text: [Themes: Horror, creepypasta, female protagonist, thriller, literary, Stalker, horror, atmospheric]
  
  You're all alone tonight.
  
  Of course, you've gotten used to that since you moved in with Harvey. He works the late shift at the delicatessen every Tuesday and Thursday. He'll be back before too long. That man works so hard.
  
  You slip into your toasty flannel pajamas because there's a cold winter rain coming down outside and the heat in Harvey's sub-basement apartment really needs looking at. You settle down into the oversized couch in the living room and snap on the TV. Tonight you're just going to relax.
  
  all alone.
  by ian finley
  
  The living room is small; the big couch takes up almost all the floorspace. Not that you're complaining. It's the best Harvey can afford right now and until your drawings really start to sell you aren't contributing much financially. Some of your sketches hang on the walls above the TV and the squat cinder-block-and-boards bookshelf. Through a wide arch in the northwest corner you can see most of the kitchen and to the northeast is the bedroom. The door to the cement-floored outside hall is to the west.
  
  > examine the drawings
  The pictures are sketches, originals of your work. One is of a young man walking into a high school; another is a little girl boarding a plane. Your teacher is arranging to get some of your works on display downtown.
  
  You hear the news starting on the TV.
  
  Rain taps on the little square windows.
  
  > check your inventory
  You have a set of pajamas (being worn).
  
  The TV continues, "This is the fourth slaying of this kind to occur in the past three weeks. . . "
  
  > examine the couch
  The couch is a huge, overstuffed thing that Harvey picked up at some flea market. Its all orange and yellow, pretty obnoxious.
  
  The TV continues, ". . .and police are focusing as much on quelling the growing panic in the city as on catching the killer. "
  
  > examine the bookshelf
  The homemade bookshelf is basically a pile of paperbacks and big anatomy textbooks barely supported by cement blocks and sagging boards. There is a little candle burning on top that just screams "fire hazard."
  
  The TV continues, "We have been asked not to broadcast the images we have of the crime scene, but the killer has left his usual macabre calling cards."
  
  > look at candle
  The candle is white and held in a little blue glass cup. It's lit, not that it helps much.
  
  The TV continues, "The young woman's internal organs had been removed, and several thin strips of skin shaved from the body."
  
  The storm is gathering force outside.
  
  > Leave
  You're not going anywhere until you get out of the couch.
  
  The TV continues, "While not wishing to encourage the unreasonable fear spreading through the city, the police do encourage women living alone to keep all curtains closed and make sure their doors are securely locked."
  
  > get off the couch
  Okay, you're no longer on the couch.
  
  The TV continues, "In a related story, Mayor Anderson has significantly increased active police presence on the streets and has proposed another raise in pay."
  
  > examine the window
  Rain drizzles down the dark windows. They're small and placed high up since this is a basement apartment.
  
  The TV continues, "These raises come at a crucial time, as work related stress causes growing numbers of investigators resign every week."
  
  > blow out the candle
  You blow out the candle.
  
  For a moment the TV is blurred by loud static. Damn antennas.
  
  > lock the door
  Which door do you mean, the outside door, or the bedroom door?
  
  > Outside door
  The door is already locked, two deadbolts and a latch.
  
  The static clears and picks up with the anchorman saying, ". . .continued threats of chemical warfare."
  
  > lock the bedroom door
  It's too far away.
  
  The TV continues, "In further world news--" and is cut short by low static.
  
  > go to the northwest
  The kitchen is deep and narrow, with sink and stove and refrigerator jutting out at awkward angles. It's not that the place is really dirty, but your mother wouldn't be able to stand it. The tile counters are washed-out yellow, slightly grimy, and the sink is more than half filled with this week's dishes. You can see about half the living room through the arch to the southeast, light from the TV flickering on the far wall.
  
  The television growls with hushed static.
  
  The phone's ringing, in the bedroom.
  
  > look at the fridge
  The refrigerator is a massive, humming block, probably left over from when this old building was first divided up into apartments.
  
  The TV continues to hum.
  
  > open the fridge
  There is cold bread and meat in the refrigerator.
  
  The static on the TV gives out to total silence.
  
  > take the meat
  Which meat do you mean, the canned food, or the bread and meat?
  
  > take the bread
  You don't want to carry that around.
  
  The sound on the TV suddenly comes back in, loud.
  
  Annoyed by the ringing, you finally dash into the bedroom and grab the receiver. "Hello?" No answer. You ask again and hear heavy breathing on the other end, panting. You stand there for a moment, trying to think of some response, something biting and clever, but you can't, and the harsh wheezing continues. You hang up the phone and stand there for a moment.
  
  > look at socks
  The old phone is on the floor, half buried by a pile of socks.
  
  A hyperactive TV weatherman blurts out, "Well folks, tonight doesn't look too good."
  
  A fat cockroach scurries over your bare left foot. Without thinking you jerk away and smash it with the ball of your right foot and it crunches under your skin. You quickly wipe the guts off your sole onto the floor and shudder.
  
  > take the socks
  The phone isn't ringing.
  
  The TV continues, "This storm is gonna continue right up until tomorrow morning, and it is one monster of a storm."