Chapter 4

For fear of losing my phone in the dark, I enabled the flash notification feature.

Now, the screen was flashing wildly.

There was no sound, but in the pitch-black room, the bursts of light were impossible to miss.

Damn it.

I didn't even have time to think about how the killer had gotten my number.

The killer let out a sinister chuckle, tightened his grip on the hammer, and charged straight toward my room.

I yanked the door open and sprinted for the stairs.

Thankfully, I'd picked a room close to the stairwell.

At the same time, a text message came through from my friend.

He told me he'd already called the police.

They would arrive in about thirty minutes.

I just had to protect myself and hold out for another half hour.

He also said the third floor had plenty of places to hide and urged me to get down there if possible.

There was no time to reply.

I stood at the fourth-floor landing, chose to trust him, and ran downstairs.

Then I saw them.

The killer had placed several boards across the steps.

Each one was covered with nails.

The moment I stepped on one, the nails punched straight through my shoe and into my foot, their tips bursting out through the top.

Holy hell.

The soles of my shoes were thick.

Just how long were those nails?

Pain exploded through my body, and my vision nearly went black.

I almost passed out on the spot.

Compared to dying at the hands of a serial killer, I'd rather jump off the building.

At least that would be quick.

What the killer had in store was a fate worse than death.

Determined not to end up murdered and violated by that monster, I forced myself to stay conscious.

I bit down on my shirt to keep myself from screaming as I slowly pulled my foot off the nails.

Cold sweat poured down my forehead.

I could worry about tetanus later.

Staying alive came first.

I grabbed one of the wooden boards, flipped it over, and used it to slide down the remaining stairs.

I had no choice but to follow my friend's advice and hide on the third floor.

In my condition, I couldn't keep running much farther anyway.

Every movement sent a fresh stab of pain through my foot.

After taking a look around, I noticed there was far less dust on the third floor than on the fourth and fifth.

Upstairs, footprints stood out clearly in the thick layers of dust.

Down here, they didn't.

That saved me the trouble of wasting precious time trying to cover my tracks.

Or rather...

The third-floor hallway wasn't clean at all.

The sticky residue coating the floor looked like blood that had accumulated over countless years.

It looked like bloodstains left behind by victims who had been dragged across the floor.

Perfect.

The blood dripping from my injured foot blended into the old stains beneath me, making it harder to notice.

From upstairs came the sound of pounding footsteps mixed with the rhythmic clang of a hammer striking metal.

I quickly slipped into the nearest room I could find.

Thankfully, the door was already broken.

Exposed rebar protruding from the floor had jammed it in place.

There was no need to open or close it, which meant no noise.

Just inside the room, to the left, stood a massive wooden wardrobe.

It was large enough to fit two adults.

A perfect hiding place.

I did my best to control my breathing.

Over and over, I repeated the same words in my head.

“There's still hope. I'm going to be okay. I can survive this.”

Through a narrow gap, I watched the light draw closer and closer.

Then my heart sank.

The blood.

The trail from my injured foot.

Fresh blood looked nothing like years-old stains, especially under a light.

And a man obsessed with blood would notice the difference far more easily than anyone else.

The killer followed the trail straight to my room.

The hammering stopped.

The killer seemed to be savoring the moment.

He enjoyed watching his prey flee, only to slowly realize that every path had been cut off and escape was impossible.

His laughter grew louder and sharper, drilling into my skull.

Every hair on my body stood on end.

I could only cling to a desperate, foolish hope.

“Please leave. Please don't find me. Please...”

Then, in the very next second, the killer stopped in front of the wardrobe.

He tightened his grip on the hammer, raised it high, and swung with all his strength.