The Murderer

The murderer's hair lifted at the back of his neck. Alone in the pitch-dark room, he felt a crawling sensation down his spine. Something moved in the darkness. The room reeked of burnt smokeless powder, and he could still smell the cigarette he'd left burning earlier. He'd come back for a crucial piece of evidence, but now something seemed alive in the room—a playful, unseen presence that thrived on his terror. He'd killed his miserly uncle, but had he truly escaped?