Molly woke up in a cold sweat. It was one of those dreams so vivid that she didn't want to move, couldn't move. She just lay there, breathing hard, and trying to forget the horrors that had been chasing her only seconds ago in a world that she tried to tell herself is not real. A world where shadows come to life in the form of huge faceless men with long white fingers gripping sharp knives. A world that should flee on waking like mist in the wind, but still grips your mind like the talons of a hawk.

She could feel her heart thumping in her chest, as she lay motionless. This waking was not much different that many others she experienced as a child when the thought of moving even a finger was not an option. Movement would only let the evil's lurking in her dark room know she was awake.

Trying to push aside her fears and convince herself that she was being childish, she barely moved one leg. She felt her sweaty, bare foot stick to the soft, white sheets. The thin material of her nightgown clung to her back like a second skin.

She tried to think of the dream that woke her up. Someone, something, was in her house. Creeping up the steps towards her room. It had knocked over something that made a noise loud enough to cause her to jump, but was it in her dream? Was there really something that made her wake up other than herself? No. Nothing, she told herself. Just the frighten thoughts of a child's past nightmares, but still, she lay as motionless as a corpse.

She was still taking in shallow breaths, and telling herself that dreams were dreams and there was nothing to be afraid of, when she heard something thump in the living room below her bedroom. It sounded like something heavy hitting the carpet. Her eyes shot open and she stared across her room. Shadows shifting and fading in and out as heavy clouds drifted over the moon shining in her bedroom window.

Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton and she couldn't breath. Somewhere below, a board squeaked. Thoughts flew through her mind in a whirlwind. Should she just remain still? Fake sleep, and maybe who or whatever it is will go away? Should she hide? Call 911 a voice whispered in her head. A voice that surfaces from that primeval part of your brain, that's main function, is survival. A voice that is aroused from sleep when fed adrenalin.

Another squeak, and this time it sounded a little closer, maybe on the steps. Molly forced herself up enough to where she could reach the phone on the bed stand. Her hand was shaking so badly that she was sure she would drop the phone, which would no doubt set off the alarm that she was awake, and send whatever evil was out there crashing into her room.

She moved her hand towards the phone, but instead of grabbing it, she hit it with her trembling fingers. The phone moved to the edge of the bed stand, and in one horrifying moment, she thought she really would knock it to the floor, but it only shifted and stayed in place. With a hand still shaking as if she were in a bitter cold wind, she picked up the phone and pushed 911.

Another board creaked and Molly knew that this was the one at the top of the steps and only ten feet from her door. Being twenty-two and living alone in the outskirts of Madison County, Molly always slept with her bedroom door closed and locked. She didn't really consider herself paranoid, just cautious. Whatever you called it, she thanked God she did it.

'911 operator. Is this an emergency?'� the calm voice of the female operator said into Molly's ear. Now she could hear something scraping across the wall outside her room. It made a light, scratching sound and had a slight, metallic ring.

'Hello? Is someone there?'� The voice on the phone said.

Yes someone's here and they are only about three steps away from breaking down my door and cutting my throat. Molly wanted to scream into the phone, but couldn't even manage a whisper. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

Another habit that Molly had developed was to always keep a night-light burning on the landings of her steps. This one threw a dim, but distinct shaft of light under her closed door and across the carpet.

A shadow materialized, spilling under the door like black paint, and whatever was making the scratching noise along the walls, was now being run across the front of her door. She could hear it move across the plastic sign that Lisa had given her for her 22nd birthday that read Molly's Room. Men Working. Then something pinged on the brass doorknob and stopped. Molly stopped breathing and stared at the door. Through dim light of the room, she could see the knob try to turn.

Molly dropped the phone on the bed, and somewhere, a thousand miles away, she could hear the faint voice of the 911 operator telling her that if someone didn't answer she was going to hang up. The knob made a slight clicking sound as it went as far as it would to the right, then back again to the left. Molly, now frantic, scanned the room for a place to hide.

Her heart was thudding so hard in her chest that she thought it would explode. She knew she only had seconds before her door would break down, and whoever was standing outside would burst in. The closet would be a trap and under the bed would be too obvious. The window. The porch roof was too high to jump off of, but she thought she may be able to sneak back in the window of the second bedroom.

The pinging on the doorknob started up again in slow deliberate taps. Still trying to remain as quite as possible, Molly pulled the sheets back and rolled off the bed. She inched down the cord for the blinds, raising them up in a crawl.

Ping'� ping'� ping.

She eased the thumb locks to the side and lifted the window. The screen had been broken since last fall, and now Molly was glad that she had never got around to getting it fixed.

Ping'� ping.

Her bed was close enough to the window that she could use it to step through the window. She had done this many times before on warm summer evenings, for the pure enjoyment of the peaceful sounds of the country and the beautiful view of the stars. Molly would have given anything for that to be the only reason she was doing this now.

With one foot on the bed and one reaching out the window, she turned back to look at the door. The pinging had stopped, which was strangely more disturbing than the pinging itself. The shadow, which had crept under her door, retreated as the intruder moved back a few steps. A second later, the door smashed inward throwing splinters across the bed in a spray.

Molly screamed and pushed herself out the window. She had her hands on the rough shingles of the roof and was pulling her feet through when something grabbed her foot. She screamed again and kicked her feet like she was swimming to the finish line.

She yanked as hard as she could, and her foot came loose, sending her tumbling down the roof. She stopped two feet from the edge, out of breath and heart pounding. Something was still on her foot. She jumped to her feet and shook it wildly. The mini blind from her window fell off in a heap.

Ping'� ping'� ping.

She snapped her head towards her window.

A huge shape loomed just inside her room, concealed in shadows. The blade of a ten inch butcher knife gleamed in the moonlight as the shape tapped it on the aluminum windowsill.

Ping'� ping.

Molly's eyes flicked towards the window that led into the second bedroom. She took a slow step in that direction.

The knife withdrew through the window, but the shape remained just inside. She took another step. A huge hand emerged from the shadows and gripped the bottom of the upper sash. In one motion the upper section of window was torn inward, and Molly heard a shattering explosion as it was thrown into the room. Molly sprinted towards the other window. From the corner of her eye she could see a monstrous black boot moving out of the window.

She reached the second window and tore at the screen. The fingernail on her left index finger first bent then caught the screen and tore half way off of her finger. She screamed out in pain, but continued to try to tear the screen free.

She prayed that her best friend Lisa had stayed true to her habit of never locking the window after staying over. She was there last night, and Molly had forgotten to check the lock before going to bed. If it was locked, she knew she would have to risk a broken ankle, or leg, by jumping off of the roof, which to Molly's relief, wouldn't be necessary.

'Thank you,'� Molly gasped as the screen finally pulled loose. She shot a glance to her right, and saw one hand on the side of the window-opening and the other hand whipping the knife back and forth through the air, making thin swishing sounds in the cool night air.

'Please Lisa'� please,'� Molly moaned, grabbing the bottom of the window. It was up about a half inch, which allowed her to just get her fingers under the wood frame. Thinking of nothing but opening the window, she didn't even flinch when the nail peeled the rest of the way off.

She pulled up on the window, and nothing happened. 'No!'� she screamed. She looked to her right and could see a head, which looked almost too big to be human, starting out of her window. She yanked again, and this time it moved up about three inches before jamming. She heard a grunt as the man pushed himself out onto the porch. 'Open. Open, damn you!'� She jerked the window side to side, and it inched upwards in such small increments that she had to fight back the urge to just kick the glass in with her bare foot.

She could hear the sound of large boots crunching on the shingled roof. The metallic scraping sound had started again as the man drug the blade across the wood siding. With every fiber of her strength she pulled the widow again, and this time it slid up, banging hard against the wood frame. Without looking, she dove through the opening, leaving small bits of flesh as her legs scraped across the aluminum sill. She hit the floor hard and rolled up against the dresser, slamming her head against the solid wood drawers. She struggled to get to her knees then fell and lay motionless on the floor.

When she first opened her eyes she didn't really know where she was or how she got there, then reality poured back in like a flood. She nearly screamed, but managed to force herself to stay quiet. She didn't know if she was out for an instant or an hour, but the dim light showing through the window lead her to believe that it had only been a moment. There was no sound from the porch roof, and only the light rustling of the drapes broke the silence.

Her head was pounding like she had just awoken from a three-day whiskey binge. Afraid of what she would find, she reached up, felt her head and winced when she touched a lump on her head that was roughly the size of a golf ball. She looked over her shoulder and saw that the door that led to the hall was closed. Did she close it? Did Lisa close it before she left? She couldn't remember.

The curtains continued to flip and snap in the increasing breeze like giant bat's wings. Something made a scuttling sound on the porch roof, and her chest tightened. With wide eyes, she scanned the room looking for a weapon, while fighting back the panic that was trying to rise up her spine. There was nothing. Not even a coat hanger.

She was taking shallow breaths in quick gasps and could feel the room starting to spin. No. You can't pass out, not now. Molly forced herself to focus. Focus on a weapon if you want to live! she screamed at herself. She slowed down, taking deeper breaths, concentrating on how to protect herself.

Cold wind, laced with the smell of rain, blew the curtains into the room in spasmodic jerks, sending dark shadows dancing across the floor like demons.

A weapon. Something was gnawing at her mind like the chewing of an unseen rat hiding in the walls of an old farmhouse. What is it? The thought was right there, but it was like trying to grab smoke.

Suddenly the thought poured into her head like hot lead. The gun. How could she have forgotten? She had never taken it out of the desk where her father had put it when she first moved in, and really had never even thought about it again. She remembered telling him that he was crazy for doing it, but now she thanked God he did.

With great effort, she pushed herself back to her feet, again wincing at the pain that shot through her head. She could feel the knot pulse with each beat of her heart and had to fight back the nauseous feeling that was pouring into her stomach like battery acid.

Molly could hear the distant rumble of thunder crawling across the fields as tonight's promised spring storm rolled in from the west. As she turned towards the door she saw a shadow flow across the room. Molly's heart leapt into her throat. She looked back at the window, and standing in the opening was'� nothing. The curtains. It was only the curtains. It had to be, but turning her back to the window was as hard as jumping off the high dive for the first time.

She knew she had to get out of the room and into the study. The study with its heavy oak desk... and the gun. Molly couldn't remember if the gun was loaded or even if her dad had put the shells in the same drawer, but she hoped he did. Prayed he did.

A heavy gust of wind shook the house causing the door to the hall to rattle in its frame. Molly looked at the closed door. The study lay straight across the hall, but the idea of opening the door was almost as terrifying as standing there with her back to the open window.

Behind her, the clouds glowed and flashed with unseen lightning causing the room to flicker with blue light. She took a step towards the door and reached for the knob with a pale trembling hand. The lightning flashed again, this time closer and brighter making her shadow a stark image against the white door.

Thunder rumbled through the open window in a low growl. She put her hand on the cold brass knob as another flash of lightning lit the room, only this time she didn't see her shadow on the door, one much larger than hers blocked it out.

Molly screamed, jerked open the door and ran through. She tried to slam it shut behind her, but something stopped it in mid swing. She didn't look back, but only ran straight across the hall and burst into the study. She slammed the door behind her and ran to the desk.

She was taking fast shallow breaths, and her mouth was bitter with the taste of adrenaline. She jerked open the top right drawer, sending pencils and paper clips flying through the air. She swept her hand back and forth in the drawer, scattering the remaining items. 'No,'� Molly hissed. It had to be in the desk. Then she remembered'� the left drawer. She remembered her dad putting it in there and telling her that with her being left handed, a gun in the left drawer would be better. Pull with your right, and grab with your left. She grabbed the drawer and yanked. It rattled against the silver slide lock, but stayed shut like a bolted door.

Ping'� ping.

The bastard was tapping the knife on the doorknob again, and this time she could hear a low demented chuckling coming from the other side of the door. Now, almost in a complete panic, it took every fiber of herself to keep from screaming like a baby and hiding under the desk.

Another rumble of thunder vibrated the house as the storm moved closer. The key. Where is the fucking key?

Ping'� ping'� ping.

#
'I'm coming in now'� Molly.'� He said Molly in a sickening sweet way that made Molly want to vomit. 'And there is nothing you can do to stop me.'� He laughed again, this time with a little more force and started to turn the knob.

#
The image of her dad taping the key to the bottom of the middle drawer burst into her mind with such clarity that she actually took a step back. Ahead of her, the latch clicked, and the door started to move in to the room. She grabbed the middle drawer and ripped it out of the desk. She flipped it over and could see the small, silver key gleam in the dim light of the room. She tore the key away and pushed it into the keyhole.

#
The door crept open, and Richard Stach stepped into the room. Richard stood over six feet six and weighed over three hundred pounds. His hands, although huge, were very skilled their work. Carving, Richard liked to call it. Carving the bird. Carving the Molly bird, just like a Thanksgiving Day turkey he thought.

This made Richard smile, exposing a mouth full of large, square teeth grinning at Molly through the darkness. Black hair hung over eyes set deep in their sockets. He wore a black mid length overcoat that fluttered around his legs.

'Hello... Molly.'� Richard said in a soft Hi how ya doing voice.

#
Molly tried to turn the key, and nothing happened. Her heart stopped, but when she turned it the opposite way she heard the bolt click. Without a second thought, she pulled out on the drawer only to have it jam. 'No!'� She screamed.

'What's wrong Molly? Having some problems?'� Richard said, stepping further into the room.

Molly jerked at the drawer wildly, yanking it back and forth in an attempt to pull it free from the desk. It inched its way out at an excruciatingly slow pace.

'What are you doing, Molly?'� He was only two steps from the desk that separated them.

He held the butcher knife out in front of him, pointing it at Molly and moving it in quick, jerking circles. His wide grin was turning down into a grimace as he sliced the knife through the air. The blade made clean, whisking sounds like a thin willow branch whipping back and forth.

'Answer me you little bitch!'� Richard growled and stepped around the desk. His grimace stretched into the contorted, gaping mouth of a demon.

Molly gave the drawer one last monumental yank, and without warning, it pulled free from the desk sending her backwards over a box of old textbooks. She landed hard on her tailbone with the drawer bouncing off her knee, sending the contents flying through the air.

Richard grabbed the heavy wooden desk with one large hand and threw it aside like it was a piece of doll furniture. The room filled with blue light giving Molly an unwanted better look at Richard Stach.

His face was backlit, but she could still make out the snarling mouth and the shining black eyes. His huge shape loomed over her. The silhouette of the knife looked like a sword gripped in the hand of a deranged civil war general. Thunder rocked the house, and the first heavy drops of rain began to hit the roof in heavy wet thumps. The room still flickered with light, and Molly saw the gun laying about three feet to her left. An instant later the room went black.

Molly swept her hand in the direction of where she saw the gun, and just as she leaned to the left to reach for it, she felt something cut through the air where her face had been only a second ago.

'Oh, you're a tricky one aren't you Molly? Now you just come on over here to where we have a little more room.'� Molly felt his hand clamp on to her ankle like a vice, causing her to yell out in pain and surprise.

She ran her hand across the floor in a desperate search for the gun. She felt herself being pulled away from the wall and towards the middle of the room. She slapped her hand on the floor again, and this time she felt the butt of the gun. Picking it up, she felt the comforting weight of the 38 Special, Snub Nose and gripped the course wood surface of its handle as the room once again filled with blue light.

#
Richard felt the soft warm flesh of Molly's ankle and took in a deep breath. This one was fighting back a little make it much more fun. He pulled her towards the middle of the room where he could pin her down and get down to business. He had already been here a little longer than what he wanted, and there was nothing worse than having to rush the job. Speed equaled sloppy, and clean carving was a delicate procedure that didn't tolerate sloppy. If he cut too fast he might just get some dark meat with the white, and that just wouldn't do. Another foot back would be plenty. The room filled with glittering light.

#
Molly leveled the gun at Richard's chest and prayed that gun was loaded. 'Let go of me you son of a bitch!'� She screamed and squeezed the trigger. The chamber spun and the hammer fell. Molly had just enough time to see Richard's black eye's widen with shock before the light left the room in the same breaking speed as it had entered.

#
The bitch has a gun. Richard thought in disbelief. His mouth took the shape of an O as he watched the hammer pull back and snap forward in the same amount of time it took the lighting to illuminate the room.

#
Molly squeezed her eyes shut, gritted her teeth, and braced herself for the imminent recoil of the gun, but only heard a dry click. Three feet away, Richard winced at the sound of the hammer snapping against the empty chamber.

Molly opened her eyes in disbelief. 'No.'� she moaned. She squeezed the trigger again with the same result. She squeezed it a third time only to hear the heart-breaking click of an empty chamber. Tears streamed down her face, and she could feel the strength running out of her arms.

#
When Richard heard the second click, the smile returned to his face. 'Oh you bad little girl. Oh you will pay for that. Oh yes, you will pay.'� Richard put the edge of the blade against the soft flesh of Molly's calf. When he heard the third click he pulled the knife back in a quick clean motion.

#
Molly felt a searing pain burn into her left leg then heard the sound of a thick liquid pouring on the carpet in heavy splats. She screamed, pulled the trigger again, and kicked up with her other foot. She felt her heel connect with something solid and heard a muffled grunt as Richard Stach bit off the end of his tongue.

Richard put his hand to his mouth, appearing unsure of what just happened, then an instant later a wild scream ripped from his throat. He let go of Molly's ankle, temporarily forgetting the fun he was having. Blood poured out from between his fingers and ran down his shirt in a flood. Molly pushed away leaving a hot trail of her own blood from a leg that felt like it was on fire.

She put her back against the wall and still pointing the gun in the direction at the screaming man, pulled the trigger again. She didn't hear the chamber rotate or the hammer click, and she didn't see Richard Stach slashing the knife back and forth in wild arcs as he advanced on her. She didn't see his large exposed teeth, pink with his own blood, and his mangled tongue hanging from his mouth, spurting blood in long, drooling strings. She only closed her eyes, squeezed the trigger one last time, and prayed that there was at least-

The roar of the gun was deafening in the small room, and the orange flash from the barrel was brighter than the blue lighting that ripped the sky.

#
Before he even knew he had been shot, the 38 hollow point slug entered Richard's chest the size of a dime and exited his back about the size of a baseball. The impact rocked him back, and he let out a muffled oomph sound. He looked down at the hole in his shirt and brushed his hand across it like he was trying to knock away a bug that had landed there at a Sunday picnic. He took two staggering steps backwards and looked up at Molly.

#
Lightning danced across the sky in jagged bolts. Molly opened her eyes to see Richard staring at her. His dark eyes had a distant look, and his pupils had dilated to point of looking like an animal. Before the thunder crashed she had time to hear a low, wet whistling sound coming from the hole in his chest and the words You will die spill from his from his lips in a slow mater of fact tone.

A combination of thickening blood and spit hung from his chin in a sort of unnatural liquid goatee. He raised the knife and moved forward. The flickering light of the sky gave him the slow motion appearance of moving across a retro nightclub.

'NO!'� Molly screamed and closed her eyes against what was about to happen. She continued to hold the gun out in front of her and pull the trigger even though the chamber had already been all the way around. Even through her tightly shut eyes she could see the room light up.

The room again filled with thunder, and Molly felt something hot and wet splash across her face. She didn't feel any pain, but knew it had to be her own blood. Then she heard another crash, but it wasn't thunder. It was something heavy falling on the floor.

#
'Miss are you alright?'� Deputy Williams holstered his Beretta 9 MM that he had just used to stop the man who looked to be about one step away from slicing and dicing the young woman sitting on the floor. Molly was still squeezing the trigger in a constant series of dry clicks. 'Miss, please drop the gun. I'm a police officer. We got a 911 call'�'�

#
His voice seemed to come from a great distance, like the voices in a dream that are pulled back into the inner recesses of your mind as you surface to the waking world. She let the gun fall and put her hands to her face. She began to sob in great heavy gasps, thanking her father for the gun, thanking God for the one bullet that was somehow in the gun, and thanking an unseen 911 operator for not hanging up.

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