Horror Story #1

3

By: shreythemockingjay36

I just got an apartment on 34th street in New York. I live alone in an apartment complex called Friday’s. It might not be the best but its enough to get me on my feet. It’s just about 20 apartments next to the road. I work the early shift at a local gas station called Rico’s so I usually get home around noon. It was a normal day and as usual only a couple people came into the gas station.

Finally, I finished my shift at noon and was on my way home when I saw a homeless man. He was hiding in the bushes from something. If he was hiding it was a bad spot because I could see him. I just kept on driving and then something odd happened. I saw him again, but hiding in a different spot. Whoever he was he seemed very crazy, but I turned up the music and tried to forget about him.

I didn’t see him the rest of way home, so I kind of felt better. I opened the door to my house, but then I realized I forgot to check the mail, so I quickly ran to the mailbox in the front of the parking lot. When I got back my boss called me and I was standing at the edge of my bed when I dropped my phone. I went down to pick it up and saw him.

The homeless man! He was hiding under my bed. Luckily, he didn’t see me so I picked up my phone, told my boss I’d call him back and went into the bathroom. I pretended to tell myself it’s time to take a shower out loud. My heart raced as I jumped out the window of the apartment and swiftly dialled 911. They told me to go across the street and wait for then to come.

About ten minutes later they came to my old apartment and told me everything that had happened. I told them he must’ve broken in when I went to check the mail. That’s when they told me he was standing outside the bathroom with a large kitchen knife waiting to kill me.

If I hadn’t dropped my phone at that moment I would be dead right now. That man was sent to an insane asylum and now I feel much safer. Except a week later I was killed by the homeless man who escaped and is writing this story from my victim’s perspective.

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