Do you want to be my friend?

A chilling voice whispers from behind me. My head snaps around and I see a silhouette of a figure through my curtains. Normally this wouldn't creep me out but the thing is, I'm on the second floor and the silhouette is of anything but human.

Do you like rusty spoons?

Do you have any rusty spoons?

My window rattles and I jump out of bed. My hand darts towards my ohone and I curse under my breath as I realise it's dead. The only landline is in the kitchen downstairs so I should be able to get to it in time... In time? Why am I so scared? Why is my heart jumping out of my throat? It's just some weirdo outside my bedroom right? They've probably got a ladder and decided it was a good idea to start going around and pranking people. All I have to do is go downstairs, call the police and report what is happeneing but then - why do I feel so scared?

My window rattles again but this time I hear a snap and my eyes widen.

Do you like rusty spoons?

I don't hesitate and dash out of my room taking the stairs three fleights at a time. I skid into the kitchen and yelp in surprise. Teh blinds are down as usual but the silhouette is here again. The microwave behin me pibgs and I jump out of my skin.

Calm down. Calm down. I take a deep breath. I must have forgotten to reset the timer or something. I have to focus on the main thing - the weirdo through outside the window. I look towards rhe window to reassure myself but the silhouette is now gone.

Do you like rusty spoons?

Thus time the voice comes form behind the kitchen door and I slam it shut as a shadow emrges from the corner. I double lock it and barricade it with a chair. I don't know how this weirdo got into my house but if it keeps pulling this disappearing magic trick I'll need a lot more than a landline to protect myself.

The door to the kicthen rattles and I shuffle backwards as the chair dislodges slightly.

Do you like rusty spoons?

I feel a bead of sweat drip jnto my eye and zi frantically sweep my hand over the kicthen counter searching for a knife I used earlier. My eyes never leave fhe kitchen door and I feel a wave of reassure wash over me as I feel my hand grab a handle. Bringing the utensil into view, I feel my blood pool out through my feet. It isn't a knife, and it definitely isn't anything sharp. Instead it's round and rusted.

I feel a hot breath on my kneck and I hear the bubble of saliva as the thing behind me contorts its face into a twisted grin.

You found my rusty spoon!

Do you want to be my friend?