He's Watching Me (8 page)

“Laura?” yet again, her name was mentioned by the policeman. A voice echoing from the tumult.

“Yes, I am here,” she very quietly informed him.

“I saw bits of what happened on the monitor, are you okay?” he asked with an authentic concern.

Yeah I am just great!
She thought sarcastically.
“Yes I am just......” she paused for a moment, feeling astronomically guilty for leaving Toby behind.

“I feel bad for leaving Toby, the clown has probably got him now,” her face wrenched out buckets of tears, pouring down her face.

“No he is okay,” he burst in.

Her head bounced up as the tears seized at that information, and her crinkled face became smooth.

“What, how?” she couldn't believe it.

“I managed to close the door after the clown had left and started chasing you.”

“How did you manage that? I thought you said you couldn't do it remotely? That it wasn't working?” she was happy, but bewildered, drying her face with the backs of her hands.

“It just worked after a few attempts, another of the many gems I don't have time to go through. All of which I advised Dr Anderson on, so don't worry, there are back ups. Such as the heat sensing cameras.”

Laura felt relieved. Which was short lived, as it was quickly overtaken by meddling.

“Speaking of, how come you didn't detect the clown?” she inquired, clearing her throat.

“What do you mean?” he was baffled.

“You said there were only two people at the time I left the panic room, me and Toby. So how come your heat detecting thing couldn't detect the clown? He was just outside. Or he must have been to sneak past me and in the panic room,” Laura rambled.

Silence: an incredibly awkward one.

“Oh no....” Officer Thompson gasped.

“What is it?” Laura began to worry.

“That means Toby is too cold to be detected,” he spoke with regret.

“Meaning? I don't... oh my g-” a lump became lodged in her throat as realization hit hard.

Toby was in fact dead.

Laura was crushed, a heavy burden weighing on her shoulders and bringing a fresh lease of tears. So young, such a nice, lovely boy, gone. His spirit roaming in heaven now. She was devastated. All because of a mentally unhinged man who no doubt had a terrible upbringing. Who found pleasure in terminating lives. In no time her eyelashes were drenched, face completely soiled in tears, Laura was a wreck. Her chest felt congested and oesophagus sticky and narrow. This only intensified by being in his room, surrounded by his toys, games, bed, books and other personal belongings. The novelty race car bed which he would sleep in, or hold his game's control as if it was his most prized possession. His desk, where he would actually do homework, unlike most kids that age. The en-suite bathroom where he would keep nice and presentable. An innocent, blameless boy taken from this world.
The universe is so unfair.

“How are you?” the eager policeman muttered through the phone.

“Okay, I guess, I can't believe Toby is.....................dead.....his parents will be heartbroken,” she sobbed down the telephone line, barely audible. Officer Thompson struggled to understand her.

“They will, and yes, it is a tragedy. Always is. He was a lovely young man,” he responded.

Laura couldn't help but take offence to the callas and cold attitude. As if it wasn't a person but merely a statistic, a casualty of this unfortunate event. But in an officer's line of work, death and fatality was most likely a regular occurrence. But she was irritated nonetheless. This was a human being, and a child at that! But she had to let it go if she had any chance of getting out alive.

“What now?” she had to change the subject as rage was building. It wasn't a great idea to spout anger at the only man helping. Quite possibly the only chance of surviving.

“We have to at least get you out alive.”

“How are we going to do that?” she asked, using forearms to rid her face of tears, again.

“I can still monitor you through the heat you're emitting,” he informed like a scientist.

Laura didn't want to ask the next question, dreading the answer. But it had to be done.

“Where is... he...” the last word dragged out like a tooth being yanked from a kid's mouth.

There was an unsettling pause as the officer surveyed the cameras, when a thought occurred to Laura.

“Hang on, didn't you originally say he was in the computer room?” her eyes squinted in concentration.

“What? Oh, yes, I did,” Officer Thompson wasn't sure where she was going with this.

“Why did you think that?” Laura quizzed, drying each forearm against her black top.

“As there was heat down there, the same as what yours and....” he tailed off.

“What? Officer Thompson?”
I really wish he wouldn't pause mid-sentence!

“Hang on a second, I just want to check something,” he mumbled, clearly preoccupied.

He left her hanging in the dark, literally. Not hanging, but regardless, stuck in the dark, alone. With the exception of a raving rainbow coloured lunatic prowling the halls.

“Oh, well that doesn't.....”

“What?” she was becoming irritable and quick-tempered.
Just tell me dammit!

“There is someone downstairs.”

“What? Who?” her upper arms tingled, she could feel the phone against her ear begin to quake.

“I don't know, but that heat being emitted is still there.”

“It's not the clown?” Laura asked.

“No, the clown is.......on the move.”

“Moving where?” she inquired, itching her back.

“He must be in the stairwell as the heat is circling, and I doubt he is walking around repeatedly.”

“Which floor?” she worried.

“He has just left the fourth, and is walking down to the third, to........yours,” he gulped.

Laura backed to the window, adding as much distance from the door as possible.

“Is he still going down?” she whispered, still pacing backwards.

No answer.

“Officer Thompson, is he still walking down the stairs?” she raised her vocals to a stage whisper.

Silence. Using wit, she looked at the phone. The timer indicated the call was still active. But the flashing signal bar in the top left corner showed no connectivity. She tiptoed forwards a couple of feet staring at the signal bar.

“There?” it sounded like the end of a sentence, the end of a question. Laura quickly placed the phone back to her ear.

“Sorry, I think my signal cut off,” Laura brushed hair from her face.

“I told you, the signal in that house is terrible, so temperamental. Where did you go?”

“Just to the window, away from the door, where is the clown?” she asked, now gawking at the door, envisioning would could potentially be on the other side.

“He just got off at your floor,” angst was even present in his voice, and he was at a location of safety. Unlike Laura, who only had a few feet and block of wood between her and a multi-hued mad man.

“You locked the door yeah?” he checked.

“Yes,” she forced out through an increasingly tight chest.

“Good, just stay quiet, and don't give him any reason to suspect that room is where you're hiding,” he advised, trying his utmost to radiate calm.

“Ok..ay,” her voice warbled, nerves taking control of her speech.

“He is just walking outside the room now, stay still and silent,” he ordered, holding his breath in anticipation.

She pictured the clown on the other side of the door. Brightness slithering down the halls. Fingers wiping walls, hands grasping at handles, all while whistling nursery rhymes. The painted face, sizeable clown feet squeaking against carpet, collisions of colours slinking onwards.

“Wait, he has stopped outside the bedroom door you're in, don't make a sound,” even he spoke quiet now, clearly horrified. Time seemed to standstill as they both waited for the clown's next move.

Then the most frightful noise broke the breathless silence. An odd sound.
A triangle? Knife?
After a few
seconds Laura knew what it was: the jangling of keys. Then one of them being inserted into a lock.

“He has a key? Oh my God he has a key!” Laura hushed, frantically. She was trapped and terrified.

“HIDE!” the officer of the law spoke in a whisper, but almost broke into the boundaries of normal talking volume. The jitters apparent in his voice made Laura drop instantly, collapsing behind the bed and wriggling under it. The jingle continued as she snaked further under the race-car bed, forearms brushing carpet. Luckily the dark provided decent cover. But the moon was gleaming through the window, highlighting the bed, exposing Laura's hiding place.

Fortunately there was black frill dangling from the bed, supposedly tyres to the car. She pulled it down for camouflage just as the door unlocked. Laura could hear it stroke carpet. A whooshing as the wood and carpet rubbed. Officer Thompson didn't speak, full of anxiousness. Laura now more than ever needed assistance. Physical support to protect and ensure safety. The bright red boots glowed, dim light bouncing off the shiny leather. The boots raised little by little, then pushed down on carpet, trying to remain unknown, not aware that Laura could see them. Or maybe he was aware, but Laura blocked that thought immediately. To indulge in that chance was too much to handle.

He was looming, only a few inches from the bed. Her head was only a short space away from the feet. Laura could actually see hairs on her arms jolt up, as if an electrical vault had sent the flesh into rigid formations of vertical hairs. Pimples were beneath these hairs, small lumps that held the hairs in place. Like ant mountains with thick strands of filament protruding from them. He moved around the base of the bed, towards the window. Then another oddly familiar audibility rung in her ears. A metal raking noise; the curtains were being closed. This unnerved Laura. But then the logic shone, like the moon just outside the window, which no longer subtly lit the room. He wanted to send the room into total darkness. As to why, Laura feared the answer to that question, but knew she was likely to find out very soon.

Chapter 8

The curtains remained closed, but the clown stuck his arms through and opened the window as wide as it would permit. It was freezing outside, rain was pounding trees and hitting grass violently. Wind howled around the castle and slapped stone walls with specks of sharp raindrops. Laura was inches from the window, and the full force of the cold could be felt. Only wearing a black top and red trousers; if she didn't move to a warmer location soon, the low temperatures would seriously affect her health, or become fatal.

Time went on as the clown roamed Toby's bedroom. Squeaking and sneaking as the maniac scavenged every possible hiding place where Laura may be. Closet doors creaked open, items clunked onto the carpet as furniture was rearranged and lifted. But what petrified Laura the most was the breathing. In between the many noises of ransacking for his prey, the all too familiar breathing resounded. That chilling breath filled the room. That eerie exhaling lurked in the room with the clown, forcing Laura to remember creepy conversations and frightening threats. The respiring scared Laura so much that she chose to block out sound. With elbows resting on the carpet and hands pressing each side of her head like earmuffs, noise was considerably suppressed. She also chose to close her eyes and pray for his departure.

Around fifteen minutes later Laura could have been in a freezer. She trembled. Each limb shaking ferociously, but still somehow able to stay quiet and undetected. She slowly raised her eyelids and let each hand fall from her ears. But nothing could be seen, and noise was minimal. It was impossible to distinguish if the maniac was still in the room perusing, or had left. Alone in the darkness of a castle, knowing a clown-dressed predator was skulking, made distress amplify a thousand times. Her entire body from head to toe, every square inch of flesh spiked like a hedgehodge, prickling with goosebumps, as definite evidence that Laura was fearful. And that was an understatement. Did he know she was in there? Did he open the window to draw her out? Or was he just too warm and stuffy in the clown outfit? Those questions, and more, loomed in Laura's consciousness. What was she to do? Wait until oxygen became an issue? Options were becoming scarce: either depart and try to live, or stay and quite possibly die. When a voice rang in her ears that made her heart stop.

“Laura, Laura,” the policeman spouted from the phone.

She quickly slapped it to her palm to drown out sound, but then realised that Officer Thompson could see both her and the killer. He wouldn't do anything to alert her location. It must be safe, or at the least very important.

“Yes,” she whispered so quietly the helpful officer could hardly hear.

“He's gone,” the officer exclaimed, relieved.

Thankfulness swam in her blood, paddling through the plasma and settling her nerves profoundly.

“You sure?” Laura checked, not wanting a repeat of the panic room incident. Double checking was a necessary precaution as the killer seemed to be a master of trickery.

“Yes, now hurry and get down to the first floor and let the officer in. There is still a presence in the computer room, so be careful. It could be one of my men. But I doubt they would stay in one room for this long. As for the clown, I can't detect his location. I'm pretty sure I'd be able to see if he was roaming the halls, or out in the foyer or stairwell. His heat would create bright luminous colours on the heat detection cameras,” he spoke, clearly feeling like the clock was against him, which it was.

“Okay, I am going,” Laura clawed from the bed and very cautiously took agile steps to the bedroom door, which was open.
Oh thank God, he must have left, as I'm sure he closed the door on his way in
.

Each step was done as if in a safari and constantly trying to avoid the attention of tigers or lions, anything life threatening and this psycho definitely made that list. Bewilderment came when the door began to shut by itself.
Remotely? Why would Officer Thompson do that? He just told me to leave? Was there a mechanism in the door? Was Officer Thompson closing it remotely or was it the wind?
But then a long recurrence of clicks and ticks droned, followed by heaps of blinding light. Laura was momentarily stunned by whiteness disorientating her vision, as every light switched on. Her arms became a shield as she turned away from the sudden burst of light. Until it began to dilute and settle, as she inched her eyes open. Her sight adjusted steadily and aimed forwards. But they did not lead out, only exploited what was still inside the room: the clown.

Laura was only a few steps from the door when it moved as the lights came on; the clown had been hiding behind it. He edged forwards, with an insidious smile swept across his face, chuckling disturbingly. It was the laugh of a hyena, high pitched cackles. His eyes were so intense and full of rage, taught and heinous. An anime sketch with disproportionately large eyes. The laugh contrasting greatly with this look of loathing. Two opposites working in harmony to instil cowardice. She was truly stuck, lacking any idea of what to do next, other than stand and die.

Which she soon concluded was the most probable occurrence when the clown revealed he was holding half a candlestick. One end was the wide, circular base, gleaming silver, and the other end sharp and coated in blood.
Wait, was that from Toby's shoulder? Did he bring that from the panic room?
Laura had just established how phenomenally insane this individual was. He killed an innocent young boy with it, now he was going to kill her. No doubt it would be displayed like a trophy in the lunatic's home. A souvenir of sickness. 

With the phone still held to her ear, Officer Thompson's voice was blurring into her delicate consciousness.

“Run, run now, get away from him,” his voice ordered. But her body refused to cooperate, too overcome by abhorrence. Stuck in a statue-like state, until something the police officer said struck a nerve.

“Think of your parents, your family, survive for them! You can do this Laura!” he yelled.

This thrashed motivation through her entire body. An unquenchable yearning aligned, daring to risk her life, in order to see family again, and laugh with friends.

Laura dove forwards, swivelling around the clown, dodging and weaving his candlestick-wielding arm. He slashed desperately in an attempt to hack Laura to pieces, halting her bid for escape. The jagged tip nicked her neck and sliced through hair a couple of times. Her blonde locks swished as she vaulted out the bedroom. It soon came to her attention that the lighting in the hallway had not turned on, just Toby's room. Which was baffling. In the midst of sprinting she assumed all lights had been switched off then on by a main circuit board. So when it came back on, all the lights in the castle would come back. So how was it possible for one bedroom light to come on and leave other parts of the castle in the gloom? The clown knew what he was doing, and that terrified Laura. This seemed premeditated, not just a random kill, but a plotted, well thought out scheme. The narrow, dark corridor seemed to last forever as she barrelled for the stairs. Heavy, clumsy footsteps pounding the floor, almost tripping. Moonlight grew near as the stairs were getting closer. Laura used the walls to lead her to the stairs, leaning on them for support, hands spidering along them quickly. Paintings and other wall mounted artwork clattered and crumbled to the floor, leaving a line of destruction at her feet.
With any luck that will slow the bastard down!
More expensive portraits and landscapes thumped onto the carpet, their frames splintering. Sculptures cracked and smashed as Laura barged into them, swaying left and right as her feet fought for control. Then, reaching the first step, she began her expedition downwards, clinging tightly to the bannister. But despite efforts to maintain control of all muscles and movement, her legs became tangled.

This sent Laura tumbling hard; head over heels. She spun sideways to the second floor, continuing on to the first. Her skull repeatedly smacking each stone step, laced with carpet. It was only now that it became clear how thin the carpet was, painfully thin. A continuous pounding bashed her eardrums as the noise of her own skull cracking brought nausea. Consciousness hung in the balance as Laura became woozy. Her vision was a surreal blur of stone and red carpet illuminated by a sliver of moonlight. Laura's head throbbed as her bag of bones smashed each and every step. Clonk, clonk, clonk. But Laura was disturbingly at peace.
At least I am moving,
she managed to think in the spiralling chaos. A painful spell that seemed to last an eternity soon came to an end when smooth, cold beech wood came into sight, with rugs plotted around like small pools of blood. Laura collided with the wood hard.

The air held her for a couple of seconds, waiting to spit her out at just the right moment. The first time Laura had truly been at peace was in this instance, floating, free from gravity, temporarily. The air cradling, the freedom. But then reality came into focus, and hit her with a clout, literally.

Laura felt as though she had been dropped from a ten story building, declining through the sky for a millennia, and then finally crashing against earth. She slumped but somehow maintained consciousness. Every crack and crevice of her was thumping with every type of anguish. Pins and needles tingled everywhere. A whooping swung around the insides of her skull as she tried to concentrate on making the necessary preparations to stand. Hands were the first to co-operate, pushing Laura from the ground until her torso was vertical. Next, the knees lifted her like a fire-fighter rescuing a damsel in distress. But it was her soul that held, a brawniness that kept her steady. But then the demons of her cranium made recent occurrences come to light, in a foyer with nothing but darkness. A vast space with shadows and statues, some resembling people. Stone figures prowling in the sombre hall.

The rainbow of stresses all held within one man shone in front of her, as if he were actually there. Then the thought boomed,
he could be here any second
. But, to balance the situation, and keep equilibrium and maintain a natural order, there was a policeman at the other side of the front door. This gave her thighs and calves no choice but to follow her wishes. Laura drudged onwards as if wading through a lake containing a litter of sleeping snakes, administering caution with every step.

Which led her foot to touch something squishy, and wet, almost causing her to slip. Caught unaware Laura almost slipped on the substance. By this point her eyes had adapted to the lack of light and she looked down to see the cause of this. Laura struggled to remain vertical when her eyes fell upon the bloody corpse of a police officer.

She felt like a ship that had just crashed against jagged rock, optimism leaking out and anxiety piling in. And her own vessel being dragged downwards, succumbing to sways of giant sea waves. That was her lifeline, the life raft on this voyage of tremors, and with the snap of two fingers, it was gone. Taken from her grasp. Had the criminally insane individual had time to do this? Something did not fit into this jigsaw puzzle.

This innocent man, this selfless officer of the law. This could-have-been hero was spread out on the wooden beams, blood spurting from a deep slit in his neck. The gouge allowed plasma to empty energetically, red fluid leaking onto the floor forming a large puddle. The navy uniform soiled, uneven and torn. His face was contorted in terror, that image itself was enough to make Laura squeal. A pale sheen masking the features among specks of blood. Scratches and bruises marked the flesh. This man hadn't died peacefully, that was for sure. It appeared as though he had lost a battle with a lawnmower. But Laura knew no gardening tool had done this, the massacre before her was the result of a lunatic clown. The metallic tang of his bloody lingered in the air, testing Laura's gut. Then came an idea. Police officers carry weapons, and radios to contact other officers. Laura could look for a radio or weapon that was no doubt hiding in the gloom somewhere. Or even her own phone, which had most likely clattered down the stairwell, accompanying Laura on her rocky descent. A noise suddenly came from upstairs, pushing all these brave ideas aside. Total despair was beginning to consume her. But before Laura could scream, a cold, fleshy palm trapped the noise. This hand wasn't Laura's. She didn't know whether to yell through the tightly sealed fingers, try and bite them, or stay quiet. As this person was clearly not the clown if the lack of gloves was any indicator. But also the forearm was not wearing a coloured sleeve. But this unnamed individual could still be dangerous. The hand stunk of dirt and nature, as if they had been rolling around in a forest. What was even more disorientating was that the arm looked slender, hairless and feminine. Tiny, delicate wrists and soft skin and a silver band on the wedding finger.

“Shhh stay quiet, he'll find us, follow me,” the female-sounding voice advised Laura.

Was this female someone to be trusted?
But then logic broke through the cave of her skull and landed on her jelly-like brain. This was a girl, or woman, who would be much easier to defeat than a large crazed man armed with a spiked implement. If it came down to it. But there was a quality about this woman that was friendly and trustworthy, and dare Laura think it,
familiar.