Layna

I could see the small envelope propped against the door of my house. Time seemed to freeze as I slowly made my way to the porch, and the horrors that lay within the envelope. My hands shook and my heartbeat sped up as I picked up the envelope gently, as if there was a bomb inside of it. Layna, my name, was written neatly on the front. I knew that writing; it was the writing that had been haunting my dreams for the past month. I slowly opened the envelope, turning it upside down and gently shaking it. A square, thick paper fell out and fluttered to the floor. It was a Polaroid picture, stained with blood, of a mutilated arm. There was a puddle of blood pooled around the end that had once been connected to a shoulder. The arm was bent at a garish angle, and each finger had been cut off. I could see the beginning of a small tattoo on the wrist, but the arm was covered in dirt and blood making it impossible to see the full design.

Turning over the picture, I saw that there were two words written in the same neat handwriting:

You're next. *** This wasn't the first time I had received a message from my stalker. It had been happening for the past month, starting with pictures of me, and then escalating to shots of the women he had killed. The notes at the back of the photos had been a recent addition.

I had gone to the police with the pictures, but they didn't pay attention. The first time I went, they took the picture, and told me they would "take care of it", but nothing had been done, and the pictures continued showing up on my doorstep, getting worse each time.

I had gone back a second time, just for them to tell me that it was a simple "prank" and that I would be fine. It was nothing to worry about, probably just some guy who had too much time on his hands. They didn't believe that I was in any real danger.

I stopped going to them after they told me that. I knew that it wasn't just some prank like they said, but it was useless to try to convince them of that. There was no proof other then the pictures, and that wasn't enough for them.

Everywhere I went, I could feel him there, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. To be completely honest, it scared the hell out of me because I knew that he wanted to kill me, and no one was doing anything to stop him.

I put on a good show for my parents and friends, pretending that I believed what the police said, that I was safe. They believed me, believed that I wasn't scared, and they slowly forgot about it after I stopped showing them the pictures. But forgetting wasn't an option for me; each image and every word was branded into my mind, with no hope of it ever being removed.

I put those thoughts out of my head as I walked over to my neighbor's house. They paid me to watch their six month old son, Henry, every Friday night, during their date night. The job was fairly easy because by the time I got there, he was always sleeping, and I only had to deal with him if he woke up.

When I got there he was asleep as usual, and his parents were waiting for me at the door. After telling me they would be back by midnight, they left, leaving me alone.

I made myself a cup of hot chocolate, and then settled into the couch, turning on the TV. After about thirty minutes, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I flipped it open, my heart stopping, until I realized that it was just a text from Brian Thornton, my boyfriend.

>Hey babe. Miss you. Wanna hang 2nite?

>Cant. Babysitting.

Even though I did it every Friday, he still seemed to forget. Typical male. They couldn't keep anything in their heads for more than five minutes.

> Ok. How bout a pic? I miss ur sexy face ;)

As I opened the camera, I could hear Henry crying through the baby monitor. Sighing, I put my mug on the coffee table, quickly snapped a picture without looking it over, and ran upstairs to check on the baby.

As I opened the door to his room, and peeked inside, I saw that he was lying on his back, one little hand on his stomach, and the other resting over his head. His breathing was even, and his eyes were closed, so I knew he was sleeping.

That was weird. I could have sworn that I heard him crying.

I walked inside the room, and over to his crib, and gently covered his body. As I turned around to leave, I say the baby monitor sitting on the changing table. There were no lights on; usually a green light was on, indicating it was on.

"That's weird," I whispered softly to myself, and turned it on, making sure it was on the same frequency as the on downstairs.

Maybe it was running low on batteries, and had turned off before because of that?

Shrugging my shoulders, I closed the door behind me, and went back downstairs. Only to find that I had four new messages from Brian:

>Layna who is that?

>Layna?

>LAYNA!!

>ANSWER ME OR IM CALLING THE POLICE!!!

I called him quickly as I read that message. Why would he call the police? What the hell was he talking about?

"Layna! Thank God you're alright! Who the hell is that guy! Is this supposed to be some joke? Because it really isn't funny."

I was so confused. "What guy are you talking about? I'm here alone. There is no guy."

"In your picture. You didn't see?"

"What? No. The baby started crying so I went to check on him."

I put Brian on speakerphone, and then went to my pictures. I opened the one I had just sent him, and then the phone slipped out of my grasp, falling to the floor with a soft thud.

What had escaped my notice before is that the couch was against a window, which showed the backyard of the house. But in this picture, behind my smiling face was another one, outside the window. It was his face covered with a ski mask, watching me as I took the picture.

I started to hyperventilate, and collapsed to the floor, my whole body shaking. He was here, watching me. He was going to kill me. And I was alone.

I needed to call the police. With trembling hands I picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

Someone started banging on the door, and I screamed dropping my phone, tears running down my face. He was going to knock the door down and kill me.

I got up on my unsteady legs as my heart started to pound so loudly that I was sure he could hear it from outside. Scrambling to the kitchen, I got a knife from the drawer as the banging continued.

I could hear the door breaking from the kitchen. He was inside. Oh my god he was inside and he was going to kill me. The note he had sent was to warn me for right now.

The tears started to stream faster down my face, as I hid in the pantry in the kitchen. I held my breath, so he wouldn't hear me gasping for air.

I could hear his footsteps in the living room, so I clutched the knife in my hand ready to protect myself. I wouldn't go down without a fight.

He walked down the hallway slowly, and I could hear him opening and closing the doors that were there. His footsteps slowly walked into the kitchen, but he passed by my hiding place. I let out a little breath of joy, but it seemed I had thought I was safe too soon because the footsteps froze, then started coming closer to the pantry again. I could hear as the doorknob was slowly turned, and then the door flung open.

I screamed again, and lifted the knife, throwing it blindly at him. As he cried out in pain, I bolted past him and up the stairs. I ran into Henry's room, and locked the door behind me.

"Layna!" he called and I backed away from the door, not wanting him to know I was in here. There were many rooms upstairs, so he would be busy searching them for a while.

Henry stirred behind me, and I prayed that he would stay quiet, as the sound of slamming doors got closer to us.

The door on the room started jiggling around, as he tried to open the door. "Layna are you alright? Open the door!" The voice sounded so familiar, I swear I had heard it before. "Come on, Layna, it's just me."

My mind clicked where I had heard the voice before, and I flung open the door, revealing the guy standing behind it. It wasn't my stalker; it was just Brian.

"Oh my god," I gasped, running into his arms. "I-I-I thought you were h-h-him. I t-t-thought you were here to kill me."

"Shhhhh," he whispered stroking my hair. "It's okay baby. I'm not going to kill you. It's just me."

"I'm s-sorry about the knife. Did I hurt you?"

"It just nicked my hand, don't worry, I'm fine.

"I-I thought I was going to die," I whispered, my voice hoarse.

"You won't die, Layna. Not—"

Police sirens sounded, cutting off Brian was about to say. He froze and his face flashed with disappointment, before quickly turning into a smile. "The police are here now, and they will find him. Don't worry."

I kept quiet, because I knew the truth. The police wouldn't find him, or any evidence, and then they would end up filing it away with the other stuff I had shown them. And then he would watch me, waiting for another opportunity to strike.