Speaker 1: It was just past midnight when we pushed through the
pulsating crowd at leons, the club's neon lights casting dizzy
and shadows that flickered to the rhythm of the thumping bass.
My friends and I had a tight knit group of
college besties, had chosen a booth near the dance floor,
our laughter mingling with the eclectic beats.
Speaker 2: Among us was Rachel.
Speaker 1: That's me, always the more observant one, scanning the sea
of faces soaking in the knight's ecstatic energy. Suddenly our
giggles were sliced by a chilling interruption. A man who
I later knew was David approached us. His appearance struck
a discordant note against the club's vibrant backdrop. His hair
was enkempt, eyes darting nervously beneath heavy brows. He was
sweating bullets, and his under arms were covered in sweat stains,
and his smile there was something ominous about it. He
was holding two Prime energy drink cans and was chugging
them down like he was a stranded man in a
desert who had suddenly found water. He was also shaking erratically,
clearly under the influence of drugs, and there was something
nasty about his expression. Hey, ladies, care for some company.
His voice attempted casual charm, but faltered into an eerie monotone.
My friend Sarah brushed him off with a dismissive hand gesture.
Speaker 3: No thanks, We're good.
Speaker 4: Yeah, just move along, buddy, You're not getting any around here.
Speaker 1: David's face twitched with annoyance as he lingered a moment longer,
his eyes narrowing as he surveyed us. I can have
any one of you, but tell you what, honey, pie,
I'm a ride. You won't survive with a grunt. Sarah
spitted out her drink on him as she laughed at
what he said. The rest of my besties took out
our phones and started making snaps of him. He was
red livid and embarrassed. With a grunt, he turned and
stumbled away, the crowd swallowing him up. We resumed our evening,
dismissing the encounter as just another oddity in the club's
tapestry of nighttime adventures. We were all in our prime,
and not a day would go by if we were
in a club and not get hit on by the
creepiest of dudes. Thinking they'd have a chance. But the
atmosphere shifted perceptibly. The air grew thicker, the beats now
pounding with a sinister urgency. It was then that midst
the cacophony of sounds and bodies, that chaos rerupt it.
A series of sharp, thunderous cracks split the music. Screams
spliced the air, a terrifying counterpoint to the previous fun.
In an instinctive move, we ducked under our table, the
world around us morphing into a nightmare of flashes and shouts.
Speaker 3: It's him, the guy from before. He's got a gun.
No fucking way. Oh my god, he knows where we are.
Oh god, he's shooting at people. Do you think someone's dead.
Speaker 1: The reality of her words sank in as we huddled closer,
the sound of gunfire growing nearer, almost matching the beats
of the music. I wrisked a glance and saw David
moving methodically through the crowd. His movements were precise, his
face a mask of detached fury. People fell around him,
their dances of joy brutally cut short.
Speaker 3: You need to get out of your now.
Speaker 1: But before we could make our move, a body thudded
against our booth, spurring a collective scream from our group.
The woman was gasping, blood blossoming on her shirt like
a gruesome flower. In that moment, our survival instincts overrote
our shock. We crawled, scrambled, and clawed our way toward
the nearest exit. He was after us. We should not
have insulted him like that. As we neared the exit,
the unthinkable happened. A bullet grazed my arm, searing pain
flashing through me as I stumbled forward.
Speaker 2: The exit just loomed ahead.
Speaker 1: We were almost there, almost safe, But then another shot
rang out, closer this time, and darkness edged my vision.
As I fell down, a sea of people rushed over me.
And that is when it dawned on me that as
everyone was running toward the exit, this might just trigger
a stampede.
Speaker 3: Rachel, come on, you can do this.
Speaker 1: I nodded weakly, my body on autopilot, driven by the
primal urge to survive. I tossed my heels away and
sprung up on my bare feet. We spilled into the alley,
the cool night air hitting my face, laced with the
acrid smell of gunpowder and fear.
Speaker 2: We were out but not safe, not yet.
Speaker 1: The sound of David's rampage echoed in our ears as
we ran, knowing that the nightmare was far from over.
Our escape into the alley was a brief rest, the
cold air sharp in our lungs as we pressed against
the grimy brick wall, trying to make sense of the
horror unfolding just yards away. The sounds of gunfire continued
to pierce the night, each shot a reminder that death
was just a wall away.
Speaker 3: We can't just run. We need a plan. What plans, Sarah.
We need to get as far as possible. This is
a dead end. The alley doesn't lead anywhere.
Speaker 4: Damn call nine one one, Oh my god, Rachel, your arm.
Speaker 1: I felt the blood from my arms soaking into my sleeve.
Each heart beat a throbbing reminder of our peril. The
alley offered darkness as a cloak, but the closed street
promised no options. We moved, half running, half stumbling, towards
the street at the alley's end. That is when another
round of gunfire erupted closer. Now we froze, the reality
dawning on us that David might have exited the club.
Speaker 2: Peering around the corner.
Speaker 1: I spotted him, and his back was to us, his
body language erratic as he scammed the area, the guns
in his hands grotesquely steady. We pulled back, our breath shallow.
The weight was excruciating. After what seemed an eternity, his
movements redirected away from us, drawn by some unseen stimulus.
Speaker 2: We seized the moment.
Speaker 1: We rushed in the opposite side and hid behind a dumpster.
I was just left with Sarah. My other friends were
probably still inside.
Speaker 3: Call nine one one now.
Speaker 1: She did, and we waited for a few moments as
the gunshots went further and further away. Soon the police
sirens filled every space. There was even a chopper there.
Within a few minutes, and only after some disturbance we
heard a much louder, bolder gun shot. We later got
to know that the snipers had got him. I remember
wailing as the police finally found us. We were taken
to a hospit. The emergency room was a blur of
motion and urgent voices as the doctors tended to my wound.
The police arrived soon and started at enquiry. I recounted
the story, my voice detached, as if the horror belonged
to someone else. It later came to light that David
was a schizophrenic psychopath who was out on parole. He
was previously thrown in jail after killing three dogs. The
investigations further revealed that his prime energy drink got spiked,
due to which his psychosis was triggered. Are making fun
of him only added insult to the fire, and he
then proceeded to pull out semi automatic weapons that he
was keeping in his truck and attacked the bounders before
storming in.
Speaker 2: Twelve people died in that massacre.
Speaker 1: At least twenty seven were injured, and I was lucky
that the bullet missed me by just a whisker. Thankfully,
none of my besties were seriously hurt. But survival felt hollow,
tainted by the screams bloodshed. I knew the nightmare wasn't
truly over. It would live on in our memories, in
our dreams, a dark reminder of the night when a
simple rejection sparked a descent into madness. I wouldn't wish
this horror on the worst of my enemies. It was
a typical Friday night, or so it seemed. When my
sister Anna and I decided to have a little fun
at the expense of our neighbor Mark. Our mothers were friends.
We knew that he was an insomniac college student, always
buried in his textbooks and visibly on edge from his
lack of sleep. He had always been weird, too, shy,
creepy stairs. My sister actually called him psycho. From our
bedroom window, we could see directly into his study, where
the glow of his desk lamp often burned well into
the night.
Speaker 4: Let's give Mark a little show. Maybe he'll smile for once.
Speaker 1: I hesitated for a month, aware of the dark circles
under his eyes that had deepened over the past week.
But the temptation for a bit of mischief was too strong.
We started making faces and playfully waving, trying to catch
his attention. Instead of the annoyed smirk or dismissive wave
we expected, there was no reaction. Mark was staring into
his computer, chugging another Prime energy drink, as was his
ritual every night. I really thought that chugging so many
energy drinks would drive an insomnia act crazy. Little did
I know I was soon going to be proven right.
Speaker 4: I Betty doesn't even know we're here. He's like a zombie.
Is he like gay or something? I don't think so.
He did ask out Betty for a dance last month. Betty,
no freaking way. She is like way out of his
leg I know, but he just like staes at girls
like a creep. I Betty's a version. Let's find out
how give him a proper show.
Speaker 1: My sister yelled out his name to finally catch his eyes,
and before I could even react, she quickly lifted up
her top to give him a quick view. I was
shocked by it, but instead of being embarrassed, Mark stared
at us like he was going to kill us. His
head suddenly snapped up, his eyes locking onto mars with
an intensity that sent a chill down my spine. He
stood abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor. For a moment,
he just stared, and then he yanked his curtain shut.
Speaker 3: Maybe that was too much.
Speaker 4: He looks really messed up, or maybe he is gay.
Speaker 1: Guilt nibbled at me as we retreated from our window,
deciding to call it a night. The fun had evaporated,
replaced by a growing unease. We went about our bedtime routines.
My sister with her nighttime Korean skincare ritual, and we
went to sleep. Just about an hour later, I was
jolted awake by a faint noise. The house was dark,
the only light coming from the moon, casting shadows across
the room. I listened, holding my breath, and then I
heard it again, a soft scraping sound, like metal against wood.
Our parents were out of town and my sister was
asleep beside me, Hence the sound.
Speaker 2: Really worried me.
Speaker 3: Emily, did you hear that?
Speaker 2: Nodding?
Speaker 1: I slipped out of bed and crept to the door,
my heart pounding in my chest. The sounds grew louder,
more purposeful. That is when I freaked out. Somebody was
in the house, and it felt like they wanted us
to know of their presence. We tiptoed down the hallway,
the floorboards creaking under our feet. As we passed the kitchen,
the moonlight illuminated a figure, the unmistakable outline of Mark,
a knife glinting in his hand.
Speaker 3: Oh my god, what the fuck?
Speaker 1: My sister screamed as loud as she possibly could. Panic
surged through me as Mark turned his eyes wild, a
terrifying grin spreading across.
Speaker 3: His face back to the room, lock the door.
Speaker 1: We raced back, slamming the door shut and locking it
just as Mark had reached it. The sound of the
knife scraping against the wood door filled the room as
we backed away, terror gripping us. Mark's voice seeped through
the crack under the door, a sing song tune that
was more chilling than a scream. Come out, Come out, ladies.
You surprised me with your teasing. Now I am here
with a surprise of my own. We were trapped, our
own home turned into a maze with a madman at
the center. I grabbed my phone, my fingers trembling as
I dialed nine to one one, praying that help would
arrive before Mark could find his way in. As I
whispered our address to the dispatcher, the scraping at the
door intensified. Mark was endless, his voice oscillating between coaxing
whispers and his frenzied taunts. He was kicking at the
door again and again, and then scraping the wood off
with his sharp knife. My sister kept shrieking while I
tried to get the help as fast as possible.
Speaker 4: Please hurry, he's trying to break in.
Speaker 3: Let's barricade the door, or else he will get in.
Speaker 1: We pushed our heavy dresser against the door, the heavy
wood scraping against the floor with a thud. It brought
us a moment of reprieve, though the pounding of the
door began almost immediately. The solid oak trembled under Mark's blows,
his desperation palpable in the force of each strike.
Speaker 3: Emily, we're gonna die. God, please save us. I don't
want to die.
Speaker 1: Gripping her hand, I felt a surge of protective fury.
Speaker 3: No, we are not dying tonight.
Speaker 1: The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. As
we huddled behind our makeshift barricade. Mark's shadow loomed under
the door, is breathing heavy and ragged. Suddenly the pounding stopped.
Silence hung in the air, thick and heavy. We exchanged
a glance, neither daring to breathe. Then the sound of
glass shattering from the living room broke the eerie quiet.
You can't hide forever, ladies, I need my fun his
voice came from outside. We stood in shock the back door.
He was trying another way in by climbing the pipes
to our window. Acting on impulse, I peeked out the window.
The street was still empty, no signs of the promised help.
Speaker 2: We couldn't wait any longer.
Speaker 1: As I saw him climbing up the pipe with his
terrifying laughter, I ran inside, pulling out the dumbbells I
was using for my home workouts and dropped them. The
first one hit his shoulder, not deterring him, but the
second one slammed into his face and he fell down,
weeping in pain. I pulled my sister as we climbed
out the window, hurriedly, jumping on the roof of the garage,
and then we jumped a wall into our neighbor's house,
our feet hitting the cold grass of their lawn as
we ran for our lives. We kept running out on
the street, the adrenaline masking the pain of our injuries.
Then finally, the flash of red and blue lights appeared
at the end of the street. Relief flooded through me,
so intense it was almost debilitating. The police moved swiftly.
They entered our home, guns drawn. We clung to each other,
watching from the safety of the police car.
Speaker 2: As more officers arrived.
Speaker 1: It didn't take long for them to bring Mark out
in handcuffs. His head bowed, his body language that of defeat.
The sight of him so different from the frenzied monster
who had chased us was surreal.
Speaker 2: He seemed smaller, diminished.
Speaker 1: Somehow, but the terror he had inflicted was too fresh,
too raw, to invoke anything but a shudder from me.
Speaker 2: My sister hugged me as we both cried.
Speaker 3: It's over. He can't hurt us now.
Speaker 1: Later, as we sat in the hospital, nurses tended to
our cuts and bruises. The physical wounds would heal, but
the Knight's horrors had etched deep scars within us which
would sing the terrors of that night for a long,
long time.