Amy awoke. She wasn't sure why but knew, instinctively, it wasn't good. Someone was in the house, she felt it.
She lay perfectly still, listening intently, unwilling to even breathe for fear of missing a sound, the clue she'd need to react. The wind blew in a powerful gust and a shudder slammed suddenly against the outside wall of the old home, prompting a startled shriek to escape her as her body jumped what seemed to be two feet straight up. Maybe that was it, had the loose shudder awakened her? It didn't matter, she was leaving and not coming back. She'd return the money and find another way to pay tuition.
Amy quietly gathered her things in the dark, sliding yesterday's dress over the tee shirt she'd been sleeping in and then slipping on her running shoes. She grabbed everything within reach and jammed it into her bag, unconcerned with getting it all. That feeling of dread was back, despite still not hearing any sound from the rest of the house. It was irrational, an overreaction she tried to convince herself. But it enveloped her.
She'd take the back stairs, they led to kitchen and the back door, very close to where her car was parked. She delayed her departure only long enough to tie her sneakers. They'd be quieter than shoes and she was ready to run if necessary. Amy crept to the door, her heart pounding with every creak of the floorboards. Slowly pushing open the squeaky door, just far enough to slip out, she listened. No sound. The back stairs were about ten feet down the hall on the right.
Amy reached into her purse, fumbling through its contents. Why did she have so much crap in here? First she located her keys, placing them in her left hand, ready for quick use once she reached the car. Finally she found her mace, now gripped firmly in her right hand. Anyone who may be between her and the car was not going to enjoy it. She slipped into the hallway and froze.
He was tall, extremely tall, nearly eight feet. He was thin and wore a tattered coat and tails. He stared blankly at Amy and only now did she notice his yellow eyes. She could see him clearly, perfectly, in the dark hall but also right through him. He wasn't real, like a hologram. Neither of them moved. Amy whimpered in fear involuntarily.
In a flash he was in front of her. Long, icy cold fingers wrapped all the way around her neck, like a collar, lifting her off the ground with a smooth, easy motion as if she weighed nothing at all. Amy heard her car keys hit the floor, her terror trumping any voluntary muscle actions. It was enough to jar her mind free of the panic for a moment. She sprayed her mace directly into his eyes, only to watch the mist float harmlessly through him, dissipating in the air. She swung at his arm, his head, but her blows passed through him as if he wasn't there. Her dangling legs kicked out but through his torso. He was a ghost except for the icy, vice like grip around her throat.
His free hand had long, jagged fingernails that sliced right through her dress. She reflexively tried to grab his wrist to stop him, again grabbing nothing but air. He effortlessly cut off her tee shirt and panties, her clothes falling into a harmless pile on the floor. His free hand grabbed her left leg, her right leg suddenly finding his torso solid, his body now positioned between them. Amy, able to breathe easily despite the hand around her neck, tried to scream, or beg him not to, but could only emit gasps of terror.
She looked down and her body began to shake in horror. It was as big as her lower leg and possibly thicker. She felt the head press against her opening and for a moment was relieved. It was ridiculously too big. Even with her legs spread apart the head touched both thighs. It was cold, as cold as his fingers. She knew he'd never get it in and resigned herself to getting killed by him in frustration.
