Fifty Two Weeks

He’s out there. I can just see him through the tiny slit of light between the two closet doors.

He’s pacing.

Why is he pacing? Why isn’t he looking for me? Why won’t he just leave the room? Maybe if he left I could make a run for it, maybe jump out the window. Something.

I’m breathing far too loud. What if he can hear me?

Short, shallow breaths, Casey, short, shallow breaths.

Come on, I can do this. I can get out of this. Don’t panic, don’t panic. If I panic, I’m dead.

“Casey.”

Stop. Do not move. Do not make a sound. Do not breathe. Do nothing.

“Answer me Casey.”

Do not cry. If I cry I’m dead. Do not panic. If I panic I’m dead.

“CASEY, LISTEN TO ME.”

Bite your knuckles, bite your knuckles. Do not scream.

He’s getting angry. He’s getting really angry.

Silence.

What is he doing? Where is he? I can’t see him.

Keep your hand over your mouth, Casey. Do not scream.

There he is. He’s pacing again. Back and forth, back and forth.

Did he just look over at me? No. No, of course he didn’t. Stop it. Don’t be paranoid. I have to keep my head clear.

He’s stopped pacing. He’s facing away from me.

“Casey. I’m getting impatient now.”

He turns around. He’s got a knife. He’s playing with it. I can see it flashing in the light. He’s twisting it in his palms.

I can feel cold sweat on my forehead.

How does he know that I’m in the room? Why isn’t he looking for me? Why isn’t he going for the closet?

Just stay calm. That’s the only way I’ll get out of here alive.

Why is he doing this to me? I don’t understand. I was the one who was always nice to him. Everyone else said he was weird and laughed at him, but I didn’t. Why is he doing this to me, why not them?

Crawl further back, Casey. Come on, you can do this. Move. Now. Do it.

Keep your back against the wall. Head straight ahead, keep watching the door.

Keep very, very still.

Do not move. Move and you are dead.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m doing this to you, huh?”

No sound. Do not make a sound.

“You were the one who was nice to me weren’t you? Why would I want to kill you of all people? It’s pretty simple actually. See, from these few years that my heart has unfortunately been pumping blood through my body, I have discovered one thing: People are not nice. People are mean, cruel, sadistic. People will take any opportunity to pull you underneath their foot and smash your face into the dirt and watch it rub away until you’re blood runs dry. I wish the whole goddamned human race would gut themselves and throw themselves into a huge, steaming pile of rotting corpses.”

He’s shouting now. Smashing the knife through the floor boards with each final word.

No noises, Casey, no noises.

He’s just sitting there now. Head hung low. Tracing patterns around the knife slits.

He’s looking at me. He’s just looked up and he’s looking at me. Right at me. Exactly where I am.

Slowly, slowly, he crawls over to me and sits himself down in front of the little crack I’m looking through.

“But not you. No, not you, Casey. You’re not mean, you’re just a little bud of sunshine now, aren’t you?”

I’m eye to eye with him, only a thin strip of wood between us. I can even see the little flecks of gold in his eyes.
I can feel tears quietly streaming down my face. Wipe them away Casey, don’t give him the pleasure.

“Do you know what else I’ve learnt, Casey?”

He’s so quiet now, I can barely hear him.

“When someone’s dead, they can’t change. They can’t forget you or hurt you or want nothing more to do with you. Do you know why, Casey? ‘Cause they’re dead.”

I flinch.

He’s quiet. I stare at the knife sitting in front of him.

“I’m real sorry I have to do this, Casey, but, I just don’t think I can let you go. You're the only person who's been even a little decent my whole goddamn life. I don't have any other option. I've got to kill you, I've got to. It's the only way you can be mine forever.
Don't you understand?”

I swallow. Control yourself, Casey, you are not going to die with tears streaming down your face, you’re not.

“ANSWER ME, CASEY”

He pulls the closet doors open. His face is all curled up some sort of feral snarl.

He is the most terrifying thing I have ever seen in my entire life.

But this isn't how I want it all to end. I will not allow myself to die curled up in a closet.

"SAY SOMETHING, CASEY"

And so I slowly raise my head and I look him right in the eye.

And I take a deep breath.

And then I spit.

I spit at him in the eye.

I spit at him for doing this to me, I spit at him for having ever let me think he was good deep down.

And then I know I only have seconds before I die.

And then I know that this is my only chance.

And then I know that my only hope of life is lying on the floor between us, glimmering slightly in the light.

So I grab it. And I feel its weight in my palm and just how solid and terrifying it feels to me. And I close my eyes and do what I know I have to do if I want to breathe again tomorrow.

And suddenly there is blood. And suddenly there is screaming.

But it doesn’t matter. Because it’s his blood and his screams.

Not mine.