I was on a business trip somewhere. The feel of the place was similar to Granite City, Il. While there many unimportant things happend with people who appeared to be unimportant.
Then I was home, but it wasn't MY house, and it wasn't my parent's house either. It was sort of a melding of the Whose the Boss house and my fraternity house from college. But it was just my family that lived there. My parents, me, and two younger siblings that I don't have. They were six and eight years old.
That night on the news there was talk of several shootings that had gone on.
In the paper was a picture of a van belonging to the shooter. The van was painted sort of like a British flag, but without the blue. And the van belonged to one of the unimportant people I'd met on my trip.
It was then that they showed up at my house. This guy, who looked like Shaggy and Davey Jones love child. All innocent and sweet, except the eyes. The eyes were the eyes of a psychotic killer. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to tell my parents before he had ingratiated himself into our home. And he was uber infatuated with me. Like touchy and clingy and 'we'll be together'y. I was seriously bothered, which says alot, cause I'm pretty touchy and clingy myself.
I finally managed to get my mom alone and tell her who he was without saying anything. She called the police, who only sent one officer. When the guy went for a walk, the officer didn't even follow. Just let him go...
So my parents hid me and my siblings in my room, behind a hall filled with antique junk. Unfortunately they put the junk in place before I was in the room, so I had to climb over it all.
Eventually he came back, and he was nearing finding our hiding place when my alarm went off.