It was a short sunday night. And it would've been a shorter sunday night for me if I hadn't remebered about one little thing. But I will get to that in a moment.

I looked at the clock on my phone. 9'o clock. I was getting tired and new I had to go to bed soon if I was going to get up in time for school tomorrow morning. But I really didn't want to. I was to ampt up over...well I didn't know. I just had a feeling something lucky was going to happen to me. I just didn't know what, yet. I was reading a book when the door bell rang. My dad was upstairs on the phone and on the computer, absent from the real world. And me? I am and have always been a paranoid freak. I looked out at the window realizing the certains were all the way open. I slowly crept by the door to look outside. Nothing was out there. Nothing. Crept out, I walked back to the couch to begin reading my book again when a few minutes later the doorbell rang. This time I rushed to the door, eager to find out what it was. NOTHING! JEEZ! Somebody was pulling a prank, I thought. But I quickly realized in most horror movies the paraniod person who always thinks that something out of the ordinary is going on, is usually the one to survive, other than the one who assumes somebody is pulling a prank. But then I quickly realized that if this was a horror movie somebody in their late twenties would be playing me. So I gave up that idea. I went up stairs to check on my dad. Everything was fine with him. He said that it was just probably the stupid neiboor boys. I new there was no point of saving him once the killer attacks. He was going to die anyway with that attitude. I went back down stairs and realized how forgetful I am. I forgot to lock the door. Silly me. I went to lock the door and go back to my reading. Of course, the door bell rings. I got sick of it. So I marched towards the door, angerily.And knowing that doing this, I will most likely be history after this action, I open the door and screamed out, "Stop it! Who is there!? You are one wussy serial killer, with an annoying, not scary attidude! Why don't you come and kill me like a real phycho is suppose to, you pest!" I slammed the door and locked it. I marched to the kitchen and angrily pulled out some soda. No point of trying to go to bed with this going on. I drank the soda and nearly choked when I saw a man with a knife come in through the back door. "Oh great." I let out a big sigh. So by evening out everything I did right and wrong, I knew I had a 50% chance of surviving. I was ready to scream and run and possibly get stabbed, like a true teen horror turns out. I ran threw the kitchen and out to the living room, dodging a few of his swings. I ran out the back. I tried to climb the fence but it was to high. His plastic knife gave me a poke on my shoulder. It stung because it was sharp for plastic, but it was still plastic. But then I realized, what if he gets me? What a horrible way to die. And embarrasing way to die by a plastic knife. OH! I forgot to tel you, he was wearing an ordinary mask with a bath robe with blood stains on it. Anyway,I ran up stairs calling for my dad to get out while he can. I looked out the window and saw he was already out, and screaming. I saw the man in the mask running towards me with that smile on his mask and quickly stabbed me. Hard. I was bleeding all over the hall way. But before he can kill me the cops came and took him away. I went to the hospital of course. The moral of this story isn't, remeber all of your horror story rules. The true moral of this story is, do not underestimate the pain of a plastic knife.