What’s that god-awful stench? I thought, as a particularly acrid smell filled my nostrils. It’s a smell that was somewhat familiar, but honestly, I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  I opened my eyes and tried to focus on the blurry surroundings. Why aren’t my contacts working? I felt around for glasses on the bedside table and grabbed the pair sitting near the edge. These aren’t my glasses. These were chunky black frames that had almost Coke-bottle lenses, unlike my normal rectangle frames, but at least I could see now.

  I looked around the room and became increasingly alarmed, as I recognised nothing. Where was my vintage dressing table? Where was the ceramic tiger? What happened to my flamingo wallpaper? This room was clinically dull, with pale blue walls, beige carpet, a birch-coloured wardrobe and ensemble bed. Oh god, did I get so drunk I went home with someone? I remembered having a couple of fantastic cocktails last night at the bar, but I don’t remember meeting someone. Shit – was I drugged? Panic filled my mind as I sprang out of bed, realising I was only wearing my bra and underwear. I started looking around frantically for my clothes, without success. I needed to find something to wear quickly before the person who brought me here came back. I ran over to the wardrobe and grabbed the first things I saw: a pair of torn denim jeans and an old T-shirt with a raccoon on it.

  Okay, what am I going to do now? I’ve got none of my stuff, I think I’ve been date-raped, and I’ve got no idea where I am. Shaken by the predicament I found myself in, I decided that I had to sneak out of the house. Once I get out to the street and find where I am, I can get myself organised. I crept to the door of the bedroom and turned the knob delicately. As the door cracked open, I scanned the hallway, seeing no-one. Thank god. I thought as I gingerly walked through the door. “Jeez, this house is so plain. It’s like they didn’t go past the default house mode,” I said to myself as I noticed the distinct lack of furnishings. I headed swiftly towards a staircase going down. One, two, three stairs – “CREEAAK!”. I froze, desperately hoping that the damn nightingale floor hadn’t given me away.

  “Uh.” A short grunt came from downstairs before I started to hear shuffling. I scooted back up the three silent stairs and hotfooted it around the landing, looking for anything I could defend myself with. I don’t remember how I got here, I woke up with none of my stuff and no clothes – this guy’s bad news! In the corner of the room, leaned up against a wall, sat a child’s baseball bat. That’s weird, but I’ll take it! I thought as I grabbed the bat. I could hear clunking downstairs, as if whomever it was was still a little drunk from last night. This could give me the edge – I feel fine, not drunk at all. Thankfully I was no longer wearing the six-inch heels I had on at the bar or heaven help my stealth exit!

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  “It’s now or never!” I said to myself as nervous energy and panic were swirling around in my stomach. I headed back down the stairs, clutching the bat in my shaking hands. As I got closer to the ground floor, I spotted the door and started in that direction. Blood was pumping in my ears, my heartbeat drowning out the surroundings. I got within about a metre of the door when I felt a clammy palm plop onto my shoulder.

  “Aaargh!” I screamed as I turned around and ran to the other side of the room. Standing there was a huge man, his gaze fixed not on me but steadily ahead. I backed as far away as I could, swinging the bat in front of me frantically.

  “Who the fuck are you? Where am I? What did you do to me?” I yelled at the man. He turned and started staggering slowly towards me, not saying a word.

  “Hello? Answer me!” I shouted, adrenaline coursing through my body. Once again he ignored my shouts and continued on his way closer to me.

  “Don’t come any closer or I’ll kill you!” I exclaimed, waving the bat, hoping it was a deterrent. But it wasn’t. The man just kept on, like he didn’t have a thought in his head other than to get me. He must be on drugs.

  As he edged closer and closer, I found myself backed into a corner. I was terrified. This was now a life or death situation, and I had to fight to keep safe! I put one foot forward, shored my stance like a boxer, lifted my bat and swung it forward with all my might.

  SQUELCH! The bat made a sickeningly juicy sound as it collided with the man’s head. Holy shit! The man’s head had come clean off his shoulders! Oh god, how did this happen? I’m only a five-foot-seven woman, I weigh sixty-five kilos for fuck’s sake – how did I break this guy’s head off? He’s a giant! Another kind of panic now washed over me as I realised I had just killed this man. I started running around the ground floor, closing all the blinds, locking the doors and windows. I checked all the rooms in the house, no-one else was home. Okay, what am I going to do? No-one has seen what’s happened – surely no-one would believe that I could have done this. And besides, this was in self-defense. Self-defense – that’s it! I headed over to the phone on the wall. I picked it up and dialed 000.

  “You’ve reached Mount White emergency services. The state is now under martial law – we can’t help you,” the recording said before the line cut off.

  What? Martial law? What is happening? I walked over to the lifeless – nay, headless – body of the man. He looked almost grey in his skin tone. Bat still in hand, I poked the corpse in the arm. A chunk of flesh fell onto the floor. I gasped and dry-retched almost simultaneously, then I smelled it again – the smell from when I first woke up – only stronger this time. That’s it! I was reminded of when I had deboned a chicken and left the carcass in the bin for a few too many days before taking it out to the garbage. It was the smell of rotting, of putrefying flesh; it was the smell of death. This man was already dead!