cursing under her breath as she realized she had left her cell phone inside.

The storm was in its full fury now, the rain pelting down and plastering her hair to her scalp. The wind making the flag, beside the building, flap wildly. The lights inside flickered twice and then went out. Laura felt her way around the car in total darkness and crouched down, praying someone --anyone -- would drive in needing gas.

She warily peered around the side of the car just as a bright flash of lightening lit up the yard. In those few seconds, she saw him, illuminated by the blaze of light. His hair was shaved close to his head, one eye squeezed shut and his mouth turned up on that side of his face. The other eye was wide open, glaring, and full of hatred.

Her scream was muffled by the loud crash of thunder, but had he seen her? It had looked like he was staring straight at her. Holding back sobs, Laura waited, then there was another almost blinding flash of lightening and she looked toward the spot he had been standing a few seconds earlier. He was gone. Oh God, where is he now? Further away or closer?

Her mind raced, if she ran, could she make it back to the station? Would the phone work? Where was he? As she tried to come up with a plan, the rain and wind lessened. She strained her ears, listening, eyes staring into the inky darkness. Then she heard it, the sound of someone moving slowly forward, one shoe scraping the pavement as if he were dragging one leg.

She forced herself to remain motionless as he inched closer and closer. She could hear his ragged breathing now, and he was so close she could smell his breath -- foul, putrid, like something rotten.

She leaped to her feet and raced toward the convenience store hoping to get there in time and lock herself in. She could hear him coming behind her, dragging his leg, and hoped it would slow him down enough for her to get inside. She lunged at the door and tore it open; throwing herself inside, she reached up and turned the lock.

Once again, lightning flashed and she saw him coming closer, that one menacing eye, dark, piercing, straining to locate her in the darkness. She dove behind the counter squatting down on the floor, one arm reaching up, hand groping blindly for her cell.

He was at the door now, banging his fist against the glass. Her hand closed over the cell phone and she quickly punched in 911, praying help would arrive in time. As she cried into the phone, telling the operator her location and the nature of her emergency, she heard glass shattering and knew he was coming for her.
© Copyright 2015 River (riverbedwriter at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2042175-The-Check-Mark