I woke up in my bedroom in the middle of the night. I’m usually a heavy sleeper and nothing can wake me up that easily. This night, something did. Or someone, I’m not sure.
I was sleeping when I heard a knocking sound on my window. Knock, knock, knock, I heard in the state of half-sleep. I opened my eyes and tried to adjust them to the darkness in my room. I could barely see anything. I concluded that I was probably just sleeping so I went back to sleep.
I think I’ve drifted off into a deep slumber right off and I don’t know how long it was before I heard that knocking sound again. Knock, knock, knock. I opened my eyes again and tried to stay away a little longer in case something or someone was really knocking. I’m a true crime documentary fan and those stories can get into your head pretty quickly. When you get to know what’s really going on in the world, you figure you can never be too careful.
I rose up in bed and tried to see if there was anything at my window that was causing the knocking sound. From the point where I was sitting I couldn’t see anything. I wondered for a moment if I should get up and check it out in case there was a potential intruder/peeper standing on the other side. Then I considered the pros and cons of checking it out. I might either startle the intruder or anger him.
Finally I decided not to get up and check the window (windows are always scary-looking at night), but instead took a long metal bar I kept underneath my bed and put it beside me, just in case. After a few seconds or maybe even a few minutes, I drifted back to sleep.
In the morning I woke up with a start. I sprung out of the bed, knocking my arm on the metal bar in the process. I stood up and started looking around, searching for something. I didn’t really know what I was searching for. I rushed to the window and looked outside. Approaching windows in broad daylight doesn’t seem like a bad idea. I haven’t found anything suspicious there. Besides, my bedroom was on the first floor without a roof underneath it and it would be difficult for an intruder to climb uo there… Without a ladder or something. Then I thought it would be a good idea checking the ground beneath my bedroom window for any tracks be it a ladder or something else. I almost ran down the stairs and then stoppes in my tracks.
On the wall of my living room I could read in clear, bloody dripping letters: GET OUT!
What the hell??? I was terrified. I sniffed the letyers and they were definitely blood. I guessed that a forensic expert could determine id it was human blood or not. I checked my hand and legs for any cuts and bruises in case I was sleepwaking and had cut myself but there were none.
It was just then that a sinking feeling that someone was in my house overwhelmed me. Someone was in my house while I was asleep and that someone had written creepy words in MY living room with BLOOD…while I was sleeping upstairs! They could’ve killed me! They sure could’ve killed me! Why didn’t they? Why did they risk being caught just to leave me a bloody message?
I ran to every door and window in my house to check which one was unlocked. That could tell me where the intruder or the intruders entered the house. All the doors and windows were lockes from the inside. What the hell??
I sat down on a couch facing the bloody message, shaking visibly. Should I call the police? I was shocked that I hadn’t called them already. If a break-in happens in your house and a potentially life-threatening one, you don’t go around snooping for clues. You call the police. I hadn’t. Even while I was thinking about it, I continued sitting on the couch, staring at the creepy words on the wall.
The blood was half-congealed. I guessed that the words hadn’t been written a long time ago. I know, I was trying to be a detective. To figure out what was going on in my house. I still hadn’t called the police.
I don’t know how long I was sitting there. Probably the whole day because the light grew gradually dimer. It was dusk already. I got up off the couch and went to the kitchen to grab something to eat. My stomach was growling. A sandwich tasted food. Right now, everything tasted good. It tasted of peace and quiet and safety. It tasted of a cozy home. It tasted of my home before the knocking sound.
It was getting dark and I had to go to sleep. Again. I’d decided not to call the police and try to deal with the issue on my own. Didn’t know if it was a good idea or not, but it was already decides. Maybe I should’ve slept through the day to be awake and vigilant during the night? Unfortunately, it didn’t occur to me earlier, so now I had to choose sleep deprivation. I went back to the kitchen and made myself another sandwich and a large cup of coffee in hopes I would stay awake the whole night. I decided to stay in the living room and not go back to the bedroom. I brought a large and sharp kitchen knife with me, just in case.
After long hours of waiting for the intruder in my living room I could barely keep my eyes open. I rubbed them in hopes it would wake me up a little. When I opened my eyes it was already dawn. I looked around and figured I fell asleep some time during the night and haven’t even noticed it.
I raised my eyes to the wall in front of me. The bloody message was still there, though by now the blood had all dried out. But, this time, besides the blooded letters, I noticed big claw marks on the wall. I got up to inspect it. To me it seemed that the claw marks didn’t have to be made by actual claws. They could’ve been made with any sharp object. I was perplexed at how I hadn’t heard anything at all during the night. Someone clawing deep marks into the wall next to me was sure to wake me up. It didn’t. Was it possible that some stupid knocking sounds woke me up and the clawing with a sharp object next to ne didn’t? What was wrong with me?
I still didn’t want to call the police. It was my battle to win and my crime to investigate. I felt I had to do it alone. Someone was messing up with me. If they had a sharp object and were standing next to me, they would have surely killed me… but they didn’t. It meant they wanted to drive me crazy or drive me out of my house and not kill me. They had they opportunities twice in a row. My life was not their target.
This time around I wanted to be smarter so I used a big part of the day to sleep and rest my body. I wanted to be awake and alert during the night to catch the intruders. After a good rest, I armed myself with a kitchen knife, a pepper spray bottle and some ropes and duct tape I found in my house. I wanted to be ready.
I waited and I waited and nothing happened. I almost felt disappointed at the intruders. I wanted to catch them in action but nothing happened. It was quiet the whole night.
When I woke up the next day it was almost noon. I reached out for the coffee mug in a desperate move to get out of the sleepy state as soon as possible. As I was slowly drinking my coffee I looked around the room. Nothing new on the walls. Thank God! The intruders must have left me alone at last!
After I drank my coffee I got up from the couch and shuffled my feet to the kitchen to make myself something to eat. The kitchen floor was surprisingly wet and slippery. And a bit sticky, too. I know that I’m not the cleanest person in the world, but I would’ve never let my floors be so dirty.
I looked down to my feet and stopped in horror. I was standing in a pool of blood. What the hell was this?? The last time I checked there were no pools of blood in my house. There was a bloody message on the wall, but this looked like a murder scene.
I tried to piece the things togethers. So, the intruders came in while I was awake… And possibly killed someone in my kitchen without me knowing. How is that even possible? How didn’t I hear it?
The next thing that came to my mind was – where is the body? And the very next – who was killed? I was starting to feel the dread filling my entire body. Somebody was killed in my house and I was spared? Why was I spared? Why wasn’t I killed too?
From the pool of blood there was a trail of it leading to the basement door. Great. Just like the horror movies. I armed myself with fake courage and slowly started descending into the basement. It was pitch black and it took me time to find the switch. And then I saw it.
At the bottom of the stairs there was a body of a man, all covered in blood. Holy shit! This was serious! Way to serious! I didn’t dare to check on the man. By the amount of blood, he was definitely dead.
I rushed back to the kitchen and frantically called 911. Then I sat on the couch and patiently waited for the police to come.
-How long has she been here?
-Three years now.
-Has she ever told anyone why she had done that?
-No. She repeats it wasn’t her.
-But l the evidence points to her, right?
-Right. There’s no doubt she’s the killer.
-Then how can she maintain her innocence?
-She’s mentally ill. Have been suffering from paranoia and black outs her whole life.
-So what you’re saying is that there’s a possibility she doesn’t even know she killed him?
-Yes, most probably. That’s why she keeps saying she’s innocent. She blames it on the intruders.
-But in the report she also says that the intruders had been coming to her house for a couple nights before the murder. There was even a bloody message written on her living room wall.
-She wrote the message, but doesn’t remember it.
-With whose blood? Hers?
-No. It was someone else’s. But not the blood of the guy we found in basement.
-Someone else’s blood?
-So she had killed before?
-Most probably. Or at least seriously injured.
-And she doesn’t remember any of it?
-It seems so.
-Either that, or she’s faking insanity.