Page 100 of Unmasked
I creep toward the stairs, grinning as I take in the red purge mask, black hoodie, and jeans.Stryker!
“Catch me if you can.” I whirl around, heading to the master room and slamming the door shut. I lock it, then hurry toward the closet.
As I shut myself inside, I grin, hearing his footsteps pounding up the stairs. I bump into something and nearly scream. Turning to see what it is, the glowing red light from my mask illuminates a door.
Turning the knob, I spot a steep stairway.Wonder if it leads to an attic?
Thinking it would be a good place to hide, I sneak up thesteps, quietly closing the door behind me. I move carefully, trying not to fall.
I hear the bedroom door knob frantically turning.
It gets brighter as I climb higher. Once I reach the top, I see the candles strategically placed, lighting the way.
“Come out, come out, little girl.”
I freeze. The blood in my veins turns to ice.That isn’t Stryker’s voice!
Panicking, I survey the attic. There isn’t much up here except for old, broken furniture, dust, and cobwebs.
Spotting a window at the other end, I tiptoe across the floor, wincing when the boards creek.
Fuck. Where can I hide?
I go to the window, looking through the dirty pane into the darkness. The roof is too steep, and the drop is too high. Plus, I’m unsure I could fit through the small window even if I got it open.
The bedroom door crashes open, and I barely muffle my scream. My sweaty hand clings to my sketchbook. An idea hits me.
Flipping to a blank page, I frantically sketch the man chasing me. I write, “Come out, come out, little girl,” beside the rough sketch of the man.
The attic door crashes open, banging against the wall. I hide the sketchbook behind me as I inch away from the window into the shadows.
Pulling my mask off, I hide it behind my back. My heart pounds like a drum as his footsteps thud up the steps, bringing him closer.
My breathing is ragged as I press my other hand over my mouth, trying not to make a sound.
I slowly hunker down, quietly setting my sketchbook on the floor.
The shadowy figure appears, his red mask illuminating theroom. His eyes slowly move around the room, stopping when they land on me.
My sweaty fingers release the sketchbook, but I grip the pencil tightly in my hand.
He lunges for me, and I stand, stepping out of his grasp when he reaches for me. I kick him with my boot, and when he bends down to rub his shin, I slam the charcoal pencil into the side of his neck.
I dash around him, running for my life. My heels click against the floor, impeding my progress. I nearly trip down the attic steps as I run, gripping the banister, no longer worried about spiders or cobwebs.
His footsteps thud behind me, and I curse my boots as I run as fast as possible. Fear lodges inside my throat, making it hard to breathe.
I make it halfway across the master bedroom before he tackles me. My body slams against the wooden floor, his heavy body knocking the wind out of me.
“Gotcha,” he rasps as he grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. I scream from the pain. A sharp pinch in the side of my neck makes me wince.
What the hell did he inject me with?
The room begins to swim as I fight whatever it is. I squirm and buck against him, connecting the back of my head with his skull. He howls, releasing my hair. I roll over, slamming my fist against his nose. He moans, pressing his hand against the mask.
I shakily climb to my feet, my eyes heavy. My hands slide to the door, then the wall, as I use them to force my weak legs forward. It’s as though I’m drunk and unable to control my body.
His evil laugh is behind me as I stagger in the hallway, falling to one knee.