87 - Claire Dakota

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Alice Boe

We were starving, and the skin on my wrist and ankles was chafed by our chains. Our attempts to free ourselves was in vain. The monster-lady didn't return but the terrible memories of what we had seen that day when the indigenous boy was cooked alive didn't leave our minds.

The room we were in began to stink, of dried blood, urine and feces. Yes, you guessed right. Being chained and left alone in a dungeon-like cellar didn't make hygiene the utmost of our priorities. If there was anything with top importance to Kirt and me, it was the desire to leave that horrible house as soon as we could. 

I wished and hoped that Timothy would have run to safety, even though, I knew that he would return for us. Timothy is anything but a coward. He wouldn't leave Kirt and I rotting in this claustrophobic compartment. I began to ponder on what took Timothy long. Perhaps he would have gone to call the Police. Perhaps he would have lost his way, or perhaps he would have died, slit in the throat by that lady in black who held us. 

Kirt was sleeping. He was weary and had given up. Being locked up in that dark, smelly and cramped space that was reeking of blood didn't come without a psychological toll. 

We spent most of the first five days of being trapped under the cellar communicating with each other. We spoke as if our days in the cellar were the last days of our lives. We lay there, shackled, with our only hopes being that of dying as soon as possible. Our stomachs rumbled and we even struggled to excrete. My kidneys hurt. I knew that I had probably gotten a stone. 

Flies sat on our soiled clothes. We were unable to shoo those pests away; our hands were bound. We couldn't even get the energy to scream, for our throats were parched like a land struck with famine. Even coughing came with a severe jab of pain. I could tell Kirt was ill. His eyes were yellow. 

Hernanda Wilkinson

I wanted to go and rescue Alice as soon as we could, after being rescued by Jackson King. But, Timothy and King insisted that we plan our rescue. To add on to our troubles, I didn't know the way back to the house where Kirt and Alice were held, if they weren't already slaughtered like pigs. 

Both Timothy and I briefed Jackson about everything that happened ever since Jackson and a few of us went with Bill, Zach, and Fiona following the decision to split our group. We shared everything from Shifaly to the flash flood, from the death of Catherine Newcastle to the reunion with Kirt, and the disaster which broke our raft, separating us from AnnSophia, Tom and Rhett.

Jackson was horrified when Timothy told him about how that lady in black axed off Shifaly's head and mortified when he listened to our accounts of the boy being flayed and cooked alive in that house, with Kirt and Alice looking. 

Timothy and Jackson were arguing for hours, and we couldn't get a rescue plan straight. I stared at the sky; it was turning dark. The night was coming. 

Claire Dakota

The surprise that awaited me when I entered my room was a drunk group of boys who had stumbled into my quarters after a bout of heavy liquor. They had ruined my room as they had navigated their way to the sofa. The TV was on the floor and all the paintings on the wall were in the bin. It took a long time for the hotel staff to get them off my room. An employee apologized for the incident and cleaned up my room. The cleaning took a lot of hours and after it was done and after the cleaning-boy had left, I returned to my window and peeped out.

I checked my watch. The time read 8:30 p.m. The last of the protesters had prepared to leave after a day of campaigning. I didn't know why they were protesting. The only things I could deduce from the placards they held were the words 'Justice' and 'Peace.' It wasn't a violent mob, so the Police weren't there.

The young woman in the promiscuous black dress kissed her boyfriend — who looked thirty — and then slung her bag across her shoulder as she began to depart from the site. She was pretty, probably fourteen. Even though she looked like a woman, her face structure clearly gave away that she was a mere high-school girl. I looked back at the balcony of the room Mr. Black (Roderigo Francesco) was staying in. Francesco was still there ogling at the girl in the inappropriate clothing. When everybody had left the place and the street was silent, he was still staring down at the girl talking with her boyfriend, who was seated on the seat of his motorcycle. 

After a long conversation which involved some crying, the man hugged his underage girlfriend and sped away into the dark. The street that was crowded in the morning was silent. She began to walk down an alley. That's when I saw Francesco make his move. 

I decided that I was going to follow him. I didn't want anything happening to that girl. 


Felipe Altamirano Alvarez Espadachín

"The Comandente General has been pressuring us to find the girls Shifaly Udawatte and Avanthi Bandaranaike. Any progress on that from your men, Valenciano?" was the first question I asked Bernardo after he sat in front of me. 

"No, sir. We couldn't find even their corpses. Chances are that they survived."

"Or that they are kidnapped," Luismar chimed in. 

"It can even be that they were buried, probably by the sediments that came along with the flood," I conjectured, "Anyways, we need to go back into the forest. I know that our first attempt ended in an emergency. But, this time, I think we need to investigate and find out if the policemen are alive."

I had told everybody about Casa Perdida and all the legends that I read on CreepyPasta forums. They had been skeptical about but I had insisted that we still go and investigate while our auxiliary teams continue the other investigations.

Bernardo's phone rung. 

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Claire Dakota," he replied.

"Go on. Answer the call," I said.

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