My folder with my story inside.
The serial killer ascended the stairs, each footstep echoing through the stairwell, fear seeped through my body as I slowly lifted myself from bed, picking up the file from my side, looking through my room I find a corner not far from the exit. The door to my room creaks open as the figure entered my room, my small frame remains hunched beside the chimney breast as she walks further into my room. I launch myself from my previously crouched position to land behind this person, folder coming down on the back of their head as a yelp of pain floods through my room. The notebook from inside the file explodes, pages falling like autumn leaves as they floated towards the floor. I ran from my room; heading to the phone downstairs, leaving the attacker on my floor, surrounded by pages of writing: no longer readable as blood seeped through each sheet, ink blending with each drop.