My feet were pounding against the floor as I sprinted, my heart trying to leap out of my chest. I wasn’t sure where I was anymore, how long I had been here, where the exit was. All I knew was that he knew exactly where he was – and he knew where I was as well.
I saw an opportunity, he had given me an opportunity. Ahead, there was a gap in the wall of this old school, the old timber boards smashed to pieces, the lime plaster dusting the floor. It looked like he had taken a mallet to the wall, but after the past hour, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had done it with his head.
I skidded to a stop, glancing behind me before looking in the hole. It didn’t go to another room, it would pin me between two walls, two walls of wood, with only the hole as an escape.
I heard a footstep and froze, glancing over my shoulder. Another footstep and I lurched into action, bracing myself on the sides of the hole with my hands and climbing through, hissing in breath as a splinter of wood pierced my palm. Without further injury, I made it through and crouched, looking up at the hole and the small amount of light it let into my little cubbyhole. I shuffled and a cloud of dust, of lime plaster dust, lifted into the air. My breath was still ragged, panting from running, and the dust made its way straight into my mouth, into my lungs. I coughed, the sound echoing off the wooden boards, and pulled the sleeve of my jumper down over my hand, pressing my hand over my mouth and nose as I tried not to cough, which was difficult with the tickling in my throat and my body pressuring me to get the dust out of me.
I jumped at the sound of something being placed on the floor, trying not to think about how close the sound had been. My breath was hot on my hand, through my sleeve, and my other hand was throbbing slightly from the splinter still embedded in it. I stared up at the hole in terror and confusion as the sound of a guitar being plucked started to echo around. It sounded like it was being played through speakers.
Had he put a boombox down so he could kill me to music?
The sound of footsteps joined the music, as well as the sound of something scratching against the floor. It was the sort of noise that made your skin crawl. I risked a peek out of the hole and saw the silhouette of him walking down the corridor, a machete hanging loosely from his hand, the end dragging across the floor.
You are, my fire.
What the hell?
The one desire.
He was going to kill me to freaking Backstreet Boys? I quickly sat back into my hole, my hand pressed against my mouth as hard as I physically could. The footsteps were coming towards me and as I crouched, my legs aching with the pain of the position, I hoped against hope that he would walk straight past me. I could run in the direction he had come from, the exit was bound to be somewhere.
The footsteps stopped just outside of the hole and my heart stopped as I held my breath, my lungs aching and my throat tickly.
“Footprints in the dust,” the voice was low and gravelly and I swore profusely in my head. The dust, the lime plaster dust. Of course I had left footprints when I had climbed in, I had walked right through the dust. After a moment’s silence, I glanced up to the hole, gasping in shock when I made eye contact. He was looking through the hole, directly at me, and the grin on his face made me want to throw up. There was a clatter, presumably the dropping of the machete, and he reached both hands into my hole. I screamed as he grabbed me, dragging me out the the hole. He showed no remorse as he pulled me across the jagged wood, which dug into my back and cut through my skin. He threw me to the floor and I turned to look at him, trying to shuffle backwards. He leisurely reached down and picked up the machete, raising it as he approached me, his footsteps in time with the music, and I was too scared to even move.
“Tell me why, Sam,” he said along to the song and my screams bounced off the walls as the song continued, closing my eyes as he swung the machete.
I never wanna hear you say,
I want it that way.
Hi!
I came up with this idea late at night and it sat, overnight, in my phone's notes app until I wrote it.
It would make sense that, considering this is supposed to be a (kind of) scary story, I would listen to atmospheric music. Instead, I put on an hour loop of I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys. This took me an hour to fully write and put together. Do you know how many times I listened to that damn song? According to my maths, about 18 times.
In a row.
It is going to be stuck in my head all day.
All week.
I'll be eating dinner and then suddenly:
Tell me WHYYYY!
Go and listen to the song and share in my pain. Here is a link:
Enjoy.
Bye!
No comments:
Post a Comment