"Open the fucking door! Open the fucking door; somebody, open the fucking door," She screamed, sorrowfully at first, desperately rattling and pulling and jangling at the stupid, pointless door.
"Help me! Fucking dick-lickers, help me! Let me out; please, let me out!" she began to sob when her screams turned hoarse.
No use.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she cried, collapsing against the door and sliding, with her back against the wood.
Wood.
She was in a hospital store-cupboard.
Why was she wasting time?
Looking around; crying only silently this time, she spotted a broken, metal hospital bed perched up against the wall on the far side.
The wall by the other door; the one that held a serial-killing monster lurking somewhere, deeply or closely, in the coldness behind it.
In desperation, she ran at the metal bed and started hacking at one of the legs. It broke suddenly, with a loud clatter as she flung it back by mistake and gasped, her hand over her mouth.
The floor-boards were thudding and creaking ever so slightly. But the shadow under the door was not.
He was there, waiting for any trace of noise. Any second now, any second... One noise, one tiny breathe...
The broken bed had been leaning painfully against Laurie's leg, the sharp point where she had ripped off the metal scoring a bloody hole in her arm.
And that bed suddenly gave way and scrawped a deep scar right from her elbow to her wrist.
BANG, BANG, CLATTER, BANG.
"Shit!" she hissed.
Michael's 6-foot pick-axe verses Laurie's blunt metal pole.
Michael's giant ogre physique verses Laurie's skinny, bleeding body.
Yet pure adrenaline kept her hacking and shoving and whacking, screaming at each blow, at just the speed and energy of Michael's; even though the pole was already slipping from her grasp due to the scarlet blood rapidly oozing out of her arm.
At last there was a space big enough for her to fit through, though splinters of wood tried to pull her back.
"Help me," Laurie screamed again and again at the darkness, "Help me, help me! Help me, help me; help me, help me!"
Everything was wrong. There was no light at the desk of the cheery ward; only enough moonlight to dimly make out walls; a desk... whilst she was running further down, down, down the ward.
Slipping suddenly at the pace she was running, she struggled more to get up. "Help me?" she whispered. The ethereal darkness was getting too creepy for Laurie now. She knew this ward. They never turned out the lights. At least not without several patients screaming for them to be turned back on again...
She knew that.
She'd been here for six weeks by now, at least.
Or maybe she was mental about that, too.
Maybe that was all a lie.
Pausing for a second, Laurie struggled weakly to make her eyes adjust to the darkness.
She tried to stand, but there was too much blood everywhere. The thought that she had lost so much blood already made her dizzy.
But again she regarded the wetness all around her. Had so much blood really soaked through her hospital gown already? It was strange to think that she was even in pain; so frightened, her entire body was numbed.
At last, Laurie's eyes began to see properly as the lump at the back of her head died down.
Her eyes adjusted so fast, however, that she fell backwards in shock at the gruesome sight that lay all around her.
Nurses and patients everywhere; but they were all wrong. Mangled and hacked and bloody. Laurie was the only one, now. Laurie.
Laurie was going to die, tonight.
She opens her mouth to scream - but Michael will hear her, if she screams.
So she runs, instead, keeps on and on and on... down, down, down; tripping, once or twice, over things which she was too horrified to even acknowledge, gasping desperastely.
Under the midst of all of this, however, she did feel a slight sense of freedom; she'd been confined in the area of 40 feet, at most, for at least 6 weeks... and for that, Laurie despised the broken masked creature, lay somewhere further down, in the shadows...
Finally, finally, she came across an emergency exit sign wedged in a corner of a dead ward.
"You killed my amazing parents, you killed my gorgeous baby sister, you killed my best friend... you killed my dignity, you killed my ordinary, fucked-up teenage life," she screamed down the corridoor, crying; "Well, I don't understand why you want me but you're never the fuck going to get me! Mother Fucker! Die, die, die, die, die, die, die!"
Crying, she slammed the emergency exit shut and ran, ran, ran...
The next morning, Laurie was jerked awake, shaking. Her long-since matted, waist-long black locks sprawled all over her. Shifting it out of her face with her arm, she studied the shack she'd found properly, listening intensely.
SMACK! came a sound from near the door, and a note slid under it.
"I WIL L aLLwaYZ n0 weR You R Hi d i NG, La uriE.
FA M ILY NOS AL L."
And underneath that note, a picture was clipped to it. An extra note was scrawled onto the back. "You r fAKe fam iLY Is dEad coz I KILLeD THem So rr y. I AM Your broTHEr you are my beauTIFUL Baby Sisster l0ts 0f L0Ve xx x x x xxx"
The picture was of a young, grinning boy; clutching a chubby-cheeked baby whom had dark, curly locks and gorgeous blue eyes. For the first, crazy moment, for want of a happy thought before her real thoughts kicked in, Laurie smiled.
That was not Laurie. Laurie was not beautiful.
When her mind began to work again, however, she pulled out a crumpled photograph of her, as a three-year-old child with slightly faded, but still very deep blue eyes; and shoulder-length messy black curls. With that she wondered why she'd ever seen any pictures of her before that age. And then she looked at her Mum and Dad. Properly.
Both were blonde, though her Father was a little darker.
Her Dad's dull green-grey eyes were unvisible, as he was looking down at Laurie and laughing.
Her Mum's eyes were sparkling; a great glittering greeny colour; and her amazing curvy body was at a preening angle.
Laurie clutched her skinny body and rocked, weeping, "I miss you, I miss you, I miss you Goddamn liars."
This hasn't been written in any special writing style or anything; it probably sounds a little strained, in parts. But I really need some help in writing 2nd person
(this is 2nd person, right?) 
Please tell me if you understood this, too. Thank youuu
PS
A pick-axe is another word for a really big axe, right? 
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