Spin Me Sweet Tales

Chapter One

I run.

Fast.

The ground quakes under my fear as I sprint to the bedroom, but the hunter at the back door no longer attempts stealth. His heavy feet stomp as he speeds up. For a naïve moment, I think I can make it to the bedroom and close the door before he can reach me, but his meaty, rough hands grab both sides of my waist and extinguish my hope. My scream is pointless because there is no other house for miles, but when I move my arm backwards and sink my kitchen knife into his thigh, his scream is a warning to the man at the front door.

He let's go of me, muttering. "You stupid bitch."

But without looking at my assailant's face, I run.

I sprint into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. In the quietude of the woods, every sound is heard with perfect accuracy. My attackers can hear the hammering of my heart against my chest, the way my hands shake as I lock the bedroom door, and my haggard attempts to slide the dresser in front of the door.

In return, I listen to everything they do.

I know there are three different footsteps coming towards the bedroom instead of the two I thought there were. The man I stabbed whimpers with each step he takes, but the other two are trying to hide their laughter. My agony is a game for these men, and I shuffle deeper into the bedroom with my hand on my chest.

One man jiggles the bedroom door, then chuckles. "You're not being a very hospitable host. Is this how you treat all your guests?"

Twice I trip as I stumble backwards towards the bed, but I don't look away from the bedroom door. They continue to jiggle the doorknob, but they're unhurried in their attempts to capture me because they know, just like I do, that they'll gain their coveted prize soon enough. I can't stop shaking, but I get to my bed, and I grab my phone charging on top of the pillow.

It's fully charged, but when I move to call the police, there's no reception. Any belief I had that I'd survive dies with my phone's signal. There is one window in the room, which is the smallest circular window. It's about the width and length of an air vent, and I suddenly hate myself for choosing to run to the bedroom.

The men have me surrounded, and I hold back a sob as I realize my terrible predicament.

There's a teasing knock on the bedroom door. "If you come out now," a second man says, his voice deep with a Southern drawl. "We'll make your death quicker."

"Like fuck we will," one grumbles, his voice etched in pain from the stab wound I delivered him.

I shiver as the third man speaks in a mocking, singing tone. "Open the door. Don't make me count down."

My eyes stay on the phone, hoping it'll have reception, but nothing happens. Not a single bar lights up on my screen, and the men are ramming their bodies into the door. Their heavy builds shake the door, the walls, and the floor. With only seconds between my temporary safety and their arrival in the bedroom, I go towards the photos on my phone.

On the third most recent one, I find my family.

Two weeks ago, when Selastian came back to town during his college's winter break, we took this photo together. My mother insisted we dress up and take a family photo before Selastian left again, and while many of us complained, I cry in gratitude for this picture before I die. The bedroom door splinters because of their bodies running into it, but I stare at the photo before they can get to me.

There's seven of us standing side-by-side. Standing at the tallest is Gary Murdock, who started off as my neighbor but quickly became a father figure to me. He has his arm around my much-shorter mother, and a spatula hangs in his hand. In the background, the smoke from his grill can be seen. His grin is widespread, but he isn't looking at the camera. As usual, those incredibly dark eyes of his are staring down at my mother with undeniable love.