I wake up to the sound of sirens and lights flashing red and blue outside. An alarm shatters my eardrums and rings through my head. I am wearing an orange baggy jumpsuit and gripping an iron fence.

Is this a dream?

The cold bites my face and the wind cuts my cheek like a knife. It is too realistic to be a dream.

With a grunt, I scale the rest of the fence and drop to the other side. I can hear loud yells and commands to shoot. But I race away into the undergrowth and trees, which I am sure will protect me from this sudden madness I have found myself in.

My first thought, as I am shivering under a large oak and praying I’m not found, is why I am in jail in the first place. Then I look down at the puddle beneath my feet, and through its distorted reflection, I understand.

My face is covered with dirty black stubble, the beginning of a beard. There is no mistaking those eyes though. Those eyes, which once stared back at me through newspapers full of hate, and who struck terror across the county.

Matthew Jackson, the infamous and highly effective serial killer. Everyone cheered when he was caught and sentenced to life imprisonment.

And now I am somehow trapped in his body.

But that means…

He is somehow trapped in mine.

My heart freezes as I imagine my loved ones at home at Jackson’s mercy. Ignoring the cries of my body for rest I take off through the forest. Lightning flashes and thunder booms overhead. It is starting to rain.

I arrive at my own home just as dawn is breaking. Thankfully no one else is awake yet.

I burst into my own home, screaming my family’s name, my hoarse voice echoing off the walls. But the living room is disturbingly empty. So is the kitchen.

However, there is a set of bloodied footprints and puddles of blood.

They lead down to the basement, and the door creaks when I open it. The basement is completely empty save for a single lightbulb swinging overhead. Illuminating a sight that makes me want to throw up.

Bodies are strung up like fresh meat and hanging from the rafters. Limbs are missing, some have no arms, some have no legs. There is blood everywhere. They stare back at me with wide, familiar eyes, and I bite back a sob when I realise it’s my family up there.

shing shing shing

My own, old face meets mine. A maniacal grin twists her lips.

She hands me the knife. “Dinner time, partner,” she says.