I lived with my parents in a small home in Adairville, Kentucky, on Main Street. This was awhile back, I’d say in 1979. I was nine years old. As a small effort to meet new kids and make new friends, I happened to run into a young guy, Nick, who lived just two houses down from mine, and Jaicara, a sharp-witted sister, twelve years old, and very nice looking for her age. They were new to the neighborhood as well I was. After getting acquainted, we became a bad little group of young people who thought that causing trouble was the way to have fun and enjoy ourselves while our parents were at work. During that time, our parents were very strict. We were not allowed outside after 8 p.m. We decided that we were going to break the curfew rule one night. I convinced them to do it; as a matter of fact, we stayed out until 9:30.
The three of us went walking down deserted streets in a rural-looking town, in a neighborhood where kids were reportedly missing due to kidnapping, and where there were many robberies and assaults. This is the one time in history when the lesson of obedience was crucial, particularly to parents. After walking by a house that used to be a funeral home with thin, tinted windows, located off the main street and somewhat in a closed section, we heard very loud screaming which went on for about fifteen seconds. And as nosey as we were, we walked up to the windows to try and get a peek at what was going on. No other adults were around. From my vague memory of the detailed description, I saw a shadow of what appeared to be a lady with long hair in a compromising position, and another shadow of a masculine figure leaning over her with a long pointy object. One of my friends, Jaicara, was so scared she urged us to leave, and started backing away while Nick and I were too preoccupied with closed doors. Within the last five seconds of the screams all we could see was this the masculine figure holding what appeared to be a knife as long as a dagger moving high up in the air and descending as fast as a falling snowflake land right on top of the lady. All of the sudden, my heart nearly froze and I was out of breath. My body heat went up until I started sweating, and my legs were weak.
After finding the strength to turn my head to look at my friends, I realized that they were already gone. I was then alone. Yet, I continued to watch from a distance, looking through the window of the house, and not one car was passing by for me to signal for help. The time then was about 10 p.m. Finally, the worst thing happened. The male figure inside the house started looking around until it, or he, looked straight toward the widow where I was standing. Before I could holler “HELP!” I was the next potential victim. The killer started running out of the back door of the house toward me. I had to literally force my feet to run, because I was terrified and shaking to the point of idle motion, but I to make a choice—run or die. So I ran. I started off a little slow but miraculously picked up speed almost the same as a fast bike. I tried screaming while I was running, but looking back I could see the stranger in the mask trailing me half the speed I was running.
Nobody seemed to hear me, unfortunately there weren’t any passing vehicles at that moment, and not one police siren to be heard. I was running for my life at night in the deserted streets where maybe a little light from a marquee shone in my face with no other light from anywhere else to support it was present. While I was running, I could barely see the long knife the stranger was chasing me with. Not only did it have blood on it, but the knife itself was shining—yes, shining so much that I could almost see reflections on it. That was only possible when I was passing by a few lit porches that had night lights which were bright enough for me to see what I was running from. I luckily glanced over and saw an abandoned building that looked like a secretly built prison. I was a pretty good distance away from familiar territory. I ran inside and hid in what appeared to be a hole in the bottom part of the wall near the dirty floor covered with asbestos. The walls looked historical, and the toilet and sink were decorated with vomit and feces. I crawled into that hole to hide only to discover that on the inside of the wall where I was, there was actually more room for me to crawl until I could go no further away from the entrance of the hole. Be it not, but in all fear, there were footsteps on the other side. They sounded like shoes walking on sand—very clear and distinctive. Then, all of the sudden, I heard what sounded like a chipping away at hard stone blocks, but identical to an ice pick. Fortunately, the wall of brick was too strong, and the hole was too small for the size of the assumed killer that was chasing me. No, I never slept. The sounds stopped after several minutes, but I wasn’t dumb enough to crawl back through the hole. At the very least, daylight did appear after X amount of hours and minutes. Too shocked to think about food or water, and lightly traumatized to think clearly, I was gradually moving toward the hole to free myself of my own imprisonment. It took a lot of courage for me to stick my head through to see if I could spot any signs of the killer. However, I did see shoeprints blended in with the germy floor and whatever else was on it. I squeezed back to the outside of the wall where I once again was before. I did run, but not as fast this time. There was that glorious sunlight in my face and passing cars. Next, there were more people looking outside their windows. I heard a police car. The only thing on my mind now was the trouble I was in from wandering away from home.
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