When I was younger, I lived in a really small house my parents got from my great grandmother. Being an only child at the time, I would get into all sorts of trouble. However in my very small neighborhood, there was a creepy old man who had a serious mental disorder. Sometimes I would play outside with my friends and my parents would have to take me in because they would see him on the sidewalk with a machete or knife or something.
Once when my parents were gone, I was on the recliner with a blanket watching TV I heard banging on the back door that leads to my back yard. The door had a wire mesh on it, so I could see it was him. I got really scared and ran up to my room. My room was the old hard wood room, so he knew I went upstairs when he heard the creaks. I hid in my closet and held the closest thing to a self-defense weapon I had. I heard him, the metallic screeching of the mesh on the back door being ripped open by his knife. I started praying that he wouldn't find me. I moved my dresser to the door of the closet so he couldn't get in. When I heard his heavy footsteps come into my room I jumped; he knew I was in the closet. He tried opening the door but I was leaning against the dresser.
Eventually he gave up on trying to open the door and took his knife and started stabbing holes in the door. When he made a hole big enough to push the dresser away and stab me, I threw my weapon at his hand. It ripped off and blood splattered all over my closet. He tried to stab me but had no effort. I grabbed a metal coat-hanger and stabbed him in the face. At this point he got really angry. He left and in a few minutes he came with an axe. He swung it at my door until he could climb in. I thought I was doomed until I took a box of heavy toys and dropped it on his head. He was dead. I then got out and yelled to a friend nearby who then called the police. They came and took the body, they even paid for the ordeal, but that slasher moment has forever scarred me.