Her instincts acted faster than she had thought. Her fingers swayed over the touch-pad and the laptop screen flared up with life. In its dull pool of light she searched for the candles and a matchbox that usually she kept in the bottom drawer. With a low hiss the phosphorous of a match-stick burned and she lit one of the candle. It would be idiotic to sneak armless. The killer was fully prepared and there was a faint chance that Rashmi could survive till the dawn. Finally, though a foolish decision, she risked to grab a knife from the kitchen.
Surrounded by flickering light of the candle Rashmi cautiously stepped down the stairs. A feeling grew in her that she was being watched. For a while she tried to shrug it off. Nothing moved or made a sound across her living room; except trickling of rain and grumbling of clouds. But the feeling not only persisted, it grew stronger. The hairs on her back of the neck stirred; her skin prickled as if it itched on the inside.
A tap on her shoulder almost made her shrieked. She turned her head and repented in doing so. There was a light whoosh sound as if someone had blew air and with that her candle doused, leaving her in darkness. Scared she dropped her vanished hope of light.
Lightning blazed the long windows and she noticed a silhouette moving across the room. A toothed-knife in his hand gleamed fleetingly. Alarmed, she crouched near the sofas, hoping her killer would have not spotted her. Sweat beaded her forehead; her breaths came out in long gasps. She clasped her mouth with hands so no uncontrolled sound of her would direct the intruder. But she could not stay there whole time. She had to move.
After gathering enough courage Rashmi dragged herself on elbows. Her head struck something hard and a shattering sound of china-clayed...