I Am the Advocate of Justice

After getting home from work, I immediately collapsed onto the couch, completely drained.

With all the overtime lately, because of how well I'd been performing, I was starting to feel like a worn-out workaholic.

My boyfriend, Michael Wilson, was in the kitchen, making dinner for me.

I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, almost drifting off, when the news on TV snapped me back to full attention.

"There have been several murders recently in Silverwood City, and police have confirmed this is the work of a serial killer. The killer's pattern is still unknown. Citizens are urged to stay vigilant and avoid going out alone."

The anchor's voice cut through my exhaustion like a knife. I stared at the screen, worried I might miss something important.

Because, just a little while ago, I got some pretty weird messages.

I'd worked late today-- didn't leave the office until 8 PM-- and was heading home when I swung by the parcel locker to pick up a package. Right as I grabbed it, my phone buzzed twice.

I figured it was another delivery notification, but instead, I saw a string of messages from someone saved as "Pasta."

"Dear customer, ending in 0007, congratulations! You've been selected for a one-time chance to experience death."

"Please choose your method of death: 1. Overeating, 2. Starvation, 3. Ugliness."

"If you don't respond, we'll choose ugliness for you."

That was the sixth prank message I'd gotten this month.

I actually found the name Pasta kind of funny. Pasta? Sure, I'll be Little Cupcake then.

I laughed to myself and deleted the messages without giving it a second thought.

But now, hearing the news about a serial killer on the loose made my stomach tighten.

Just then, Michael walked over with the last dish.

Even though my stomach was growling, I pulled him down onto the couch and told him everything-- the news, and the bizarre messages I'd been getting.

"Jess, you're reading too much into this. Didn't you say you've been getting these for a while now? It's probably just some prankster. Don't worry about it. From now on, I'll come pick you up after work."

Michael ran his hand through my hair and pulled me close.

The warmth from his body started to ease the tension in my shoulders, and I slowly began to relax.

After dinner, I cleared the table and was about to do the dishes when I realized we were out of dish soap.

I was just about to head out after taking off my apron when Michael stopped me, insisting that I stay put and let him go instead.

It was after ten, and Michael still wasn't back.

I called him several times, but he didn't answer.

I started waiting for him on the couch, but eventually, I went to the bedroom and lay down.

I wrapped myself up in a blanket like a cocoon, thinking maybe it would make me feel safer.

Just as I got comfortable, the power suddenly went out.

A faint light from the moon and streetlamps trickled through the window, but it was still dark enough that I could barely see my hand in front of my face.

I hesitated, wondering if I should get up and check the fuse box.

Then I heard footsteps near the front door.

I poked my head out from under the blanket and called out, "Michael, is that you?"

No answer.

I turned onto my side, listening harder, but the footsteps had disappeared as if they were never there in the first place.

My body remained tense for a long time, but eventually, when no other sounds followed, I let out a shaky breath, starting to calm down.

Then, out of nowhere, a creepy voice whispered in my ear, "Were you looking for me, little girl?"

I whipped my head around toward the sound, but it was too dark to see the man's face.

Before I could say anything, he raised a towel and tried to cover my mouth and nose. I fought back, kicking and punching him as hard as I could.

If I was right, that towel had to be soaked with something to knock me out. If I didn't resist now, it'd be over.

In my mind, I kept repeating, Please, let me get out of this. Please, let me get out of this.