My glazed over eyes try to force themselves shut, but I was determined to stay alive. The warm blood trickled down the side of my neck, and slowly dripped down, drop after drop, onto the inside of my left arm. Lying down on the cold carpet of the store, on the left side of my body, I can barely make out a large pool of red forming on the vinyl underneath me. I am incapable of moving my limbs. He didn't kill me yet, but he is close. I'm fighting to keep my eyes open, and I don't think I can make it. My head begins to throb, and memories from the past few days slither their way into my thoughts. I scream out into the crisp fall air, trying to stop it, but my attempt is fruitless. The horror movie in my head begins to play.

Friday, October 24th.

I stand up from my uncomfortable squatting position, fumbling my hands on the old box of CD's my boss is making me move. I groan as I attempt to use my legs to help lift it, but it's extremely tough as I have zero calf muscles. Once I finally have the box in my hands, I realize it's obscuring my view, and I'm now growing increasingly frustrated with not knowing where I'm going.
     "Yeah, Max," I mumble under my breath, "just make your weakest employee, who has no experience with lifting whatsoever, move the two-ton boxes."
     I let out a huff as I hoist the box up into my small hands to try and attain a more secure grip on it. As I do, a dust cloud just so happens to make its way into my throat. During my coughing fit, where I almost end up dying, I manage to keep my small hands around the rough cardboard.
     "Awesome." I state sarcastically, sputtering out a few last coughs.
     I begin to exit the back room, stumbling blindly towards the door as if I had just downed seven drinks in a row. Reaching out with my right hand, I check to see if I'm walking through the doorway, and not into the wall. When my swiping fingers are met with cool air, I know I'm good to go. I make it safely through the door, which is a surprise; given my clumsiness and strength put together aren't a very great mix. I let out a sigh of relief when I let the box drop from my hands onto the counter with a thud. Gazing down tiredly at the box I had just moved, my eyes scan over the plastic cases. I'm breathing heavy and I use the back of my hand to brush away the hair that's sticking to my forehead.
     My name is Camden Keith, and I work at a small music shop in Lakeview, VT. It is part of a large strip mall that lines Main Street. My lunch break is coming up soon, and I have nothing else to do around the store, so I decide to search through the box. I take out some CD's that look interesting and dust them off, indulging in the cover and reading into the track list. I was so invested in the musical masterpieces I hadn't even realized that a customer had leisurely walked in. Their voice pulls me out of my thoughts and I jump a little bit, surprised to find another person in here.
    “New layout?" His raspy voice questioned me.
    I was taken aback, and embarrassedly started to put the CD's back into the large box before I formed a coherent reply.                 
    “Yes, we decided it was time for a change. Do you need any help in finding something?”
    I let out a nervous chuckle and keep my eyes trained on the box. I’m not good with people, I’m very awkward and shy so this talking thing is new to me.
    He gives me a blunt “No.” and shuffles off to find his treasure.
    I gaze up in curiosity to find myself looking at this young man, around my age, sifting through the vinyls. His long fingers are dragging along their edges so slowly and so delicately, like if he were to press too hard they would shatter into a million pieces. He is leaning over the racks with his back facing me, and I can see his long, shaggy black hair, slicked back with grease fall to about the middle of his back. A shower once in awhile would be nice. I shudder and continue to look this stranger up and down. He is wearing a grey t-shirt, moth holes and food stains delightfully placed. Bootcut blue jeans fall a tad bit short on his lower legs and I can see they’re covered in dirt. His work boots now a dark brown color, when they used to be tan. He takes his time picking out exactly which ones to take, and carries them with great caution. Wow, this guy sure likes his vinyls perfect. Once he turns around, I almost get caught staring. On first glance, his dull, grey eyes carry no life to them. It is like he’s just going through the motions, like he does this monotonous routine everyday. The rest of his face is bandaged and I can’t make out his features. I don’t want to be rude in case he was in an accident, but I couldn't help feeling queasy. I was scared, but I wouldn't show it. Don’t they say you can’t judge a book by it’s cover? He starts to bring the vinyls up to the register I was currently working at. I just stood there and acted like I was fixing something whilst he slowly made his walk over. I couldn’t help but feel something off when the vinyls were slid over to me. I peer down at the three pieces of work on the counter and take them into my hands.
    “You know,” I start nervously, trying to end the awkward silence, “these are all of my favorite songs. They bring back good memories.” I say with a smile, all while packing them into a plastic bag.
        He just stares back at me, no emotion in his eyes. My smile fades just as quickly as it arrived and I begin to feel uneasy. I send my eyes downward to fixate on the old, grey register.
    “That will be-”
     I’m cut off when he firmly shoves out the fifteen dollars in his palm towards me and just drops it on the counter. I stand there, frozen in my spot for a moment as he snatches the bag and practically runs out of the store. When I can finally move again, I close up shop and scurry home.

Saturday, October 25th.

The next day I wake up with a thrown alarm clock and massive bed head. It’s early on a Saturday, 5:30 to be exact, and I have to be in to work for opening. I like taking the morning shifts, there’s really nothing to do and no one that comes in. I’m standing behind the counter, slouched over with my chin resting in my right hand. Watching the 7 o’clock news is basically my job now. I am almost falling asleep when something catches my attention.
    “Hi, I’m Marlene with your breaking news. Police investigators have reported that Emily Brown, a 17 year old student at LHS, has been missing for at least 5 hours now. They believe it to be a kidnapping, and are hoping to find out who is holding her and where they are doing it. We just want to bring her home safe.”
    Emily has long brown hair and hazel eyes, like me. I’m left to pick up my jaw in awe; I had just graduated from LHS last year. Never had I thought that such a crime could be committed in Lakeview. I shut off the T.V., too disturbed to watch anymore, and I find it easy to do little things around the store to take my mind off of it.
    Around 3 or 4pm, I hear a soft, almost non-existent sliding noise from outside of the back exit door. I pause for a minute, thinking it is just a customer shuffling around trying to drop in. But when 10 minutes pass and no one enters, I decide to go and check it out. I open the door slightly and peer down at my feet, only to be met with a vinyl. I stare down at it, confused as to why it is here. I shrug it off, and deem that someone must have dropped it while walking by. I don’t think much of it, and throw it on the counter with a smack. With nothing else to do, since I had basically cleaned the whole store inside and out this morning, I turn on the news again. What I see is disturbing. Emily Brown was viciously murdered, and her body was found dumped in clear sight on the side of Main Street, just a few blocks down from where I work. I hastily jolt my finger forwards, clicking the button that shuts the program down. There is a murderer on the loose, near the street I am on right now. I let out a nervous sigh and take a slow look around, peeking over both shoulders, just in case. I grasp the vinyl I found earlier without looking and go to put it back before I leave. Peering down at the title, so I can know where to put it back, my heart stops. I run my hands over the cover to reassure myself it isn’t fake. This vinyl is one of the three vinyls that sketchy young man bought from me yesterday. I don’t know what to do with it, or why it's here, so I decide to take a listen. The first song that comes on doesn't sound like the original “Bye, Bye, Bye” by NSYNC. And it isn’t. The voice singing it is a girl. She sounds scared, and hesitant. I can tell she is crying because she sniffles and stutters a lot.
    I can hear a man in the background shout something that sounds similar to “Sing it like her!” 
    Whoever “her” is, I don’t know. Listening to this sends chills down my spine. I recognize the girl's voice; it is Emily Brown. I toss the needle off the record and it comes to a screeching halt. Whatever this record is, it needs to be destroyed.

Sunday, October 26th.

I can’t stop thinking about her voice; how frightened and disoriented she sounded. So many questions flood my mind all at once. Why would this be left here? Why am I the one who had to find it? Was this what the killer did? And most importantly, did the killer drop this off? I can’t answer these questions and that tortures me. My first reaction was to burn the disc entirely, but now I see that I need to keep it as evidence. I mean, there is a murderer on the loose, and he had a motive to make this disgusting record. He dropped it off here, so I would see it, for a reason. I just need to figure out what that reason is in advance, so I can turn it into the police. Before I even have time to think about it, I hear word of another kidnapping. This time her name is Kelly Reese. Both of the girls share similar qualities; the same brown hair and hazel eyes. Other than that, I make no connection between her and Emily Brown, but I do not disregard the thought that this might be the work of the same killer. Deep down, my gut feeling is telling me it’s the latter. Another sliding noise from the back exit door pulls me right out of my thoughts. Escaping my speculation is not an option, and neither is hiding from the fact that I know exactly what was left. When I open the door, to no surprise is another one of the man’s vinyls. “Thriller” by Micheal Jackson is the one left behind this time.
    About an hour later, the police find Kelly Reese's body grizzly murdered, two blocks closer to the shop than Emily’s. About the same time was allotted between myself finding the vinyl and the police finding the body in both killings. Playing the vinyls over and over again, I come to discover it was not the same girl, but a different one. All of the evidence up to this point implies that the shrill and screechy voice on the new record belonged to Kelly Reese, and I had no doubt in my mind that it was not her. Everything was the same between the murders. The brown hair, the hazel eyes, the kidnapping, the forced singing, and the murder one hour later. I have an idea as to who the killer is, but speaking up about it is not an option. Since we use cash, I have no documentation that the man bought these two vinyls. Along with no name, I have no pictures since we don’t invest in cameras. I know, we’re old school. What I do know is that my suspected killer bought only three vinyls, so this horror movie will be done tomorrow if he keeps his motive.

Monday, October 27th.

Walking into the store as usual for my shift, an eerie feeling sets in the pit of my stomach. I set the keys down, and slowly look around for anything that looks unusual or out of place. Nothing sticks out to me, and I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding. Moving towards the back room, the lights are off and I don’t want to go in the dark to find the switch, but I have to. Trembling, I place my hands out to my right on the wall, and I slowly start to move forward into the darkness. I try to be as quiet as I can, because who knows who might be lurking. Climbing over a small bump, my fingers fumble to grasp what I recognize as the light switch. I decide to count to three and switch it on. My heart is beating out of my chest and my hands are becoming sweaty. One. Two. Three. I jolt the stick up and there, in front of me, is the normal back room. I let out a sigh of relief and swing around quickly. Switching on the news, there’s no reports of any kidnapping, which should’ve happened by now. I set the remote down and go to fix something under the counter when I hear a soft "ding" of the bell, telling me a customer is here.  His hair is black and short, not like the creepy man’s. When he turns around I am filled with confusion.
    “Zack?” I mutter, confused.                                      
This is my ex-boyfriend of a few years back. He used to love to have me sing to him.
            “Hey Cam.” he rings, a little too joyfully.
            He starts to leisurely walk over to the spot I’m standing in. It is only when he gets to about a foot away that I realize something. His eyes are lifeless and grey. My jaw drops. The horrible realization sets in; Zack  was the man three days ago who bought the vinyls, he just got his hair cut. He was disguised so I wouldn't notice him. But what does this mean? He answers my question by taking out the third and final vinyl, “Hit Me Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears. He looks at me with his dull eyes and a straight mouth. 
    “I’ve been waiting to do this for a while Cammie.”
    I stare at him, astonished. Slowly, I begin to open my mouth and the words pour out.
“What do you want Zack?” I ask, frantically.
           “Sing this to me…” He starts as he reaches into his back pocket for something, “like you used to. Or I’ll kill you too.”
            He finishes pulling out the blade. I begin to sweat, I can’t escape.
            "Zack stop! Why are you doing this!” I shriek as tears begin to swell on my waterline.
            I back up into a rack of CD's, and they crash to the ground in millions of pieces. I jump forward at the noise and begin to cry more.
            “You broke my heart, you sang me these songs and you broke my heart!” he lets out a breathy chuckle, “but not this time. Now you sing me this song, and I break your heart.” he grins evilly at me.
             "I found girls that looked like you, but they didn't sing the same. So I got rid of them."
             I don't know what to do. Does that mean he’s going to kill me? I don't want to die!   
            “Please Zack! I’ll sing it! Just please, please, don’t hurt me!” I manage to sputter out.
            He smiles and sets up the record. He stands behind me with the cold blade pressed up against the trembling skin of my neck. I begin to sing, but the tears won’t stop flowing.
            “Do it right!” He screams.
            I sniffle and start again. I try so hard to please him but I can’t do it. 
            “Please don’t hurt me.” I manage to get out as tears stream down my face.
              He stops the track and places his opposite hand on my shoulder. He waits there for a minute, just staring off straight ahead. I can hear my heart pounding out of my chest, and his calm, slow breaths. He slides his right hand back and twists my body left, sending an agonizing amount of pain to permeate my quivering body. I fall to the ground, unable to move, tears still falling. I can feel my warm blood trickle down the side of my neck onto my arm. I see him clean his blade with his shirt, and I scream out in help.
              “If only you could sing like you used to” he teases with a laugh.
              My eyes begin to glaze over, but I can still make out his figure, placing the new record of me singing in the cover slip. He slides the record underneath me, and blows me a kiss before slipping out of the back door.
               The memories cease, and I'm brought back to present time, engulfed in a pool of my own blood. I attempt to cry, but nothing comes out. I can't talk, make any noises, or move. My mouth is grossly dry. I begin to blackout, losing the battle I have endured for almost an hour now. I can almost feel the grim reaper's skeletal hands dragging me down to death. Wait, I can actually feel warm hands grasping my body, specifically my neck. I begin to lose my hearing, and I'm slipping away. The EMT's white uniform is now stained with red, as are his hands. I struggle to hold the fraction of my eyes my lids have not draped over open. I can't do it. I close the last of my sight while the doctors scream things I cannot make out. The voices seem to die out, and the white light begins to grow.
     "SHE'S CLOSING HER EYES! Honey, listen to us, you have to stay with us, you can't clos-"