When night befell the quaint little town crowded with quaint little neighborhoods, a quaint little house stood amongst the rest. Crickets chirped and the moon shone, illuminating the cloudless sky. And Inside that quaint little rustic house, young Maxwell lye in bed, eyes devoid of energy. The room was still, the quiet was enough to deafen an ear more than any thunder or explosion ever could. And young Max was enjoying the peace as best he could, for his previous day had been as stressful as could be. He had had to care of his home in his parent's absence. This wore him down by the end of the day, and he was glad his parents would be home come morning. A television firmly placed on the dresser softly buzzed in the background, the almost inaudible static being the disturbance in the room. Max gently closed his eyes and awaited the warmth and comfort of sleep to cradle him in its arms. However, just before he drifted off, he heard a noise that came to his attention.
The sound was that of a nail scratching a wooden surface. Max sat up in his bed and glanced around the room. As he did, the noise suddenly came to a stop as quickly as it had started. Although startled, Max soon comforted himself. He knew he had locked the doors and windows shut so that nobody could get into the house. He had also set the alarm system which would be triggered if anyone entered the home. He decided to rest his head on his pillow and try to sleep again. His eyes shot open as he was ripped from his comfort in an instant. The scraping sound had continued, only now louder and more violent than before. Max submerged himself under the sheets and quivered in fear. He knew something was in the house. He knew he wasn't alone. He inhaled deeply and released. Max desperately tried to calm his nerves so he could analyze the situation logically. The house had now become quiet, the only noise being max's exasperated breathing. He finally mustered up the courage to get up and lock his bedroom door. This time however, Max didn't try to sleep. He sat upright in bed, keeping his eyes focused on the door.
For the longest time nothing happened. Max had given up on watching the door. He blamed fatigue for causing him fear and making him hear things. Nothing more. And despite him being young and impressionable, even he was knowledgeable enough to know that he was a child, and children often imagined things that never really occurred. He had eventually decided that his body needed to rest. This time when he closed his eyes, no scraping or scratching bothered him. He was free to rest.
When Max woke up he noticed three things. It was still dark, which led him to his second discovery. He had only been asleep for an hour, and what had woke him up was the house alarm. And when he motioned his head upwards he made his third and final realization. His bedroom door, the one that had been previously locked, sat ajar. Next to the door marks cut into the wooden wall created a thin crevice which created a path. The path lead to the east side of the room, and there in the corner was a silhouette of a man. He was a grey haired bearded man who stood about six feet tall. His eyes bugged out almost impossibly out of its sockets. A long curvaceous smile stretched ear to ear on the man, and his clothes were tattered and filthy. And in his right hand he possessed a long blade covered in bits of chipped wood.
Max stared in horror at the man who sat in his room. The mans lips silently moved to form words, yet any noise he tried to make couldn't seem to escape his throat. Max couldn’t run. The man was closer to the door than Max, and he would certainly cut him off. It quite some time before Max realized the man wasn't actually looking at him. Instead, he was staring through him, seemingly not even noticing Max was in the room. The mans hand feverishly quivered and his fingers constantly shook. Max looked at the door, contemplating his options. He could run and hope the man wouldn't notice him. Or he could wait until morning until his parents came to his rescue. To max, he only had one viable option. He certainly wouldn’t take the risk of staying in bed. He was a sitting duck. Max crawled to the edge of the bed and hung his feet over the floor. The man didn't respond. Max took a deep breath as the soles of his feet touched the cold hard floor. The man didn't respond. Max stood up and tip-toed over to the door. The man didn't respond. Max took another step. He was almost out of the room. With another step, he unintentionally applied to much pressure to the floor. A loud creak ruptured the silence of the room. Max looked back.
The man shifted.
The man opened his mouth to reveal a few of his teeth, rotten and yellow. The rest of his mouth had no teeth, only gums. He slowly started to walk towards Max. Max let out a bloodcurdling scream and ran out of the room and into the hallway. The halls he had become accustom to were now dark labyrinths that seemingly had no end. He stumbled forward, balancing himself on the walls and sprinting as fast as he could in the opposite direction of the man, who had too began sprinting after max. Max stumbled into the living room and hid behind the couch seated opposite of the hallway. Not long after the man also stumbled into the living room, his long and lanky legs giving him an awkward stride. Max could smell the man. The smell was wretched, and could only be described as smoke mixed with feces and rot. Max silently crawled away from the man, who was violently jerking and pacing back and forth in search of Max. Max managed to find his way out of the living room and into the kitchen. A large butcher knife was idly leaned against a cutting board near the sink. Max equipped it should he need to defend himself. The blade was so clean the moonlight gave it a tinted glow which would have been a sight to behold if the circumstances had been different. Max turned around to exit the kitchen, but someone stood in his path.
The man smirked in a manner that sent chills through Max’s spine and rattled his soul. Max turned to run but the man lunged with astonishing speed and grabbed his ankle. Max fell forward and kicked his free foot which nailed the man in the bridge of his nose. Blood dripped from his nasal cavity which stunned the man for a second. That was all the time Max needed to strike him again and swing his knife, slicing the man in the cheek. The man then retaliated back with his own knife. Max initially evaded the attack, but the man was quick and the knife struck his calf on the second attempt. Max shrieked in agony. The excruciating pain shot through his leg and caused Max to fall backwards. Max desperately reached up to the kitchen counter in search for something, anything even. He grabbed a rolling pin and bashed it into the mans skull. The mans head began to bleed and his body went limp. Max struggled to stand yet was able to hobble his way out of his home. His eyes shed tears out of fear and pain as he screamed out for help. Several neighbors heard his cries for help and went out to aid him.
Come morning the police found the unconscious body of a man in the kitchen. After taking him to the hospital and dressing his wounds the authorities discovered the man to be 56 year old Timothy Green. Timothy had previous records of substance abuse, most commonly Crystal methamphetamine and Heroin. Although he underwent extensive rehabilitation for his problem, it is evident that he had somehow got ahold of the previously mentioned drugs as trace amounts of Heroin and Meth appeared in a blood test taken at the hospital.
Max never forgot the look of the man. He wasn't even a man then. He was something else entirely, something Max couldn't understand or make sense of. Max would never forget that night. And although He made it out alive, although he underwent hospital treatment and therapy, and although his parents never left him alone too late at night ever since, he would never stop feeling as though there were more men out there like the man that night. Because there were, and always will be another man.
"When night befell the quaint little town crowded with quaint little neighborhoods, a quaint little house stood amongst the rest." I know what you're going for her but it seems childish. It's like the crooked man poem, which is the first thing that came to mind when reading this.
"lye" wrong use of lye, this kind of lye is a mineral that was used to clean close and decompose bodies.
"The room was still, the quiet was enough to deafen an ear more than any thunder or explosion ever could." try "the quiet was deafening, more so that any thunder or explosion."
"And young Max was enjoying the peace as best he could, for his previous day had been as stressful as could be." Get rid of the And.
"However, just before he drifted off, he heard a noise that came to his attention." End this sentence as noise. If he heard it, you don't need to say it came to his attention.
"Although startled, Max soon comforted himself." Show don't tell. How did he comfort himself?
"He knew something was in the house. He knew he wasn't alone." That was quick seeing he knew there was no way anyone could get into the house. Maybe have him search the house before or something, build the tension of this a little more.
"And despite him being young and impressionable, even he was knowledgeable enough to know that he was a child, and children often imagined things that never really occurred." You could cut this down by just saying that it was him imagination. Sure you can make it more wordy, but this is a bit of overkill.
"When Max woke up he noticed three things." Why did he wake up?
"and what had woke him up was the house alarm" that's what woke him, but have that be known when he woke up.
" Next to the door marks cut into the wooden wall created a thin crevice which created a path" If it's dark, how can he see this? Did he turn on a light, or does he sleep with the light on?
Can't tell hair color from a silhouette. In fact, he wouldn't be able to see so many details as you mentioned from just a silhouette.
Okay, so I decided to stop going through line by line and will give you a review of the over all story. There is some weird wording here, which could be cleaned up if you read it aloud, you should find it.
The story itself had a few plot holes that ruin the story. How did the man get in if all the windows and doors were locked and the alarm was set? How was he knocked out for, what I can only assume, is hours? Why did the cops take until morning to get to the house? Trace amounts should be changed to something more then just trace amounts.
The story could be something more then a slasher breaking into someone's house. Build the tension and the characters. At least give us some more details about Max, make him more human. Although slashers are not something that I really care for, but you can have something that will work here if you give more details and edit it a bit. Not all stories have to be so short, and with this being so short, it makes the reader wanting more. Expand it to give more details, more tension.
The action of this story was over shortly after it started, so that kills the fear that could be built up, drag it out longer. Get the story to be dripping with tension and fear. Really get into Max's head so that we can see how scared he is, and that should be able to transfer to the reader.