The girl who was slaughtered

I still remember the tightness in my chest, squeezing my lungs, trapping the air inside of me unable to inhale, unable to exhale. I remember feeling his cold hand cling onto mine, sending shivers through my body as he pulled me back. Staring into his demonic eyes I could feel myself falling into the cages he had set up for me, I was unable to move.  

“Are you going to kill me?” I remember asking, my voice quivering higher than it was supposed to be, frail like my wobbly knees.  

“I'm not sure yet.” 

He said this, his cold eyes sent chills down my spine. What did that mean? I thought to myself, trembling, was that from the cold or from my fear? My warm breath could be seen leaving my mouth, it didn’t belong in the cold air. If I were to run, I’d slip on the ice-covered pavement, he’d catch me again, and I’d be dead. I've seen how fast he can run, he was like a blur compared to the girl he slaughtered. That’s right...the girl he slaughtered. I look down on the floor; she laid there, her mouth open, her skin pale and her eyes white. What did he do to her? I didn’t want to find out.   

I felt like I looked stiff, standing thunderstruck as I waited for him to make up his mind. I felt frigid or stuffed, like a statue in front of him. Maybe it was the cold freezing me slowly, ice forming over my bones, is he doing this to me? His eyes were icy blue...I swear they were grey? His skin became ghastly, his face was skinny he reminded me of a ghost or a ghoul...he sure smelt like one.   

That's when the distant sirens rang, I could see the blue and red lights flash and the glow it created on the white snow. This startled the man, he had nowhere to run, we were surrounded by white police cars, men in uniform pointing their guns at the murderer. There was a circle of policemen with the killer, the victim and the body. I thought it was dreamlike, my heart racing as the anger surged through the man's face, yet a faint smile was painting on it. 

"That was something you'd only see in movies." I muttered under my breath as I stared at my shoes.  

Saying this all to my therapist was hard; the words were trapped in my throat as I could see every detail, every hair strand fall from my scalp as he grabbed me, every drop of blood which leaked out of that poor girls neck. He didn't believe me, he thought I had lost the plot, I could see him judging me with his grey eyes as he sat coldly in his brown leather chair.  

He fiddled with a gel pen with his chugging fingers, balancing it between his index and middle finger. His left hand was placed calmly on the wooden table facing me as I slouched further down my chair, my chin melting into my neck as rolls appeared. My therapist leaned forward suddenly, which made my body flinch, I could feel every nerve in my body pulse as a flash of the girl who was slaughtered entered my head.  

"It haunts my dreams," I said quietly, "The past, after seven years, it still haunts me." 

“Why is that?” The therapist asked, his voice low and grumbly.  

My mind flashed back to when I was sleeping in my bed, alone and cold, the duvet was thin and did nothing to comfort me. Not even the hard pillows were enough for my head to rest on. That was when I felt a warm set of arm wrap around me, but I was home alone. I started to tremble as the warmth I received altered to a piercing coldness, the arms were like blocks of ever-lasting ice, I knew it was him, I knew he had come back to finish what he had started.  

“The man was never caught.” I muttered staring at him as he smirked at me, I could feel his eyes on me. He had laid down the pen on the desk and mashed his chubby fingers together, he was listening for once, which sent a tiny shock into my stomach as my hands began to tremble.

"No," The therapist smiled, "He didn't."

I remember opening my heavy eyes as I turned to my back. To see his sharp eyes staring down at me, illuminating in the dark, his smile mocking me. He had one, it was a game for him, and he had caught the prize...me. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing escaped. It was like his mere stare had grown a pair of arms and hands and wrapped itself around my neck. My heart pumped, hurting my chest as I tried to move yet I couldn’t. All I could do was stare fearfully into his poisonous eyes and pray in my head, that I wouldn’t perish.  

My therapist stared at me, there were wrinkles around his tight eyes. Those same eyes as the ones that stared at me that one night, those same eyes which couldn’t kill me those seven years ago, those same eyes which followed me, stalked me and watched me like a hawk. Fear still followed in my blood; my heart still tried to run away from the despicable creature which sat before me. Sweat still formed upon my forehead, even that wanted to run away from the abomination, falling off my face, suiciding towards to floor where it'd get swept away from my dangling feet.  

“Why are we doing this?” I asked, my voice breaking as tears fell down my face.  

“To get you better.” The man replied smiling. 

“This is making me worse, you here, pretending to be my therapist and haunting me.” I said, angering heating up my chest and throat like an infection.  

He stared at me. I could see his therapist making melting into his ghoulish one, I could see through the mask, his eyes could never change. They stayed the same; dead, rotten and cold. He smiled again, as the fake skin slid off his face, it was like he was getting reborn again. The slime stretched as his old face pulled off, it was awful to look at but after seven years of seeing it happen, I had grown completely numb to it.  

“The past will always haunt you,” He said quietly, “So let's have some fun with it.”