Back To December By: KevinaOyatedor

The Taylor Swift tune is not sweet, nor emotional. Its somber, slow, ominous.

***

A hard piece of ice hits my face like a rough knife, stirring from my unconscious state. Blinking fast the pieces of ice under my eyelids a brisk wind blows my on my skin. Moving my body but it's restrained, I'm in a seated position hands and legs tied tight.

"You're awake," a vicious voice echoed in the darkness. Squinting to see his figure but not his face.

"Where am I?" my voice groggy it echoed back. I figured we were outside in the cold winter but I was still confused. The last thing I remember was drinking wine at the work Christmas party. His shadow approaching me slow the snowflakes crunches beneath his shoes. Hearing the crack of the match it lights up a barrel of trash, illuminating our surrounding. His wet floppy brown hair over the black mask.

"Aww Amanda don't you know?" He asked venomous laced in his tone.

"What the hell, who are you?!" I yelled, cold wind coming out my mouth as I breathed furiously. While wiggling in my seat to break free he pulled out his phone, pressing buttons on the screen. A slow and steady tune comes on, the guitar strings starts and the person singing begins.

Recognizing the song I pulled a frown, making my skin crawl at how it sounds. The Taylor Swift tune is not sweet, nor emotional. Its somber, slow, ominous, its own version on the mp3. I'm dreading what will happen next, but I'm so confused.

"What is this-" I started to plead but he shuts mouth with a harsh slap across my cheek. A copper taste filled my mouth, spitting out the blood on the snow.

"Shut up!" he hissed at me.

"I don't understand, why are you doing this?"

Ignoring me again he pulled out a long, dull knife, screwdrivers, and screws. Ripping off a piece of duct tape he placed it on my lips to seal it.

"Have you ever own a doll? Silly me, you did. I remember you telling me a collection your mother passed on to you when she moved into a home because of a broken hip," he sharpened the knife with a quick swipe of the sharpener.

"I never told you anything! Who are you?" That conversation was between me and my best friend Donna one time about childhood Christmas presents. Was he listening in? Did he know me personally?

"Just a friend. A friend you never notice. A friend you talked to once but ignored me for five years."

Racking my brain to remember him but his face is still concealed. My guess is Michael from I.T., he's one of my closest friends at work but he's so nice to do this. It can't be Casey, he sits right next to me, we speak of wreaths and Dragon Ball Z, he would never do this. My heart beating so fast it filled my ears in fear, feeling like it might break from my chest.

"I'm sorry if I did wrong to you but please you don't have to do this."

"Of course you don't know. Women like you are ignorant to what's right in front of you. The beauty outside doesn't match your insides: those doe brown eyes, shiny hair and flawless skin is fake. Inside your leathery and shallow."

As he finished sharpening the knife the blade shining against the fire, twirling it between his fingers coming face to face.

"So what you're gonna kill me?" My voice shaking as I asked the stranger.

"Yes. But not as quick," the cold knife touching my cheek he pokes it hard. Blood dripping from the hole to my collarbone, "I love seeing you squirm. Like a worm on a hook when you pierce it before fishing: helpless." His dry freezing fingers brushing against my neck, he swiped the blood and he lifted the mask off his face. Hearing him slurp the liquid like soup, the mask dropped to the ground. Crooked teeth, brown eyes and pointy nose revealed from the fire.

"Seymour?" I questioned, surprised and frightened. I only spoke to him once since he worked in the mail room, bringing mail to the staff and giving him a smile. He seemed so nice and sweet but never said much around the office.

"You know my name. I should give you a prize," he maliciously said. Holding my face he kissed my mouth rough and impatient. I bite his bottom lip to fight back, he punched my stomach and I let out an "oomf."

"You don't have to do this," I pleaded panting to catch my breath from his knuckles.

"I don't have to, I want to. You never had a passion Amanda?" He threw pictures at my face, landing on my lap. I'm mortified of the women disfigured, stiff and plastic with screws in their head and necks.

"So I'm gonna be your doll? You're sick!"

"A collector never stops collecting," he told me. The knife piercing my chest I let out a howl, coughing out blood from my lips.

"You shall always be with me Amanda," hearing his final words, the world fading to black I take my last breath.