I am in an old house made of wood. Big planks of polished Narra wood are used as the floor. The floor is somehow elevated a meter or so from the ground. Pieces of furniture were made of carved wood, one was made into a couch. No foam or upholstery. Just the hard and cold wood.
I am lying on the long chair. Head on the arm rest. No one was around. There were only minimal light coming from a candle on top of the center table. The room was quiet. You could hear a needle drop.
Then, there were footsteps outside. It sounded calm. And slow. Tik. tak. tik. tak… maybe ascending a staircase. The footsteps stopped. Someone was at the door. The man, as I think because of its shadow casting the glass window, did not bother knocking. He just stood there.
I debated over myself to try to open the door and find out who he is. Eventually, the pro won. I got up and walked towards the door. I removed a plank of wood used as a lock and pulled the door open. What happened next brought me to my senses.
The man was striking an ax at me. I am astounded. I stood in shock. My feet wont work. I felt extreme pain. I am bleeding. The axe was on my left forehead; cutting through (and still there) in my skull.
Tik. tak. tik. tak. The man walked down the stairs calmly. As if nothing to worry about.
I saw faces of my mother and sister crying. My father at their backs trying to be calm. I am dead now. This is the end of me. A tear rolled in my eyes. I wish I could say I love them.
Lights out. Pitch-black darkness. I am drenched in sweat. The ceiling fan wasn’t making its buzzing sound. A brownout. I checked my phone to see what the time was. 3:33 am. I’m still breathing.