“It’s not over, Alyssa.” His voice was raspy, dangerous, barely-restrained violence.

How had he gotten this number? How did he know where she was?

She had moved to another state. Changed her name. She had finally escaped this psychopath.

She had been wrong.

The police had been no help. Until he actually did something, they couldn’t get involved.

So she did what they wouldn’t.

Hedge clippers to the neck was a permanent solution.

Or so she had thought.

“I’m coming.” He whispered, breaking into hysterical giggles.

A knock fell upon the door.

S.J. Gaither’s daughter, Allie, loves reading horror. She talked her daddy into writing this story for her. This is for Allie.