Madness.

Madness.

Animals scuttled in the ever-deepening shadows of the room, their feet pattering against the lino in a never-ending pattern of tapping and scratching. Before, the room had been filled with glowing orange sunlight, bouncing and ricocheting off every wall and illuminating the critters in what was now darkness. Claustrophobia was beginning to set in, sending shivers down his spine.

Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip...damn tap.

Every drip, every tap, every scratch was duly noted in his mind, stored and filed %u2013 the details cramming into every minute corner, every crack, every spare space of his mind. Finally he would have an end to this terrible, terrible mess, finally; some closure.

Grasp the table beneath your fingertips.

Holding the surface, he raised himself, power surging through his legs for tonight would be the night. Indescribable feelings soared even higher as those tiny feet scrabbled for purchase on the faded lino.

Just as they tormented you, you will torment them.

Killing would be too easy.

%u2026Light flooded into the moonlit room as car headlights swung round the bend.

More noise; filling the building with the patterns he had heard from what felt like a lifetime ago. No matter what he did, he could not stop the soft and rhythmic dripping of the tap, as the beats of water drummed against the cold, chrome sink %u2013 drip drip drip drip drip...damn tap, drives me insane. Opening the kitchen drawer, he withdrew the knives.

Pushing aside the items and general junk upon the kitchen table, the clattering and rustling of paper and other miscellaneous items was music to his ears, deafened by the infinite silence and tuned only to the sound of the tap.

Quietly, quietly, softly, softly, mustn%u2019t let them know we%u2019re here.

Reminding himself of this fact, he sifted through the knives which he had by now tipped upon the table.

Softly, softly, quietly, quietly, mustn%u2019t let them know we%u2019re here.

Trembling fingers sorted sharp from blunt. Upstairs, the sound of tired feet pattered across carpeted floors and the aimless chattering of tired mouths filtered down to the room below in fits and bursts. Voices much clearer than before ensued and he stopped, stock still, as feet began to thunder down the stairs. Wondering whether the feet would continue to the kitchen, he was relieved when they stopped and turned, fleeing back upstairs to the safety of the bedrooms.

X-ray images from memories long past fluttered into his mind, as he recalled the layout of the house. Yes %u2013 time stopped; it was now or never.

Zach slowly picked up a kitchen knife, feeling it%u2019s sharp edge with his thumb, pain erupted as it sliced through the skin and warm blood trickled down into his palm - he was ready.