The Test

Chapter One

Layna

I could see the small envelope propped against the door of my house. Time seemed to freeze as I slowly made my way to the porch, and the horrors that lay within the envelope.
My hands shook and my heartbeat sped up as I picked up the envelope gently, as if there was a bomb inside of it. Layna, my name, was written neatly on the front. I knew that writing; it was the writing that had been haunting my dreams for the past month.
I slowly opened the envelope, turning it upside down and gently shaking it. A square, thick paper fell out and fluttered to the floor. It was a Polaroid picture, stained with blood, of a mutilated arm. There was a puddle of blood pooled around the end that had once been connected to a shoulder. The arm was bent at a garish angle, and each finger had been cut off. I could see the beginning of a small tattoo on the wrist, but the arm was covered in dirt and blood making it impossible to see the full design.

Turning over the picture, I saw that there were two words written in the same neat handwriting:

You're next.
***
This wasn't the first time I had received a message from my stalker. It had been happening for the past month, starting with pictures of me, and then escalating to shots of the women he had killed. The notes at the back of the photos had been a recent addition.

I had gone to the police with the pictures, but they didn't pay attention. The first time I went, they took the picture, and told me they would "take care of it", but nothing had been done, and the pictures continued showing up on my doorstep, getting worse each time.

I had gone back a second time, just for them to tell me that it was a simple "prank" and that I would be fine. It was nothing to worry about, probably just some guy who had too much time on his hands. They didn't believe that I was in any real danger.

I stopped going to them after they told me that. I knew that it wasn't just some prank like they said, but it was useless to try to convince them of that. There was no proof other then the pictures, and that wasn't enough for them.

Everywhere I went, I could feel him there, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. To be completely honest, it scared the hell out of me because I knew that he wanted to kill me, and no one was doing anything to stop him.

I put on a good show for my parents and friends, pretending that I believed what the police said, that I was safe. They believed me, believed that I wasn't scared, and they slowly forgot about it after I stopped showing them the pictures. But forgetting wasn't an option for me; each image and every word was branded into my mind, with no hope of it ever being removed.

I put those thoughts out of my head as I walked over to my neighbor's house. They paid me to watch their six month old son, Henry, every Friday night, during their date night. The job was fairly easy because by the time I got there, he was always sleeping, and I only had to deal with him if he woke up.

When I got there he was asleep as usual, and his parents were waiting for me at the door. After telling me they would be back by midnight, they left, leaving me alone.

I made myself a cup of hot chocolate, and then settled into the couch, turning on the TV. After about thirty minutes, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I flipped it open, my heart stopping, until I realized that it was just a text from Brian Thornton, my boyfriend.

>Hey babe. Miss you. Wanna hang 2nite?

>Cant. Babysitting.

Even though I did it every Friday, he still seemed to forget. Typical male. They couldn't keep anything in their heads for more than five minutes.