A hill. A small prominence in an otherwise dull landscape. Upon this grassy mound rested a large oak tree, believed by the community to be older than the town itself. Its gnarled features still gave way to lush green leaves, creating a comforting umbrella of umbrage.
You often came back to this very spot, to step back and reflect on what your life has become. Or what it could have been. Though it had no eyes, the ancient tree was like an eagle that soared above the town, always watching. You on the other hand came here to get away from it all. From here, everything seemed less overbearing, stress diminished for the time being.
A soft, slow wind had joined you, faintly rolling the grass and tussling with your (H/C) hair. You released a deep breath, (E/C) globes scanning what lie below, catching a murder of crows far-off before gradually making their way to the old lighthouse.
Nothing really happened in this town. Built on a craggy cliffside that progressively petered out into the deep blue, it seemed like the ideal destination. There was the library, town hall, grocery and department stores, a hardware store, and more; everything needed to thrive and flourish.
It had been a complete and utter failure.
Now this town had just become any other ordinary marking on the map. New faces rarely sprouted from this place. Visitors were far and few between, and those that did find themselves in this presumably long-forgotten destination merely used it as a pit stop for some other journey.
You kneeled down slowly, placing yourself in a relaxed position before gazing back out at the lighthouse once again. "What could have been" was the motto of this town. Your father used to work the lighthouse, a few years back before fate forcefully ripped him from your grasp and he went missing. Maybe that's why people don't visit the once shining beaches a short car drive away anymore, after finding the bloated and mangled corpse of what once was a living man upon its shores. He wasn't even recognizable, other than the familiar work attire he had donned that day.
The residents here shared the same fate as your father; shells of themselves. Ghosts. Though shining rays of light fell upon you at this moment, this place you've lived in, most of its time was lived under sheets of harsh rain and blaring winds. Metaphorically and literally.
Thinking back, school life wasn't anything different. So...ordinary. Usually, father would drive you early to school so he could get to his shift, so subsequently with his death, it was handed to your mother. Though that didn't end well either.
The police had told you it was a rockslide that crushed her car and scattered it across the cliffside road. In your opinion, she could have been saved. You almost were swayed by their words: the embalmer had done a fantastic job in covering up her broken bones, nose, and cleaved appendages. From word that traveled around back then, it was a supposed 30 minutes before the police finally decided to wake up from their donut nap and race to the scene.
You were in the middle of one of your classes when they pulled you to the side, relaying the information and letting you off the rest of the day. You weren't popular, nor an outcast at the school a brief car ride away, so only a few at first seemed to care. But as you knew all too well, word spreads like wildfire. Though no one came up to you and said it, you were promptly dubbed, "The Accident".
What could have been.
Your parents had actually left you a handsome sum in their wills. You could have left this obsolete town and its horrid memories, but something always called you back to say. Instinct? Fate? College had been a fun time, though an even farther drive away, where you focused on (Favorite subject/course), while dwelling on extracurricular activities like (Favorite activities). At least there, people were either too busy with their noses in books or partying at Frat houses to know too much about you, including your past.
Just like in school, another body. Another mark on a list. Just...ordinary.
Whether it be instinct or fate, you dropped out of college midway through the second year to return to the hometown you so despised. But why? Was it instinct? WAS it fate? No...a voice...your fathers? It was blurry and faded. Far away. You had tried to get closer, to hear it clearer, but you didn't know how. But one night, in dreamless sleep, you heard it.
Home.
And so here you were, back in your old house, back in your old town, working at the hardware store near the center of your fossilized hamlet; it was one of the few places actually hiring. It had been this way for two years now if you counted correctly. Every day was almost a blur, the same routine of waking up, going to work, before getting dinner, and going to bed to only do the same over again the next day. One of the few things that broke up to monotony was a friend you had made while working at the store, a person by the name of (Friend's name). You visited their house frequently, learning, playing, or just plain ol' relaxing.
Yet here you lay, beneath the shade of the old oak tree, replaying what could have been. Maybe if you stayed in college, or asked out that person you crushed on back at that one party, or even if you just hadn't been born in this damn depressing excuse of a town.
Your left hand traced along the bark, eyes catching the marks of a knife cutting into its knobby husk. There was a trace of a heart with initials, with many others like it scattered on the other sides. Some initials stood out more than others; more recent of two lovers coming to mark themselves together here. Others were older; maybe you'd find mother's and father's initials here.
In your search for their initials to pass the time, your finger traced over something that was of utmost peculiarity. It was a symbol of some sort, carved into the tree with extensive detail. They twirled and curled around one another, the shape of thorny vines. Or spider legs? You couldn't decide.
The sun that peeked through the canopy of leaves warmed your back, but as you put your hand on top of the odd symbol it felt abnormally cold. Your eyebrows furrowed, confusing questions that could not find answers swirling through your mind.
"What the-" You pulled back your hand swiftly as the marking began to glow. Like embers developing into a giant blaze, the sigil began to glow brighter at a rapid pace. So much so that you had to cover your eyes so as to not be blinded. The tree had become a literal flashbang.
When the light faded from behind your closed eyelids, you wondered if it had somehow been a trick of the light combining with your muddled state of mind. The sigil was still there, but the fiery glow had left it.
"Ok then..." You exhaled. You blinked a few times rapidly, looking over your body. Nothing wrong there. You felt along your arms and face. Nothing wrong there either.
Lifting yourself off the soft grass and standing up to full height, you sighed deeply before looking out onto the town again. From up here, the hardware store you worked at and even your house were visible, though the latter was much farther away.
"Maybe I just need to take a nap," You decided. You began to saunter forward before something felt terribly wrong. Your right leg wobbled at the knee, causing you to kneel down on the soft grass once again. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and your breath suddenly became uneven and shaky.
That same cold feeling from the marking began to seep through your shoes and into your feet, spreading to your kneeling leg. Your eyes snapped to the discomfort, only to be met with swirling black fog. Your heartbeat quickened as the fog began to trail up your legs, digging into parts of your skin like some freakish centipede.
Your eyes frantically scanned around to look for someone, anyone to free you from the grasp of this murky amalgamation of sludge. Your legs failed you as you tried to stand as well, the mist completely enveloping them before advancing to your shirt.
It felt cold. Really cold, like the most bone-chilling of winters. When the fog made it to your neck, you could hear an odd clicking, like some unearthly creature clacking its jaws together. Your final hail mary was a shout for help before the jet-black haze found its way over your face and down your throat, extinguishing what little strength you had left.
What came next, you could only describe as a fever dream. It felt like you were falling, fast, even though there was no rushing of wind to indicate so. Shivers racked your body, and your teeth chattered uncontrollably. Your eyes were wide open, only to be met with pitch-black amidst a dim orange that pulsated like a heartbeat.
"This has got to be some bad fuckin' dream!" You yelled, trying to convince yourself that this was all an effect of that gas station sushi (Friend's name) persuaded you to take a taste of earlier today.
The pressure this unknown place created felt crushing, like being on the bottom of the ocean. You shut your eyes and gritted your teeth. All you could wish for was that you'd come out of this unprecedented situation in one piece.
When your eyes snapped back open, you were met with a substantially different scene. The grass that lay beneath you was no longer soft and comforting, but jagged and almost alienesque in a way. Your head was aching like crazy, your back slumped against a cold and uninviting surface.
Standing up with a groan, you brushed off your (F/C) shirt before looking back at what you had been flopped on.
It was a solid brick wall, dull red masked behind years of grime and other unknown substances. Crude spires of metal were jammed atop them as well. Being against it for who knows how long, your senses told you it was the same cold and uninviting feeling as the imprint in the old oak tree. You tried to look between the small cracks and gaps in the slabs, only to be met with nothingness.
The tree. Shit! The tree! You facepalmed hard, the memory almost eluding you for the moment. Whipping your head back, it was only when you truly looked at your surroundings did you faintly understand your predicament.
This place was no dream or misconception. This was somehow real.
The air itself seemed off-putting, the world around you taking on a dark greenish tint. Gazing up into the cloudy night, the moon seemed to glow brighter than you had remembered before. Leafless white trees looked fragile and malnourished, speckled in different spots of your vision. Even an occasional raven or crow landed on a rock face, only to stare at you with its beady eyes before flying off again.
Something else, big, jabbed at the edges of your periphery. It was a giant stack of compressed cars coated with the same grime reminiscent of the brick.
"Just what the hell is this place?" You asked aloud, craning your neck to see even more stacks of forgotten automobiles. Altogether they seemed to make walls of solid metal, other miscellaneous junk pieces strewn about as well.
Staring at the sheer height of these monstrous vehicles, your eyes caught something else. A giant neon sign, far in the distance. Flickering, yet shimmering for all to see. A giant H with spread-out wings, the neon words GAS shining unsteadily beneath it.
Something rustling in the bushes a few meters away from you ripped your attention away from the odd sign. You raised a questioning brow before calling out.
"Hello? Is someone there? Look, I don't really know what's going on, the sky is a different color, my face really hurts, and honestly, I don't even know how I'm still breathing right now." You rambled on. Before you could sputter out more nonsense further, a pair of glasses popped out from the shrubbery, attached to a face most confused.
"Who are you? I haven't seen your face here before." The man muttered, the rest of his body slowly emerging. The man had quite a pair of visible bags underneath his eyes, his hair unkempt, and splaying out in different directions. It looked like gel had been hastily smooshed into it, giving off the impression that this man was either impatient or an insomniac. His apparel also seemed hastily put on; a dirtied white collared shirt with a tight black tie with red diagonal stripes. He even had two pristine pens hanging from his breast pocket.
His jeans were also muddied up, and the tongue of his shoes flared in odd ways. Just who was this guy?
"You live here?" You inquired, your hand waving out to the giant pile of cars. The man's eyebrows furrowed, concern clear in his eyes.
"...I don't think you're supposed to be here...quickly, follow me," He ushered, beginning to walk around the periphery of the car walls.
"No shit..." You mumbled to yourself, following his lead. Inspecting him more closely, he wasn't exactly scrawny, but he wasn't defined muscle either. His figure was slightly hunched, his footsteps light on the earth. Why was he being so careful? But that look in his eyes... something was definitely wrong.
But what?
Ahead of the mysterious man, something luminous faltered skyward. The unknown light was attached to some kind of metal pole, and tracing it down with your eyes you saw-
"A generator?" You asked, incredulous. "The hell is this doi-" A quick shush from the man quieted your remarks. You watched him from a safe distance, seeing him approach the stagnant engine and begin working on it as though he had before a thousand times.
Before you got closer to him, something else caught your eye. EVERYTHING seemed to stand out in this place. Nestled between a grove of trees, a glint from the moon brought you closer until a cold chill began to run down your spine.
You concluded there was a bunch of random shit about in...whatever place you found yourself in, but this was just plain bizarre.
A meat hook. A giant, rusted, bloodied meat hook. Strung into the sky off of some odd beam structure made of the same materials as the odd walls you spotted previously. That, and being a mix of car parts just like the car walls.
There were a lot of walls here.
"Uhh, Mr. Mysterious Man..." You said slowly. "The fuck is this?" Turning back around to face him, his own face was neck-deep into the inside of the generator.
"Work now. Questions later." He shushed sharply. This place was beginning to give you the heebie-jeebies, and this guy more than seemed to know what he was doing. Going along with what he was saying seemed like the best option.
Crouching down at the other side of the generator, you were faced with an amalgamation of twisting and confusing wires that connected somewhere into the depths of the machine. Your hands wavered at the entrance, glancing over at the man again.
"Uh, dude-"
"Dwight. Call Me Dwight."
"Sure...Dwight. Sorry to be a huge pain in your ass, but I've never worked on something of this caliber before. The most I've toyed around with was old lawnmower engines my boss had me tinker with, and a dirtbike (Friend's name) has laying around at his house."
A nervous sigh. "Just...do what you can do. Once we get back to the fire, we can teach you more."
"We?" You asked, only to be met with no answer. The unanswered inquiry sat bitter on your tongue, but you did as you were told, beginning to rummage through the jumbled mess of cord before you produced the tips of a black wire and red wire.
"Okay, so power to the ground..." You mumbled, trying to remember what (Friend's name) had taught you. A tiny flash of light protruded from the tips, becoming brighter before stinging your fingers.
"Ouch! You got any gloves or electrical tape, or anything?" You pressed, getting annoyed at your dilemma. There was a huff from the other side of the generator. Best to not ask any more questions.
Deciding to grip different sets of wires, you tied them around each other the best you could without getting shocked. The pistons atop the gen, though in quite an odd spot compared to a normal generator, began to slowly pump in and out. One became two, and two became three, moving faster and faster before the fourth started to move.
You began to mess with a crank inside the belly of the generator. "This is so cool! Hah! Eat that, boss!"
As if to flip you the bird from beyond, your face was enveloped in a bright white light. The generator had exploded right in your mug.
You peeled away from the gen, covering your face and rubbing off anything that had clung to it. When you warily opened your eyes, you were met were a terrified face, two hands clutching your shoulders hard.
"Sorry! Sorry! It just kinda-"
"Shut up and hide god dammit, we gotta go!"
Dwight pushed you onward, digging into the dirt with his feet and grunting with the struggle. After a few yaps of discontent, you went with his motion, beginning to sprint toward a cluster of barricades.
"Hide in the Jungle Gym!" Dwight commanded, crouching down low next to a makeshift bundle of lumber, shaped like that of a large rectangle the size of a normal man. Random rusty nails stuck out from the sides, different colored hunks of wood kept together by strands of ramshackle rope. Dwight had made himself completely concealed from where the generator was situated by hugging the wall next to the odd wood.
"What the fuck does that even mean!" You yelled flabbergasted. Looking around frantically, you tried to find something similar to what Dwight was hiding near, but to no avail.
Something began to thump. Something soft. Something human. The sound started to become louder, your panic only increasing. A red and rectangular object caught your eye as you rounded a corner, the thumping sound increasing more.
The shape had handles on it, and you thrust it open to find it an empty locker. You hurriedly scrambled in, making sure to close the door softly behind you. It snapped shut with a stifled creak, the inside cramped and musty. There were tiny slits in the two windows the locker sported, where the only thing you could see was the green tint of the sky and patches of grass.
When it didn't seem like it could, the thumping sound became even louder, mudding your thoughts and making your body shake unconsciously. It was only then that you realized it was a heartbeat, hammering wildly as your eyes scanned out the tiny hole for what could be causing this.
Throughout the pounding, you could somehow discern footsteps. They were heavy against the terrain; there was no way it was Dwight.
Out of your tiny peeping hole, the grass to your right suddenly became doused in scarlet light. The footsteps found their owner, but their face was still unseen due to the poor visibility. Whoever it was, their breathing was harsh, gruff gasps like they were almost in pain.
You put a white-knuckled fist to your chest, realizing that it was your own heartbeat that was echoing like a drum. Would this person hear it? You prayed to a higher power they would not.
The unknown soon became a he, his shoulders as wide as a garage door, skin scaly like a lizard. He wore dark overalls, stained with a substance that reeked, even reaching inside the locker. His face was still concealed, hidden behind the locker slits.
Something came into vision, something in his right hand that made your blood run cold. It caught the moonlight just right; a cleaver. Bloodied and crude, snug in his iron grip. Your eyes jumped to his arms, where the same serrated spikes on the blade pierced his skin, sharp points exposed to the air.
The scarlet light seemed to follow every movement, to the smallest twitch in the unknown man's arm. Either the light followed him or guided him like a puppet you could not be sure. He just wouldn't leave.
Hours seemed to pass by as his unmoving figure loomed barely feet from the locker you were hiding in. You couldn't move. With the machete in hand, you already knew this guy was not here to just have a friendly chat. All you could do was wait for your inevitable doom, once he picked up on your shallow breathing.
His body suddenly lurched to the right, his hulking footsteps retreating before two heavier stomps were heard: thrashing on metal.
When the heartbeat began to fade away into nothingness, you shakily yet slowly departed the locker, breath still caught in your throat. After a good five seconds of stillness, the coast was truly clear, and you snaked your way back to the generator to hopefully meet up with Dwight.
When you rounded the corner where the man with the machete once was, the cause of the ruckus before was revealed to you. Parts of the generator's hull had been stomped inward, the pistons moving slower than before and sparking. You recognized that there were muddy footmarks that had been left on the machine as well. It wasn't hard to tell who did it.
Dwight was still nowhere to be seen, and with the fear of that being coming back, you decided it was best to not call out for him. Though, looking at the condition of the metal contraption brought back memories of your boss at the hardware store, bringing in his own personal equipment that he had punted and thrown about and asking you to fix.
The good old days. Before people with weapons were just prancing about in random forests.
"Fuck it," you mumbled, sticking your hands back into the generator to see what could be re-fixed. Reattached wires and re-turned cogs, and the machine was back on track. All the while glancing around, searching for signs of the rough-looking businessman.
With a final pull on one of the levers, the generator finally sprang to full life, the lamps above dousing you in fluorescent light. There was a loud, unexpected noise notification that followed suit, making you flinch slightly. Now back to the dilemma of finding Dwight once more, you decided to wander in the direction of the giant neon sign you saw previously.
Your feet crunched against the grass, nerves still on the end from the altercation when there was a sudden blood-curdling scream that rang out into the night. On the edges of your vision, some sort of red apparition that looked all too human slumped against the ground lifelessly. It was promptly lifted off the ground, disappearing before reappearing in a hang-like state. Another horrifying wail caused the red aura to return, accompanied by a black sphere surrounding it that warped the world around its edges.
No matter how hard you rubbed your eyes the red contour would not leave. Something deep in the bowels of your gut told you to investigate further, even with the soft heartbeat echoing in the distance. If it was a person, then you needed to get moving.
Throwing caution to the wind, you began to sprint in the red aura's direction, evening your breathing and occasionally ducking behind random piles of junk.
Arcing your way around other walls of varying configurations similar to where Dwight had, you finally made it to a spot where you could get a clear view of your target, while simultaneously staying as far away from the heartbeat as possible. The sight made your blood go cold, the red apparition giving way to an actual person, true to your judgment.
The person, a she, was indeed hanging, but from an object eerily familiar. It was another meat hook, one akin to the one you came close to previously. The sharp edge of the barb was completely through the section between her shoulder and chest, fresh blood dripping from the protrusion down her pale pink shirt. Her ebony skin glistened with sweat in the moonlight, curly black hair dirtied in mud, yet still sensibly tied in a ponytail. Her squared, blue-rimmed glasses did no favor to hide the pain and fear in her dark eyes.
Before his very eyes, around the unknown girl, large spideresque legs began to form from thin air, small orange wisps changing to large black shapes. You glanced around one more time, taking another deep breath and swallowing your fear.
In a flash, you were sprinting, digging into the dirt like a bat out of hell. Focusing completely on the girl, she finally made eye contact with you through her anguished squinting beginning to yell something before you were nearly halfway to her.
Something foreign slapped against the bottom of your right shoe, followed by a loud SNAP.
It took all your willpower to not immediately scream out in incomprehensible pain.
Covering your mouth with shaky hands, you quickly glanced down at the object that had clamped around your leg. A large, metal beartrap with jagged teeth had sunk into your flesh like a hot knife on butter. Blood began to seep from your leg in varying flows; you could swear one of the teeth was grinding against your very bone.
With clammy hands you grasped around the metallic clamp, grunting with all you might as it failed to let go. Whimpers and gasps of pain began to unconsciously leave your lips as you pulled and prodded, causing more velvet to ooze from your appendage onto the foggy ground.
Crouching low, you put your free foot on one end of the trap, your two hands on the other. Through strangled breaths through your teeth, you pushed feverishly downward on both sides, the teeth begging to slowly edge out of your leg. Not able to hold back the scream that followed this time, the trap finally released, blood spurting out of the now open wound that mangled your right leg. Tears began to spill from your eyes, snot running freely down your nose; it was unlike anything you had previously felt.
A cold fire began to resonate in your wounded leg as you struggled to reach the girl once more; you couldn't give up now. Even through your haggard gasps and woozy head, you could hear it once more; the slow quickening of your heartbeat. You didn't have much time.
"Don't worry lady, I gotcha," You reassured, more to yourself than anything as you reached her, instinctively grabbing her from under the armpits. You bit back another scream as you went on your tiptoes to hoist her off, rivers of red running down to your shoe. You could see the pain she was holding back as you slowly guided her off, trying to be as careful as possible as the heartbeat gained more resonance.
Finally, with a yelp she was off at the sharp end, landing on the ground shakily. She gave you a confused once over, before sighing.
"I still haven't got used to that," she sighed grievously, clutching at the open wound near her shoulder. "But thank you."
"What the hell is going on here?!" You shrieked, panic beginning to flood your body at everything that had happened in this hell you were placed in. The heartbeat quickened substantially, the hairs on your nape raising before your head snapped to behind you.
There he was, the machete man in all of his horrifying splendor. He was just standing back up from a crouch, the now bloodied trap that you had stepped into in the opposite hand of his cleaver. From the locker, he seemed immense, but here, with the enlarged moon shining upon his bloodied features, even from this distance he was imposing. Something foreign stabbed at your heart when your eyes met the darkened, soulless eyes somewhere behind the creepy mask he wore. No longer hidden from the locker slits and held together by harsh cords of wizened rope, the gnarled teeth and malformed forehead and eye sockets made you wonder if it was made of from the trees around you or human bones. Whatever the case may be, you didn't want to find out.
"No time right now! Just go! There's two gens left, just watch out for traps!" The girl yelled over her shoulder dashing away to your left into the darkness.
You looked back and forth from your mangled leg to the man slowly approaching you. He seemed to be taking his time, stalking you like a predator to prey. Almost as if he was enjoying it. The scent of blood. The panic on your face. All of it.
Whether it be from the loss of blood or the adrenaline running through your system, you laughed maniacally at your predicament.
"All right then pal," You jeered, putting on your best Brooklyn accent. "You want some of 'dis. Come get it."
The grip on the man's weapon became tighter, chasing after you with newfound fire in his seemingly soulless sockets. You vaulted something reminiscent of an open window over a wall, your wounded leg barely clipping the opening but still making you tumble. Nevertheless, you got back up, ignoring the pain in your appendage as you ran for a peculiar-looking squared building.
Sure enough, running through one door your eyes spotted a set trap in the opening of the opposite one, where another roped-together stack of wood lay. With your mind running a hundred miles an hour, you devised a plan that might just work. It was time for the hunter to get a taste of his own medicine.
—
The masked man was taking his sweet time, his eyes diligently flicking from each pool of blood to another that left a path for him to follow. Your footprints were also visible against the dry dirt, which trekked around the shack the machete knew as his closest thing to home. The poor new person that had wandered into his realm would pay, and they were heading right for his trap. Perfect.
Rounding the aged corner of the building, the machete man heard a scream, and he grinned underneath the gnarled teeth of his mask. Most peculiar though, there was no snap of the trap. This one must have been lined with a wax brick or bear oil in his collection. No matter. Prey was prey.
Finally reaching his prize, there was an emotion that flooded his senses he hadn't felt in quite some time; surprise.
Where his game should have been, he was met with emptiness. The trap was still untouched. No scratch marks around it either. He took another small step inside the doorframe. His eyes flicked across the different parts and mechanisms of his habitual equipment. No faults, no malfunctions, no obstructions between the springs, so what caused...
A feint. In his thirst for new blood, his sadistic thoughts had completely overlooked the thought of a discrepancy. In all his countless, endless years, the new bloods were quick to crumble, falling quickly at his blade like old dominoes. But this one...this one was quick to adapt. There was no way someone already taught him the ropes, so how?
All these shambolic, unhinged thoughts flooded his crazed mind in just a few seconds as a silhouette dashed around the corner and into his face.
His father would have been disappointed with underestimating his prey.
—
"Bitch!" You yelled gripping the edge of the pallet and pulling down with all your might. It crashed down to the ground, getting caught in the doorway but still causing the masked man to go reeling back.
Reeling back right into his own set trap.
With a strained grunt, the man bent down, pulling the gnarled trap off his foot and placing it in his non-dominant hand in just a few short seconds. Your confidence slightly faltered at how easily he pulled the contraption off his leg when it took all your strength. Nonetheless, you hightailed it out of there before the crunching of wood sounded from behind you.
The rapid heartbeat in your ears was interrupted momentarily by the same sound notification when you had finished the other generator after Dwight had disappeared. That had to mean that one generator was left, so all you had to do was just stall until...
The masked man was behind you in a blink, his hideous grin inching closer. Running into a different maze of metal...the Jungle Gym Dwight called it...you began to jump through any available windows you saw, sprinting to any colored blocks of wood you could reach before preemptively slamming them to the ground. The smashing of wood was never far behind you.
Meanwhile, your head was swimming with questions. The blood loss from your leg alone should have caused you to pass out, so how were you still running? Any other person with this kind of injury would barely be able to stand, so how were you able to sprint with such vigor?
Technically, you had been flung into some unnamed, faraway place where the sky is green, meathooks as lawn decorations, and a bunch of random people running from some serial killer, so the idea of magic wasn't outside the realm of possibility.
The scarlet light that told of his proximity began to trail up the back of your legs. Your gaze began to frantically dart to any object that could possibly save you. Any more bundles of lumber? No, all fractured to pieces. Windows? None that could give you any kind of leeway.
A smoking cigar?
Something cut through the air, and suddenly you were feeling a sensation ten times the pain of the bear trap. The breath left your body, fingers curling at the open air, incommunicable anguish racking your body as you fell to the ground in a slump. Vision became blurry, yet you could still hear the sickening sound of him wiping his now freshly blooded blade across his forearm.
You could feel your lifeblood oozing from the wide laceration that now decorated your backside when an iron grip found itself at the hem of your pants.
With a pained grunt, you were hoisted high into the air before coming down on a scaly shoulder, tears openly spilling from your sockets as the man began to move at a considerably fast pace. All the meanwhile the blaring heartbeat rang on.
After long, agonizing moments of being jockeyed around, the man finally came to a stop. Your brain connected the pieces and you knew what was going to happen. You shut your eyes hard, hoping you would awaken any second now in a nice, warm bed.
You didn't wake up.
As if the pain couldn't get any worse, a convulsion like no other tortured your body with a nauseating sllck, eyes unable to stay shut as they gazed upon the shining moon above. Your scream, full of fear and agony, rang out across the night, piercing the air and making the masked man huff in satisfaction. You tried to blink the tears away, the fuzzy shape of his shoulders leaving after a long moment of staring at you as if inspecting his work. It was only then that you dared to look at what would be the same kettle of fish as the ebony girl from before.
You didn't bother holding back the scream this time. The hook had spearheaded through both the muscle of your chest and a part of your shoulder, the point glistening with fresh blood. It burned, gravity unforgiving as the hook situated itself more into your body. Meanwhile, the orange strands of string and sinew you witnessed with the curly-haired girl began to encircle you, not yet spider legs, but you realized they soon would be.
You sputtered out strings of curses, not wanting to mess with the metal embedded in your body, for fear of the machete man coming back. The breath kept leaving you before you could call out for any kind of help.
Then there it was again. Far in the distance. The smoking cigar.
It quickly ducked away behind a large grouping of shrubbery. By now the flow of tears had come to a minimum, so you were able to scarcely track the movement of the small flicker of light. It shuffled its way behind an old automobile, momentarily pausing before snaking into another group of bushes marginally closer to you.
The perpetual motion of those orange cords stretching and expanding sinews began to form into a black base above your head, drawing your attention. Fear began to melt together with the pain as your panic-stricken mind went wild. What were these things? Would they tear into your skin? Gut you alive like a hanged deer? Rip you up into minced meat until you were nothing but a-
Two hands positioned themselves under your armpits, and with a pained yelp, you were hoisted from the hook and back onto the alien ground. Your hands instantly went to your knees, your body disposing of your stomach contents and onto the dirt. With heaving, ragged breaths, you gazed up upon a white-bearded and grizzled face with the smoking cigarette that had become your savior.
"Probably stings like hell, but it ain't gonna kill ya. Up and at 'em soldier. Time to move!" The old geyser commanded, grabbing your arm and putting it around your shoulder, not without screams of pain. You closed your eyes during the whole ordeal, trying to bite back the pain as best you could as you trusted this newfound individual with your safety.
Even still, you shouldn't be able to walk. Quite literally you should have been knocking on the door of Death. There should be no way of you still being able to pull air through your lungs. To feel the person next to you, to feel this person's limp, their shallow breathing, the heat from the tip of the cigarette, nothing made sense anymore.
" I see ya thinkin' kid. Nothing makes sense in this place. You'll get used to it...eventually. Better just to think of livin' now, questions later." The unknown man reassured, finally stopping with a deep sigh. He began to set you down on the ground, the feeling of some kind of greenery poking at your face and other appendages. When you finally decided to open your eyes, you found yourself nestled in another bush, your savior crouched down in front of you rummaging through a red faded medical kit.
His dark eyes told a story of experience and hardship. The green army beret he wore held some sort of yellow shield insignia, currently hidden in shadow. A battle-scarred military jacket draped his upper torso, adjoined with a pair of muddied trousers and combat boots. Your eyes flicked to a sad, empty holster sitting on his hip. Whoever this guy was, he seemed tough as nails.
"Bite down on this, kid, you're gonna need it," the veteran expressed, handing you a flat stick. With his other hand, he pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and an old rag. He gingerly grabbed your injured leg, pulling it closer to him. You realized where this was going, grabbing the stick and biting down on it to prepare for the worst.
"Alright, on three. One-" With a flick of his wrist, the contents of the bottle splashed down upon your leg, your body writhing with the pain as you bit down on the stick. You looked at the veteran with bitterness in your eyes, to which he simply chuckled. He dabbed up the excess with the rag, doing another once over on the wound, before sighing again.
"Don't really have anything to cover that, but it'll do until we're out of here. Now, let's see that shoulder." He held the rag in an open palm, putting the last of the small bottle's contents onto its surface before bunching it up. He peeled away your torn shirt where the puncture was, the (F/C) color melding with the blood that stained you. He held out his other hand without a word. You took it graciously and held on tight.
More stifled screams and gasps filled the night, a crow screeched off near you before a flapping of wings waned away. The veteran quite literally filled the hole in your shoulder with the rag, finding flimsy strips of medical tape to hold it into place. New tears stung your eyes now, your back where his weapon had still ripped into you open, but everything hurt less now. Somehow, you're breathing had returned to normal.
"Let's go kid," the veteran stood up with a hobble and held out his hand, grabbing onto your wrist and hoisting you up. With shaky feet your balanced yourself out, amazed at how you were able to stand. You patted over your appendages, even able to touch your back without feeling immediate pain. Was there something special in that bottle the old man had? How the-
"Like I said, questions later." The veteran acknowledged your state, ushering you on with a hand. "We've got one gen left, Claudy's probably working on it. Then comes the fun part."
"The fun part?" You asked, still bewildered at how your body had marvelously recuperated. Your mind swam with so many theories, but there was still the machete man. Like he had said, questions later. Focus on surviving.
You walked quickly behind the smoking cigar, checking your surroundings intermittently. Mostly though, your eyes were focusing on the ground. Even so, your gaze stopped on the large building where the enormous gas sign was positioned, wondering if there were any materials or equipment that would help you. Looking straight up, the moon had yet to move. Did it move to this place? And why were you now just noticing the fog against your ankles again?
Another scream, this one sounding from a voice you knew. Not even a second later, the final sound notification sounded off from the far left, this time wailing like some sort of distorted prison alarm that sent a chill down your spine. In both corners of your vision, two black circles, similar to that of completed generators, held odd-looking white boxes, with three cylindrical objects atop each of them. Looking back to your right, the red shape of a person lay dormant on the ground before disappearing. Just like before, it reappeared like a puppet being held up on strings, followed by a scream that distorted the world around its location.
"Claudy should be openin' the exit gate. That means we gotta go save Dwight." The veteran reasoned, breaking into a sprint in front of you. You were still out of range from the heartbeat, but you knew you were going to hear it soon enough. Would you really want to go back there? To take the chance with that...thing again?
"Dammit!" You cursed, bursting forth and catching up with the old-timer. You had to do something. You couldn't just sit by and watch someone die. Unlike with your parents, this time, you could actually do something. You were not about to let this chance slip.
After a long moment of running, the thumping of the heartbeat returned. Cautiously, you began to slink around metal walls and decrepit cars, just the same as the smoking cigar. With his figure still highlighted in red, you made a wide arc through the land to approach safely. When Dwight finally came in, your blood ran cold.
With grunts and gasps of struggle, the rugged businessman had his hands clasped around the point of a fully-shaped spider leg, two other legs waiting ominously at each side. The one in the middle came close to his chest before pulling away, only to do the same a few seconds later. As though it was toying with him. The heartbeat thumped faster now, but the creature causing it was still nowhere to be found. The veteran was now just behind you, catching your breath as you assessed the situation. A crow landed on top of the meat hook Dwight was attached, staring into your soul from so far away before flying off to meet its brethren.
Dwight's facial expression made you clench your fist, his desperation clear even from this distance. "I'm going to make a break for it. Cover my back." No word from the veteran, but you could feel his approval. You weren't really asking anyway.
You took another deep breath, shaking the heebie-jeebies out of your body before running without another thought. Thinking too much would make you hesitate. Keeping your eyes on the ground, you barely dodged a trap that was hiding in an inconspicuous patch of grass. You were just meters away from Dwight now; he had made eye contact with you. You were going to save him. You were all going to-
The machete man appeared, striding forward like a bat out of hell. He had come from the direction of the finished generator, fresher blood dripping at the tip of his blade. He was making a beeline straight toward Dwight, but you were closer. Dodging another set trap, your heart did a somersault as you notched your hands under Dwight's armpits, the spider legs retreating momentarily. Struggling slightly but eventually unlatching Dwight from the claws of Death, the spider legs completely dispersed into the unknown. No time to be relieved though.
"Run for it!" The heartbeat was almost at full momentum, and you dared to look back at that hideous grin on his horrid mask. Your head flicked in front of you, still pushing on Dwight as the creature steadily gained on the two of you. Meanwhile, a single thought went through your mind: if this "Claudy" was opening the exit gate nearest to the last generator, that meant...
"Shit!" Spinning on your heel, both you and Dwight dashed right towards a mishmash of car bodies and other metal parts. Running in this new maze of parts, you pushed Dwight away from you and towards the suspected area where Claudy was. He looked back with uncertainty but didn't ask any questions. If Dwight was injured, it meant you had to take his attention. You did not want to see what happened if Dwight wound up on that hook again.
The fast heartbeat drumming in your ears told you the machete man was still hot on your heels as you rounded a corner for a second time. All structures, not including the buildings, seemed to associate with a copy-and-paste pattern, something you picked up on but weren't entirely sure up until now. They made shapes, and if executed properly, could have you safe from the blade more than momentarily.
Hopping through a window, you set your eyes on another wall that had yet another window set up for you almost perfectly. You couldn't help but grin at this new discovery. It filled you with a sense of confidence, something you hadn't felt since arriving in this unknown place. Though new, it was binary in a sense to which you could understand. That alone gave you power.
The masked man must have become irritated, as his speed picked up substantially. You could not run this chain for much longer, as already one of the windows had been blocked out with a familiar black fog. Rushing towards one of the final pallets you could see, you slammed it to the ground preemptively before running towards the direction Dwight had been running.
Far in the distance, you picked out two acquainted figures from the rest of the boscage and walls. The ebony girl from before was holding down some kind of lever, which was flashing with two lit lights above it. It squealed with a blaring alarm perceived even from this distance, even through the heartbeat that relentlessly roared in your ears. Next to them, nestled in the brick was a ginormous metal door. That had to be safety. You couldn't help but hysterically smile.
The scarlet light once again began to trail up your legs, the confidence draining from your body like an open faucet. The slash that came to your side did not hurt any less this time, but you couldn't stop running. Not now. You were so close.
The pain pushed you onward, breaking out into a sprint and leaving the masked creature in the dust as he wiped his weapon clean once more. But he was back to moving in no time. At this rate, between craning your neck behind you and back to the large metal door, a sinking feeling found its way into your gut; you weren't going to make it.
The third light had awakened above Claudy's hand, now emitting a rapid pace alarm sound that did nothing to quell your thoughts. This was the end. This is where all your hopes came to die. At least you would see your parents again, right? It was close. So, so close.
The scarlet light enveloped you once more. Through the pounding of your feet, your heart, your mind, you were waiting for that final hit to bring you to the ground. From there, you would be picked up, and fed to whatever spider creature those legs were attached to. Would it bring you any kind of release?
Something told you death was not an escape.
You wit hit with something solid, causing the breath to once more leave your lungs as you lurched forward.
But it wasn't the blade.
"Keep runnin' kid!" The veteran hollered, sprinting past you with an additional scar running through his already pockmarked jacket, blood pouring freely through the tear. There was a grinding sound of metal on some other object, the large door in front of you ploddingly opening like a beast's jaws. Dwight and Claudette were already through, zooming past four rectangular brick spires and into more forest in the distance. You could hear the hunter swabbing his blade with his forearm from the beginning. This was your chance.
"Don't stop!" He hollered again, passing by the gate while simultaneously looking back at you. You barreled through the opening, adrenaline pumping with fear as your guiding principle. He only stopped momentarily flipping the bird over your shoulder before following what Dwight and Claudy had done.
The scarlet light enveloped you once more as you passed the spires of brick. The opening was right there, the opening which led to the unknown. The others seemed confident in going there, so you had to be confident too.
His gruffs and grunts ran down your neck. Your head whirled around just in time to see him raising his weapon. Those soulless eye sockets dug into your soul, his gruesome smile sticking itself into your brain. Shutting your eyes tight, you screamed, running forward and hoping to never stop.
You barely registered the sound of his blade hitting against something solid, still screaming as you ran into the night, away from the monster, away from the spider creature and everything unholy that horrid place had stored there.
The brick walls distorted into nothingness, but you didn't notice through your shut eyes.
All you could do was keep running into the incomprehensible forest and fog that lay ahead.
Chapter 1: The Darkness Awaits
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