The Attack

Kurt is woken up from his deep sleep by the ringing of his iPhone. It vibrates off the small wooden coffee table. Kurt rubs the sleep out of his eyes before groggily looking down at his phone to see that a name is showing: Noah Puckerman.

Weird, why is Puck calling me? Kurt thinks to himself as he unlocks his phone. He brings the slick black iPhone to his small pale ear.

"Hello Puck!"

"Hello."

Kurt doesn't recognize the voice. It certainly doesn't belong to Puck, a fellow member of his Glee club. Puck is…was the best friend of Finn. This man's voice though just doesn't sound normal. It sounds like the voice of the Devil…

"Oh sorry," Kurt apologizes, "I thought you were someone else."

"That's okay. I am someone else."

"I can hear that. But why are you calling from Puck's phone?"

"It must be lonely, Kurt, being home at night after what happened last night."

Kurt nearly drops his phone at the question. How does he know his name? And how does he know he is alone in the house?

"Who is this?" Kurt demands, trying to hide the true fear hidden beneath his words. Who is this asshole?

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Is this a prank?" Kurt asks. It has to be a prank. What other reason can there be for this phone call?

The voice just laughs. Even his laughter sounds demonic. All the warmth leaves Kurt's skinny body as freezing cold chills run throughout his body.

"Okay, Puck, this isn't funny anymore."

"I told you, this isn't Puck!" the voice hisses at Kurt, causing him to jump, nearly out of his skin.

"If this isn't Puck, why don't you tell me who you are, you coward?"

Kurt tries to be strong. There is no way he is going to show this bastard that he is terrified underneath. It's just a phone call. He can't hurt him…

He can't hurt me. He can't hurt me, Kurt repeats inside his mind. He keeps saying the phrase over and over, as if he is trying to force himself to believe that he is safe.

"I like you when you're feisty Kurt. This side of you…it's thrilling!"

"Oh yeah, why don't you show your face then, you fuckin' asshole!"

"My pleasure."

The line goes dead and Kurt stares down at his iPhone in surprise. He's gone? Kurt can't celebrate the victory for too long as the closet door rips open and someone in a black costume and a bloody ghost mask rushes at Kurt tackling him to the ground. Kurt screams as he collides with the floor, the pain shooting throughout his body like an electrical current.

The phone goes sliding across the hard wood floor, away from Kurt's grasp as he tries to reach it. He can just barely touch. It's as if the world is mocking him. If only he could just reach a bit farther, but the killer is straddling him, putting all their weight on his waist so Kurt can't get away.

Kurt tries to scream, but he is frozen as he stares up at the mask. Kurt can't bring himself to say anything. All he can manage is a mere squeak that escapes his mouth. But that is when he saw the glint of silver out of the corner of his eyes. The metal of the large hunting knife looked like it had been freshly clean. Whoever owns the knife obviously takes great care of it. One side was sharp and slick, while the other side was grated, ready to pull at flesh. Kurt's eyes grow wide as he watches the knife in the killer's gloved hands.

The knife is cold as the masked-person slides it across Kurt's neck, teasing him.

This is how I'm going to die…alone at home.

In that instant, Kurt found himself wishing that his dad were there. He'd protect him. He always had.

The masked-person brings the knife up to Kurt's pale white cheek, sliding it across it. As they repeat the motion, the stranger adds pressure to the movement, drawing blood as the knife leaves a long deep gash along Kurt's cheek.

The pain brings Kurt's out of his paralyzed state. The masked-person brings the knife up in the air, and that is when Kurt strikes. He knees the killer in the groin and it rolls off of him. In one swift motion, Kurt runs for the front door, but the killer is too fast for him and in one quick moment, the killer is swinging the knife directly at Kurt's head, but Kurt ducks. The knife narrowly misses his face, sticking into the door. Kurt turns away and runs upstairs, as the killer pries the knife out of the door and chases after Kurt, like a bull going after it's prey.

The killer is fast, but Kurt has enough time to get into his parents' room and he slams the door, locking it. The killer is there crashing at the door waiting for it to burst open. Kurt looks around in trepidation, looking for something, anything he can use to protect himself.

The door starts to splinter by the knob, so Kurt pushes the heavy wooden dresser across the room. Kurt can feel each and every muscle straining in his body as he pushes the heavy furniture across the carpeted room. It doesn't move very smooth. Kurt believes that his muscles may actually burst from the intense pain and stress upon them. But soon the small wardrobe is up against the door and Kurt grabs the phone.

"This is 9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"Please! Help me! My name is Kurt Hummel and the killer is in my house. He is going to kill me!" Kurt screams into the phone, terrified for his life. He doesn't want to die like this.

The wood rips apart and Kurt can see a gloved hand through a large hole in the wooden door.

"What is your address, sir?"

"Umm, it's…"

Shit!

The door breaks open, but stops short with the small wardrobe in front of it! The killer tries to get through the crack between the door and the wall, but the space is too thin for him. He sticks his hand through swinging the knife around like a maniac. Whoever it is, they are obviously angry!

"Sir? Are you there?"

"I'm trapped. He is breaking the door down. My address is 329 Chestnut Avenue! Please hurry!"

The dresser falls over from the killer's pounding against it, the door opening wider. Kurt drops the phone, ignoring the calm voice of the female operator.

"Go away!" Kurt screams as the killer continues trying to fit through the door.

Kurt searches around the room, trashing his parent's room to find any weapon, anything to protect himself with. He grasps his hands around a wooden baseball bat, the first time his fingers have even touched one. He imitates what he has seen his father do many times as he grasps it ready to swing. The door comes off it's hinges as the killer plunges against it full force. He or she won't give up until Kurt Hummel is dead, and he knows this in the bottom of his frightened, beating heart.

The killer climbs over the door and fallen dresser and comes towards Kurt's shaking body. Kurt is obviously not very experienced with how to hold a baseball bat. He looks like a small child learning to use one for the first time. Kurt backs away from the stranger, who slowly walks towards him. He keeps the knife out, as if he wants Kurt to focus on nothing but the knife. Kurt feels the cool wall against his back through his thin shirt. Kurt just knows that the bastard is smiling under their mask. They have Kurt exactly where they want him, corned like a caged animal waiting to become dinner.

Kurt won't let that happen. He swings the bat, making contact with the killer's head! The killer goes down in one quick move, and Kurt waits a second, but they don't move. Kurt's attacker lies still on the floor, still alive, since he can see their chest moving. Kurt walks around the body, hoping this isn't the part in a "horror film" where the killer jumps out and slashes at their ankle. Kurt can feel his heart beating like crazy, sounding more like a jackhammer, as he walks around the still form.

Please don't wake up!

Kurt has never been one to believe in God, but at this moment, he is just hoping for a miracle. When he many feet away from the body, Kurt jumps on the door, splintering underneath the weight, and he is over it and down the stairs. Kurt unlocks the front door and screams as a police officer stands there, with his gun out. Kurt drops the bat and wraps his arms around the older man with graying hair. Another police officer leads the frightened young man out and away from the house. The female officer has a kind face and curly dark hair kept in a ponytail. She leads Kurt into the back of the patrol car, leaving the door open. She wraps her leather jacket around his shivering frame.

Poor kid, she thinks to herself. She wonders if he is shivering from fear or the brisk winter air. Neither she nor Kurt knows which it is.

Inside the house, the male officer walks upstairs and sees the broken door and the trashed room. That kid really seems to have put up a fight. As the officer walks into Kurt's parents' room, he lowers his gun. The window on the far wall is wide open, the curtains blowing in the wind.

All that is left behind is a cell phone.