The thunderstorm outside was rattling the thin walls of the house. The continual roar of torrential rain with the occasional rumble of thunder and flash of lightening surrounded the warm, central-heated indoors. The woman inside, a beautiful young girl of about 22, felt herself being gripped by fear and loneliness as she stared out of her window into the black gloom outside.
The incessant darkness and foreboding danger outside was chlaustrophobic and suffocating, and the young girl felt trapped in her own home. She picked up the phone and called her boyfriend.
"Kevin?" she shouted the moment the call connected.
"Jesus, what is it, Britney?" Kevin responded. "You sound terrible. What's wrong?"
"Oh, it's nothing," she replied. "I'm just scared - it's this storm, y'know. It's scaring the Hell out of me. I just want a warm body to snuggle up to."
"I'm sorry," Kevin replied. "I'm visiting my Aunt in the hospital - I'll be here for a while. You know I love you, but I've got to be here."
She sighed and hung up, bringing a slender hand up to massage the top of her head, sweat pushing its way through her pores. The 'phone rang almost immediately.
"Kevin?" she said unsurely, picking it up.
A deep and menacing growl responded. She froze, the blood draining from her face. "I am the man with the bleeding finger," the snarl continued, "and I live down your street."
Her trembling hand put the phone back on the reciever. Holy shit, she thought. A crash of thunder resonated through the house. What the fuck just happened? Who just called me? What am I supposed to do?
It rang again. She dived over to it and picked it up, pressing it against her ear. She heard throaty, angry breathing, like a bull. Adrenaline flew around her body, making her fingers tingle. "Err... Hello?" she whispered.
"I AM THE MAN WITH THE BLEEDING FINGER," the voice replied, furiously angrily, " AND I AM WALKING DOWN YOUR STREET."
"Excuse me," she said with false confidence, but he had already hung up. She noticed how sweaty she was. She dropped to her knees and began to pray, tears falling from her eyes. "Oh, help me God," she cried. "I'll do anything for your protection."
A familiar ringing reached her ears. She gripped the phone tightly, like a weapon, her hands sticky with sweat and moisture. "What do you want?" she screamed through the mouthpiece.
"I AM THE MAN WITH THE BLEEDING FINGER," he spat, "AND I AM WALKING UP YOUR GARDEN PATH."
She slammed the phone down and raced over to the kitchen, flinging open a drawer and removing a vegetable knife. She held it firmly in her hand, and stabbed desperately into the air, her beautiful face furrowed with concern and upset, her mascara leaking in black lines over her soft cheeks. She sniffed, trying to hold back the tears that were flooding from her face. "I don't want to die," she yelled at the wall. Her knife was hardly threatening, she thought. Could she cause damage with it?
It rang again. She tentatively brushed her fingers over it, finally grabbing it and putting it to her ear with the same hesitance and worry as she would in a game of Russian Roulette. She gulped as it reached her ear and moaned weakly to herald that she was listening.
The voice at the other end laughed wickedly, a vicious roar that made her heart skip a beat. "I AM THE MAN WITH THE BLEEDING FINGER," it growled Satanically, "AND I AM AT YOUR FRONT DOOR!"
She screamed manically, falling to her knees in a devestated and shattered mess on the floor. A loud banging shuddered through the house, nearly knocking her front door off its hinges. Another one followed. She stood up, and, with impressive determination, approached the door with her knife firmly pointed ahead of her. The door banged again, an insanely aggressive knocking that send shivers down her spine.
She crept towards it and slowly and silently unlocked it. "Time to meet my maker," she whispered. She took the handle and turned it slowly, until the door was open. Then she slowly but surely opened it, inching it towards her with the knife gripped in her trembling hand.
With a final display of courage shining through her deep blue eyes, embedded in her tearstained face, her lips quivering with unholy and maddening fright, and with certain death swelling in her heart, she swang it open fully.
"Have you got any plasters?" the man asked.