I repeated this phrase like a mantra, turning the words over constantly in my mind. As I lay huddled up beneath a snow-capped bush, I waited.
“It won’t be long now.” I let these simple words fall delicately from my lips, savoring the tingle of anticipation that shot through my body. The thick grey fog that drifted from my mouth seemed to beckon me closer.
The wait was torture. But it was an exquisite agony, and as each second passed, the tingling sensation grew stronger. I looked down at the glowing face of my Mickey Mouse watch, his arms twitching impossibly close to midnight. It was almost time.
I could have stayed crouched behind that shrub forever, admiring her beautiful house. It was extremely picturesque; one you would expect to see on a Christmas card. I stared up at a dark window at the top and smiled. I knew exactly where she was. As I stared I wondered exactly what she was wearing. The mere thought made the tingling almost unbearable.
I glanced down at my watch impatiently. Mickey’s longest arm had finally reached the twelve. It was time.
I will never forget the feel of her house as I stood alone in her family room. The atmosphere was friendly, and there was a faint aroma of warm cinnamon that filled the house with a sense of holiday cheer. I was at ease; I was home.
Her house was lavishly decorated with various types of ornaments. Brightly colored paper chains lined the ceilings, while shimmery tinsel twisted up the banister like a metallic snake.
What captivated me most happened to be the lights. Especially those that adorned the towering brambles of their Christmas tree. I seemed to almost float over to them, drawn to the faint glow like a moth to a flame. Staring up at the flickering glow, I stretched out a solitary finger. I touched the string of lights tenderly, welcoming the warmth.
I turned away abruptly. There was a reason I was here, and it wasn’t the lights.
It was her.
I had known her house well before now, so I was able to make my way to her room quickly and undetected. I opened the door slowly and padded lightly into her bedroom. Here, the aroma was stronger and more enticing than the rest of the house. Instead of cinnamon, her room smelled of something more pure. Innocence.
Her room was the typical teenage girl style. Posters of celebrities papered the wall, along with a colorful shelf holding numerous CDs. She was obviously fond of candles, too, as her room was full of them. The candlelight danced merrily across the walls, illuminating her perfect face. She was so serene; lost in an innocent slumber that I knew was misleading. Always the actress…
Her long blonde hair was fanned out behind her head, and looked almost like a golden halo in the candlelight. It’s strange how someone can appear so angelic, but be seductively sadistic.
I took slow, deliberate steps to her bedside. Smoothing a stray wisp of hair aside, I gently traced the contour of her jaw.
“Soon enough,” I whispered. I knew she heard me, because I saw a faint smile cross her lips.
A movement to my right startled me out of my reverie, and I jumped back instinctively. To my relief, I saw nothing more than the candlelight flickering across the room. I steadied myself on her dresser, and tried to slow my pounding heart. Less than thirty seconds later, a new fragrance mingled with that of the previous. Smoke.
I turned to see numerous tongues of fire quickly devouring the lace curtains. I had to leave.
I stole one more look at the sleeping girl before making my way out of the house.
It was not the fear of her seeing me that made me leave so quickly.
I simply did not want to hear her scream.
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