{Bad era – 1987}.

She sat waiting for her fiancé to show up, her eyes fixed intently on the television. The bright screen's light flickered on her outward facial features, whilst the shadows of the dark room hid in her more defined ones. She was completely engrossed in the scenes that were occurring on the screen, and she sat back against the plush sofa, exhaling deeply to relax herself.

Her name was Annie. She was a twenty-three-year-old woman with ginger curls, and sharp green eyes. Her fiancé was named Michael, and he had black curls, with chocolate brown eyes to match. They seemed an unlikely pair; Annie was a bubbly, outgoing girl, whilst Michael was rather shy, keeping himself to himself ... but their relationship was beautiful.

Suddenly, she heard a noise from the kitchen. It sounded like a window smashing – but why would that happen? It was surely her imagination; there was no other explanation. She shook her head, brushing the subject off as she focused on the TV once more. She chuckled at the storyline of the programme she was watching, but her laughter was only short-lived because she heard another noise.

The noise wasn't a window smashing this time – it sounded like someone was moving around in the kitchen. What was causing this? Why was she hearing this? She had no idea. She was trying not to panic or worry; there was a high chance that this was just her imagination. Or perhaps, it was even Michael – but he normally came through the front door. Oh well, she thought, maybe he wanted a change.

"Hey Michael." Annie made the assumption that it was in fact Michael, calling out to the next room from the sofa, "How was work?" She received no answer, which disappointed her because Michael wasn't the ignorant type. She took a breath before shouting again, "I said, how was work, Michael? You're early today!"

Again, no answer came from the kitchen. Annie rolled her eyes playfully, pushing herself up from the sofa. Slowly, she made her way to the kitchen, opening the kitchen door to see a dark figure – whoever it was, they were dressed in black and masked to hide their identity.

"Uh ... who are you?" She took a step back in fear, "Michael, if this is your idea of a joke, then it's not funny ... " Her words held fright, but there was a part that sounded hopeful that it was just Michael. It wasn't a large part, though.

The figure appeared to move its eyes upwards to look at Annie, before taking small steps towards her. All that was left for Annie to do was run. She dashed out the kitchen, into the dining room. Desperately, she ran underneath the table, because she was defenceless against this person. After running under the table, she regretted her decision; it was an obvious place to hide – he was bound to find her.

Annie heard steady footsteps pound against the floor, leading into the room she was in. Her body was shaking, her breathing rough. There was no way she was going to get out of the house safely – she needed to remain unseen; perhaps she would live long enough for Michael to return.

Without warning, the person removed the tablecloth from the table, exposing Annie. She screamed, darting out from under the table, making her way upstairs. Every door she passed, she closed to buy herself some time. If the person had to open each door to follow her, it would give her a few seconds to hide properly.

Finally, she arrived at the bedroom, crouching down behind the bed. The footsteps of the person were coming upstairs; this was like an intense game of hide-and-go-seek – but she didn't want to be found, this time. She tried to control her breathing; if it got too loud, whoever was after her would hear with ease.

The sound of the bathroom door opening caused her to jump. He was searching every room on the second floor – meaning eventually, he would come to the room she was in. This thought created a terrible sickly feeling in her stomach; she didn't want to die. She had never been so scared in her entire life. She needed Michael, desperately.

Then, it happened. The bedroom door was thrown open, which was the exact moment her breathing turned completely silent. A single sound could be the difference between life and death, so she needed to keep the noise volume down. The person opened the closet forcefully, ripping every item of clothing from its coat hanger. Having no success in finding Annie, he searched further into the room.

His eyes wandered over to the bed, but he couldn't see any signs of her. In defeat, he left the bedroom, resulting in Annie letting out a loud sigh of relief. She wasn't safe yet, but as long as she stayed in the bedroom, she might just have been okay. But then of course, it would be much safer to get out the house; there would be no way of dying then.

Carefully, she stood herself up, coming out of her hiding place, before creeping towards the bedroom door. A sense of triumph filled her at the notion she had gotten to the door, but then she sneezed, due to the dust in the bedroom. It was an old room – only used for storage purposes, or for when a guest came. It was rarely cleaned because nobody ever really went inside.

Fear struck her; she had basically given away where she was. Within moments, the person caught sight of her, causing her to panic so badly, she ran back into the room, speedily trying to get back into her hiding place. However, she wasn't quick enough; the person grabbed hold of a wooden chair, before striking at Annie twice. The first blow sent her tumbling to the ground, whilst the second hit her head, knocking her out cold.

Blood seeped from her nostrils, dripping onto the carpet, staining it red. The man fled the apartment, leaving no trace of his visit behind him. Annie remained still on the carpet, her skin gradually becoming more pale with each passing second.

*

"Annie? Annie! I'm home, babe!" Michael's voice rang through the apartment, as he entered. He headed into the living room, noting that Annie wasn't there, "Annie?" The next place he came to was the kitchen. He found the smashed window, gasping, "Oh, gosh!"

Quickly, he ran to the dining room. Still no signs of Annie anywhere. He called out her name once again, rushing up the stairs to the bedroom. Upon opening the bedroom door, his eyes widened, an awful feeling of grief filling him. All he saw was bloodstains on the carpet, as well as the body of his fiancée.

"Annie!" he cried, kneeling down by my side, "Annie! Are you okay? Annie! Annie! Speak! Please! You've got to be alive!" His shaking hand reached to check her pulse, but he couldn't feel the throbbing of her blood running through her veins, "Oh, my ... " He was speechless.

His eyes caught sight of the wooden chair, which was now partially broken. It had a couple of blood droplets splattered on its legs, whilst it appeared the back of it had been torn off. He quickly worked out that the chair had been the cause of Annie's death, but all he could do in the moment was grieve.

He took her limp body in his arms, cradling her slowly as he sobbed for his fiancée. It pained him that he had no idea who had done this to her ...

... But whoever it was, was a Smooth Criminal.

~~

Been wanting to write my own take of Smooth Criminal for quite some time; finally managed to do so! I hope you liked it! :)