The Murder

She opened her eyes wide and stared at the dull, dusty ceiling fan. She could hear it again; the incessant knocking on her door. She had opened the door the first time and had found no on there. Frightened, she ran into her bedroom and curled herself up into a ball under the covers. An hour later, nothing had changed except that the birds had begun chirping and that the skies were turning into a pitch black at a rapid rate.

"Open the door!", a voice commanded. It was deep and husky and belonged to a man. She wondered what he looked like but was too afraid to look. She darted across the room into her kitchen and gulped down a glass of water that had been lying there for three days. The knocking ceased.

Sweating profusely, she tiptoed back into her bare living room and sat on the floor wondering what she should do. If he was a robber, she had nothing to offer him. She had only recently moved into this apartment and had nothing but expired milk and yogurt in the fridge, bare essentials to survive, and four walls around her. She also knew no man in any capacity in this town.

She sat there in pitch darkness and waited. All she could hear was the faint sound of a guitar playing somewhere outside. And then without warning, she saw the lock on her main door click and turn. A cold chill ran down her spine as she began to tremble not knowing what to do. There was nothing to hide behind or under and she had no idea where her cellphone was.

A moment later she screamed as a tall, dark, muscular man stood before her with angry glaring eyes. There was something familiar about him. She motioned him to stay away from her and began to walk backwards. He did nothing. He simply stood there looking at her in amusement. She screamed again. No one heard. No one but him and that made no difference. Very soon, she found herself in her kitchen groping for a knife. He merely smiled. She panicked.

5 minutes later, she was sobbing uncontrollably. She had flung a butcher knife at him which had managed to slit his throat. He had fallen on the floor with a loud thud, bleeding profusely, as his eyes rolled and stared into vacant space. She knew he was dead. She knew she was safe; that he could no longer trouble her every time she moved into a different city or apartment. She was finally free from the clutches of his evil being, she thought.

She quietly left her apartment to go buy sleeping pills. When she returned, she called 911 and informed them of a murder and a suicide. Then she took 10 of these pills and went back to her covers.

Three days later, she awoke in a loud and ugly hospital. At a distance, she saw her son talking to a man in a white coat who uttered one particular word several times.
"Schizophrenia".

This was not the first time she had heard it.