Maybe this time.

A sly smirk curled its way over his face as he watched her through the window. She was making dinner; the window was slightly ajar, enough for the smell of the meat cooking to waft out toward him. He breathed deep, the smell of roast lamb making him hungry, but it was not food he would need to quench that hunger.

He already had his knife in his hand, as he shifted his position the blade caught the last rays of the setting sun and reflected them onto the back porch of the house. Every kill was different for him, every single one, while he stood there he was savouring the moment, planning everything down to the minute detail. He knew he would reflect back on the kill after it was done, wonder about ways to perfect his work, ways to make the excitement of it last longer.
The first kill felt the best, it was sloppy and he was terrified after, but the rush of adrenaline that came with it was like nothing he had ever known before. Each kill that followed it seemed to lose something; they shadowed it in time and in satisfaction. For that reason he had to keep killing, to find that rush again, to work out what he was doing wrong now that he didn’t do that first time.
As he watched her he thought, “This time. Maybe this one will be the one.”
He waited until she had sat down to eat. He knew she was alone, he had watched the house all day. He walked up to the slightly open window in the kitchen. He opened it properly and climbed inside.
He did not attack her straight away; instead he walked up the stairs and intentionally made a sound. He waited, he knew she would hear it, try to ignore it, pretend it was the wind or something. After a little while he made one of the upstairs doors slowly creak shut then he moved far away from it, knowing she would have to investigate.

Sure enough up the stairs she came turning on every light she passed and trying not to appear afraid. He remained hidden, letting her check the room and confirm that it was empty, he even heard her mutter something about it being, ‘just the wind.’
He allowed her enough time to settle down to her dinner again before he made another sound, this time in the upstairs bathroom. He dropped something breakable into the sink, smirked at himself in the mirror above it and then went back into hiding.
She came up the stairs again, her eyes wide and her hands shaking slightly, but still she tried desperately to show no fear. She got to the bathroom, looked at herself in the mirror, saw that she was frightened and tried to calm herself. She looked down into the sink, she smiled thinking herself a fool to be afraid of the sound of something slipping into the sink and breaking.
She looked back up at the mirror still smiling, but it was in that instant that the smile was wiped from her face and she stared in sheer terror at what was reflected in the mirror. He stood right behind her, the blade of his knife shining in his hand. She did not have time to turn around or scream. In less than a second he had moved and slid that blade gracefully across her throat.
She did not die instantly; he held her upright with his other hand as he stared at her in the mirror, blood dripping down from her neck. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t move, she could feel herself dying and she could do nothing to stop it. Nothing but stare at his reflection in the mirror as it stared back at her.
When she was dead he let her lifeless body fall to the floor.
“Maybe next time. Next time will be the one.”

White Walls

Despite the lack of posting I am still here. Other than writing more of the hitman story I've had a bit of writers block. Nothing seems to inspire me to the point of writing, nothing good anyway, and I don't want this to turn into a blog with nothing but whinny depressive posts that after you've read them you want to off yourself just to escape having to read more.
I'll give it a shot though.

It was perfect, the perfect apartment, the perfect main room. She stared at the white painted walls. The whole apartment looked brand new, she knew it couldn't be, the building was very old, but the previous owners had done a wonderful job of restoring it to newness. White walls, brand new carpet, perfectly clean cupboards, everything white. She had just unpacked all her belongings and was sitting down enjoying the personal freedom that comes with finally having your own place. She was wondering what colour to paint the walls. White was nice, but she wanted colours, rainbows of colours.

On her way home from work the next day she stopped off at the hardware store and picked up a few tins of sample paint, just to get a feel for what they would look like. Maybe she could even paint a mural if she had time. After she had finished dinner and put on some painting clothes, she opened the tins and splashed some colours on the walls. She found it hard to imagine what the whole place would look like in those colours so she started painting pictures, she wasn't very clean with her brush and bits of paint splattered onto the carpet and onto some of her furniture as well. She didn't mind, most of her stuff was second or third-hand anyway. When she had had enough fun paining kittens and puppies and what were supposed to be trees she closed up the tins and went to have a shower to wash the paint of her. After that she went straight to bed.

She got up at the last minute, hurriedly got dressed and raced off to work, she had been in such a hurry that she had not really looked at anything, so it wasn't until she got home that night that she noticed what should have been so obvious in the morning. The walls were white, there were no bunnies or kittens or puppies or trees, they were gone. She stared at the walls in shock. How was that possible?

She opened the tins again and practically poured the paint onto the walls, paint spilled everywhere, she smeared it on every wall until she was exhausted and then she showered and went to bed. She woke in the morning thinking it must have all been some horrible nightmare, but when she stepped into the main room she was greeted once again by the whiteness of those walls. She screamed!

After recovering from screaming she stared at the walls confused, the paint had to be somewhere, she knew she had painted it and when she opened the tins again they were all nearly empty so she must have used it. She still had a crowbar sitting near the window, she had used it to open some of her crates when she moved it. She picked it up and using the bent end she tried to scrape off the white paint to find her paint underneath, but there was nothing. She scraped to the giprock and broke through that to reveal a wall cavity. She gave up and slumped on the couch just staring at the hole in the wall.

She was sure there was nothing in the deeds mentioning this strange phenomena, she would have noticed and something like this really should be enclosed with the sale information. No wonder the place had been cheap. She bit her nail, did she really need coloured walls she wondered. She knew she didn't, but that wasn't the problem anymore, the problem was that she didn't understand it or know if it was safe to keep living there.

She decided to paint the walls again and then stay up the whole night just to see what happened. She painted and then she sat down and waited. As she waited she noticed that it wasn't just the walls, there was no paint on anything, not even her things, she started to regret her decision to stay up in that room.

As the night drew on the shadows in the room started to move, at first she thought she was sleepy and just seeing things, but no, they turned into two people and started attacking each other. As she watched they stabbed each other and real blood came out of the shadowmen. It splattered on everything, including her. She looked on frozen in disbelief. Then as suddenly as it started they both fell down, apparently dead, she watched as the shadows sank into the carpet and disappeared. It was at that point that she noticed the blood and every other bit of dirt or out of place thing, like the paint on the walls slowly slid down the walls and the furniture and that too was sucked into the carpet. She stood up amazed and walked over to the wall, wanting to see if she could touch the paint as it moved, but that was a mistake.

She did not belong in that room either and she began to sink into the carpet, she didn't even notice it at first, she had been too transfixed on the sliding paint, but when she did she screamed and tried to get back to the couch. It was too late, she struggled and screamed but the carpet ate her up like quicksand and when the morning came it was a nice clean perfect room.