4:44 Part 2

    I'm sitting on a swing in the park. The sun is beating through the branches of the treeline behind me and makes beads of sweat roll down my back. My shirt sticks to my skin, but I don't move.

    All I can think of is the night before. The scene keeps replaying in my head.

    He got in. He had never come into a closed door before. 

    I had believed he had to be invited in.

    I was wrong. Horribly wrong.

    I had gone to the closet. It's where I always hid from him. Tucked away in the darkened corner with the sliding door pulled closed, I always felt safe. I had always been safe.

    The door handle rattled-nothing new-but then a creak followed. The same creak my door makes when it's slowly pushed open.

    My hands dropped away from my ears. It couldn't be... could it?

    Those were footsteps.

    I slapped my hand over my mouth to contain the shriek that wanted to fly out and pushed myself as far into the corner as I could.

    Would he see me?

    The door was slung open and I cried out.

    His ashen face with the too dark eyes peered down at me. His crusty lips twisted into a sinister smile, teeth pointed like a shark's. His bone-thin fingers curled around the door frame, sharpened nails scraping the wall one by one.

    I couldn't escape. I was frozen in this spot. I wanted to plead with the man in the top hat, but no sound would come out. My mouth was agape, there were tears brimming my eyes, but no noise.

    Is this where I die?

    "Maddie..." His voice was raspy and crawled across my skin.

    Those talon-like fingers reached for me.

    And I dove between his legs.

    I couldn't get to my feet fast enough, the floor slipped out from underneath my legging covered knees. He was on me in a second, pressing his forearm into the back of my shoulder to pin me to the floor. My arms thrashed out in an attempt to slap at the monster, but I couldn't reach.

    "Stop!" I shouted, my voice finally breaking through my fear. "Get off me!"

    He shoved my chest harder against the floor then pressed an open hand firmly between my shoulder blades. A searing pain lit my skin on fire like how I imagined a hot iron felt and I screamed, praying a neighbor might hear. I thrashed against the agony, but his claws sliced into my body when I did.

    Just a quickly as it had began, his weight disappeared from my back and the intensity of the pain subsided.

    I rolled to my side, heaving as I sobbed, and hugged my knees to my chest.

    He could touch me.

    He found me.

    He was real.

    I forced myself to my feet, pulling myself up by my counter. My mirror was hung above there. I could see the torn fabric of my shirt, and through that, something more. Something darker.

    A blackened hand-print.