Turning both knobs Scott quickly ran his hand beneath the water to test the temperature. Just a little more cold and it would be perfect. He took the washcloth and made sure every inch of it was nice and warm. Grogginess consumed him as he pressed the cloth to his yawning face. It was instant relief as his eyes burned from having the water slightly to warm, but it was relief nonetheless.

"Hey, follow me." Someone said. It sounded like a child, but Scott knew he was alone in the house. He turned off the water and stared at himself in the mirror, waiting to hear it again, but it never came. He glanced at the closed bathroom door with one last whim of curiosity, but then continued with his morning routine.

White and blue-stripped paste spread across his toothbrush. Just as he began to brush he heard it again, more clearly this time though.

"Hey, follow me."

With the toothbrush hanging from his mouth he flung open the door and looked all around, but saw nothing. He took one step into the bedroom, leaving his other leg in the bathroom. He was now afraid as he held on to the door, as if ready to slam it if need be. Apparently those few seconds when he opened the door were all the courage he had in him, and slowly and wearily he shut the door back again and continued brushing.

Once he finished brushing his teeth, he lathered his face and grabbed the razor. Just as he was making the first swipe the voice called again. Startled he pressed a might too firm and then jerked. The blade cut him with such a willing ease. He reached for the damp rag to cover the bleeding cut and then wiped the shaving lotion off his face.

This time the voice sounded less like a child, but not like an adult either. It was closer, more distinguishable, and maybe even right outside the bathroom door. Overcome with fear Scott knew not what to do. Should he open the door and go out kicking or just remain calm and handle this situation rationally?

He decided, though, to do neither. The mouse that he was, he got down on his hands and knees and tried to peek beneath the door, but the ceil was too tight. He then tried to look through the tiny hole in the doorknob, but it showed nothing but black. Still on his hands and knees he just sat there waiting for the voice to sound again. Maybe he was just hearing things and wouldn't hear it again. That had to be it.

"Hey, follow me, Smile."

It came again, but this time "smile" was added to it. He wasn't just hearing things and it was sitting outside the door. The voice of whoever it was sounded so young and innocent that he finally came to the conclusion that whatever it was wouldn't be able to harm him, but then again, there are some strange characters in the world.

He dismissed that thought though and stood to his feet. Then, very slowly, he opened the door. Sitting at his feet was a parrot. Again it repeated, "Hey, follow me, Smile."

Instantly his fear left, replaced by curiosity. "How did you get in here?" Scott asked, but the bird just sort of half flew off toward the bedroom doorway. Without a thought that something could be wrong, he quickly followed as if to catch the bird.

It flew through the dining room and into the kitchen, finally landing on the island countertop. As soon as Scott entered the kitchen the fear that was there a few seconds ago rushed back as raging water from a broken levee.

"The Sinister." The bird squawked.

The first thing Scott saw was a glass of orange juice on the same counter that the bird had landed on. The next thing he saw was a dark figure standing mere feet away by his fridge. It was a man in a black suit with bloodstains all over it and a blood red tie. The face of the man was halfway covered by his own hair, which was as black as the suit. His head was lowered and in his glove-covered hand he held a machete. He extended his other arm out as if motioning for him to drink the orange juice.

Paralyzed in fear, Scott didn't move an inch. The intruder then raised the machete and swung violently, stopping only inches away from Scott's shoulder blade. The Sinister pointed at the glass and no matter how afraid Scott was he forced himself to pick up the juice and drink. He drank every last drop for fear of making this "madman" too mad and then set the glass back down.

The Sinister (as the bird had called him) then pointed at the dining room table with his machete. They both walked in the dining room as the bird hopped onto his master's head. The Sinister walked around to one side of the table and placed his weapon on it. He then put his hands beneath the rim and motioned for Scott to do the same. They both lifted and carried it through the archway that lead into the den and sat it there. The Sinister grabbed his blade and shoved his victim back through the archway. Scott nearly fell face forward he shoved him so hard. No matter how much the Sinister moved, though, his hair never did and his identity remained behind it.

The parrot then called out, "the chairs." While his master started moving them into the den also. Scott just watched and waited. The Sinister then unknotted his tie and removed it from his shirt. He pointed at the ground as if telling Scott to lie down. Of course he did as told and stretched out on the dining room floor.

As soon as Scott lay down he was ransacked with a drowsy, delirious feeling. The room began to twirl. He reached for his head as if to stabilize himself but touched the floor instead.

"What's the matter?" a voice said somewhere in his spinning mind. The voice was strange, though. It sounded as three voices; all with a differently deep tone, like one would imagine a legion of demons would sound.

"Everything seem a bit, dizzy? Don't worry, it'll be over soon, I'll see to that." The voice (or voices) came again.

"Smile and the Sinister." Scott recognized that voice even in his delirious state of mind. The parrot, a little tri-chirpy sounding, but it was he.

Suddenly Scott's feet lifted off the ground and he halfway watched as the Sinister tied his feet to the chandelier with his necktie. He was now about three feet off the floor. His hands could touch, but that was all. The Sinister circled around him pressing the blunt side of the blade against Scott's body with each rotation.

"Whatwh?" Scott murmured.

"No! There's no reason for your words. You just hang there. I'll do the talkin'. As you've probably noticed, my bird likes to call me the Sinister."

"Smile and the Sinister." The bird cried out while his master chuckled.

"You're the fifth and last victim for tonight, well, actually for a good, long while. Kinda want to lay low for a bit. Know what I mean? Anyway, the first victim tonight was screaming and cursing me while I tied him up and somewhere in his rambling called me Sinister. Smile, that's my bird, liked it. Thus, we named our little "act" Smile and the Sinister."

"Hey, follow me." Smile announced.

"Yeah, that's the lure, the bait, as you figured out. You see, this little game we play is a whole lot of fun. I see someone on the streets that sticks out in my mind, and that's who I pick to "pick on" so to speak. I know you'reare you listening to me?" He paused as he smacked him across the face with the side of the machete.

"Don't you dare pass out on me."

Scott let out a moan as he spun round and round from the slap. He was too out of it to even reach for the pain, but not so out of it that he didn't hear every word that was said.

"As I was saying, I know you're probably thinkin', 'surely there's more of a reason than that to torture someone like this.' Well guess what, there's not. It's fun. I love it! I love to see that look, that same look you gave me when you first saw my figure in the dark of your kitchen. You'll never know what enjoyment I get out of that. And it never, I mean, never fails, all five of you had the same expression. And then there's the whole juice drinking part, which all of you handled very differently, and the furniture moving. All that's great too, but then there's the end. The great finale when you're delirious, just swinging there like a gutted deer."

"Gutted deer." Smile repeated.

"Then I take my machete and raise it up high. And just for the pure heck of it we'll say 'this is for all the bad things you've done in your pathetic life' as the blade meets your belly. Now together, Smile, what do we say?"

"All the bad things." They proclaimed together as he swiped the machete across Scott's stomach. He clinched at the pain and reared upward, then fell dangling again. The blood ran down his upper body and into his face, seeping into his mouth, nostrils, and eyes. And then he blacked out.

The next day (though he didn't know it) he awoke to the many sounds of a hospital. The beeping of the life monitors, the paging of doctors, and the many distant, "trying to be quiet" voices of all the staff, patients, and visitors. His vision was, for a moment, completely out of focus as he rubbed his eyes. Then he heard someone walking toward him.

"Who's there." He half shouted as his sight cleared.

"Don't worry, you're okay now. I'm a nurse and you're in the Onslow Memorial Hospital."

"Waitthe Smile and the Sinister. Where are they? I thought he killed me."

"Nope, just a trick. He really is a madman that they haven't caught yet, but he hasn't killed anyone. You were his fifth victim."

"Yeah, I know."

"He likes to make his victims think he's gonna kill 'em, but then hits them with the blunt side of the blade."

"But what about the blood, my blood? It ran into my face, I saw it."

"No, what you saw was cows blood that he poured on you after he hit ya. Go ahead look at your stomach. Nothing there but a slight bruise, you're perfectly fine. And you can leave after the police have talked with you. And hey, don't be so bummed out either, just look at it like this was a wake up call or something. Maybe a second chance to do what you should've been doing from the beginning, but then again, he is just a madman and I'm just a nurse. What do I know?"

The End.