My nerves were completely shattered, my breathing hard and rapid, my heart beat feeling like it was about to burst through my chest.

I had received the following note a few minutes ago, slid under my front door:

"In two hours and fifty nine minutes, you will be dead."

At first I was stunned, too stunned to open the door to see if I could glance whoever had pushed the note under the door. Then the panic started to kick in, closely followed by overwhelming fear.

Who could possibly wish me dead? I had no enemies that I was aware of, kept myself to myself and never went looking for trouble. I lived in a small block of flats, and got on well with all my neighbours. Pure terror filled me as I thought about the unknown person who wished me harm.

I should try and remain calm, think rationally. Should I contact the police? Would they take me seriously? What if whoever had pushed the note under my door could see me now? Hear me even? Panic returned once more as I felt invisible eyes burning into me.

Fear was now running like electricity through my body; I looked at my watch - two hours ten minutes to go. I lurched for my front door, yanked it open and ran down the hall into the street. Looking left and right, gasping for breath, desperately searching for a sign of someone, anyone, who could come to my assistance.

The street was remarkably quiet for the time of day; late afternoon was usually a mad flow of school children, frantic shoppers and office workers returning home from their daily tasks. Today, however, all I could see was a man just across the street, who seemed to be staring straight at me. Straight THROUGH me. My flesh started crawling for no reason, other than the cold stare the man was giving me.

Dressed in black jeans and jacket, he looked about 30 years old, and I had never seen him before in my life. Who was he? Was he the writer of the note? He still stood staring, then suddenly he reached into jacket and produced something shiny, silver.... that looked like a large knife.

I felt my legs buckle, but somehow managed to run back into my flat, slamming the door behind me. Sweating with fear and hardly able to breathe, I slumped to the floor.

I must have fainted, because I awoke with a jolt; my watch now telling me there was one hour thirty minutes to go. I managed to get myself to walk to the kitchen, gulping down a bottle of water from my fridge.

Feeling refreshed, I went into my front room, and cautiously peeked round my curtains to look out into the street to see if HE was still there. No, no sign of him. Where had he gone? Maybe he had left? I stood looking out into the street for the next forty minutes, but did not see him again, only the normal passers by that were usual for this time of day.

Relief began to wash over me; maybe I had imagined him? But I had not imagined the note, that was still lying in the hall, screwed up where I had thrown it in my panic earlier. I walked out into the hall to retrieve it, when I heard the sound. Something was scratching at my front door. Scratch, scratch, scratch, scrape.... My heart was now in my mouth, my eardrums pounding, fit to burst with terror.

It was his knife! That must be what was scratching at my door! He was out there, waiting for the moment when he would plunge that blade into my heart. I stood, frozen, for twenty minutes, listening to the dreadful scraping sound, until all went suddenly silent.

I looked once again at my watch - thirty minutes left. I ran to my bathroom and violently wretched into the wash basin. This continued for another five minutes, then I splashed water on my face, wiping remnants of vomit from around my mouth.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror - pale and covered in sweat, an animal trapped, waiting to die. I could no longer bear the terror; I opened the bathroom cupboard and took out a large bottle of painkillers. I was not going to let that monster take my life in a frenzied attack with his knife; if my time was up, I was going out on my terms.

I swallowed the bottle of pills, swilling them down with several gulps of water. Fifteen minutes to go.

I walked back out into the hall, and sank down on the floor, next to the front door. Still no scratching sounds, but I'm sure I could hear him breathing, waiting. Ten minutes to go.

I started to feel a little drowsy, my eyelids drooping, my head spinning, finding it hard to focus. I think my watch said five minutes to go.

Not long now, and I have beaten him. He has lost, his plan foiled. I may be close to death, but he will not claim the victory. Struggling to stay awake, I see something out of the corner of my eye - something white sliding under my door. Another note!

I pull the note towards me, and before my eyes close for the final time, I read the words on the paper:

"Sorry, wrong door."