"I know you're there, Madeline..."
His monotonous words send a cold shiver down her spine. If anything, they convey a carefree sense of cruelty. He does not care about her; he only cares about satisfying his primal urges. This, she knows already. Pressing her back harder against the rough brick wall she bites her lip, suppressing a scream of terror.
He'll hear you. Be quiet. Don't move.
"Maddy... let me tell you something. I don't like games, honey... and you should know that we're not playing one. This isn't hide-and-seek. I'll find you sooner or later, and you know that. Postponing the inevitable will do you no good. This isn't a movie, and there will be no miraculous last-minute rescue, no armed police officers busting in..."
Don't move a muscle. Don't make a sound.
Breathing in slowly she allows her eyes to scan the room, her heart pounding violently against her ribcage. Her palms, slick with sweat, softly meet the jagged surface of the wall for support. There's no way out. I'm trapped. Tall, metal storage shelves stand in chaotic rows, forming a complex maze of obscure aisles. As she opens her mouth, controlling her breathing, she knows she cannot get past him. She knows she doesn't stand a chance.
Halloween is nearing, only three days away, and she notes that it is more than evident that he used it as an inspiration when he rearranged the place. Black cloths are draped across - what the contours suggest are - armchairs, and a haphazard collection of plastic spiders, bats and mice is scattered across the white tiles. Uncarved pumpinks stand atop the shelves, waiting solemnly for a child's touch and the cut of a knife to turn them into their more halloween-spirited counterparts. Madeline knows that no child will carve them, as no child would be sufficiently at ease in the dimly lit room to resort to creativity.
Just keep breathing. Just keep still.
"Why are you hiding from me, Maddy? Why don't you just come out? I said; no games. You and I both know how this will end, don't we? You can't escape, honey, I've locked the door." A gleeful tinge lines his voice, the way sunlight edges a mountain range at dawn. Her fear is his power rush; his thrill.
Don't give up. Don't let go. Don't give in to the fear.
The soft, dinstinct click of a loading gun echoes through the metal labyrinth. For a girl whose father has been a NYPD officer for the better part of thirty years, the sound is unmistakable. In the context of the shooting range it had rung in her ears as a signal of security, the gun being safely in her hands as her father demonstrated how to hold it properly for precise aiming. But now, as she stands - trembling - in her own personal haunted house, she wishes that she hadn't heard.
"How do you like the house, huh? I know it's quite dark, but I promise that wasn't intentional..." He speaks casually, an amused tenor to his condemning words. As the alacrity of her pulse quickens, edging towards the limits of functionality, she can hear him moving. His footsteps are light and calculated on the tiled floor as he approaches.
Hide. Run. Scream. Fight.
Madeline's breath catches sharply in her throat as the footsteps stop in their tracks, some three meters to her right. A warm-cold flash of fear jolts her skin, and she widens her eyes as her muscles freeze in terror. He could've heard me. He could've noticed.
"Madeline?"
Sweat trickles from her temple, tracing a path down the pale skin of her cheek. Her slow breathing quivers with a fearful trill. Pounding blood rings her ears, her own pulse rate audible as clearly as the rhythmic drum of a dragon-boat race. Bom... Bom.... Bom...
"Oh, Madeline?"
Extending her name by a syllable or two he assumes a singsong voice, unnaturally cheerful under the strain of the bloodcurdling tension that hovers over them. What once was a storage room has been molded and rearranged, altered to match his twisted mind. A maze of terror. A labyrinth of death. An inescapable network of narrow, dangerous, and deceivingly still corridors.
Cry. Beg. Plead. Pray.
"Madeline, oh, Madeline." The singsong voice continues, sounding closer, stretching the second letter of her name into a mellow display of entertainment. Just as she finds the strength to edge away, a metallic clang ricochets between the shelves. A warning. The sound reverberates, lingering in the air for a moment as though unwilling to evanesce into the darkest hour of the night.
"Maddy, honey, why would you want to do that? Why move away?"
An electric wrench of terror contracts through her abdomen, her wide eyes staring into the impenetrable shadows. Willing her arms and legs to move; willing her mouth to scream, she stands frozen in fear. The terrified panic has taken over, holding her in its icy, iron grip as her brain begs her muscles to comply - to no avail.
"Now, now... what's with that expression? Why so afraid, my dear? It's not very becoming of you..."
Swallowing heavily, her throat and mouth going dry, she holds still. Her gaze traces its way across the room horizontally, examining the area from which his voice sounds, until she's certain that he is not within her line of sight. He's hiding in the shadows; the echoing of his words making it impossible to pinpoint his exact position.
"Speak to me, Madeline."
Her lower lip quivering, she shakes her head. He's watching her from the darkness of his twisted lair. It's a deadly, warped game of Marco-Polo.
Run. Try. Hide.
"Speak to me."
With the taste of her own blood seeping into her tongue, she releases her punctured lip from the stronghold of her teeth. Hands trembling against the rough bricks of the encaging wall, she stifles a sob as her eyes begin to burn with unshed tears. Seconds later the liquid overflows the brim of her eyes, rolling slowly down her cheeks in lethargic droplets.
"Now, now, honey..." A touch of sarcasm oozes through his tone of voice, the source of the sound approaching as he speaks. "Madeline, speak to me. I want to hear your voice. A girl as pretty as you should have a voice like an angel. A voice like the bubbling water of a fountain... pure beauty."
A musky smell spreads as footsteps echo through the unfathomable darkness, terror spreading in the wake of the leisurely pace of his footfalls. Trembling, she averts her gaze. With a staggering breath she draws air into her lungs. Closing her eyes, Madeline can sense his presence by her side. Coming closer. Moving into her line of sight.
Don't look. Don't speak. Don't move. It's a nightmare. Please, let it just be a nightmare.
After an eternity of anticipation, a hot gust of air is exhaled against her face; the sweet, minty scent tickling her nose as she flattens her body against the wall. Her thoughts tumble. Jumble. Mixing and swirling until they become as incoherent as the rest of her situation. Finding the word to say, she opens her mouth to speak.
"Why...?"
A cold chuckle. A rough, warm finger touches to her nose. She feels him leaning in, exhaling a lungful of warm air against her cheek. With a perverse form of entertainment twined into his steady tone, he breathes.
"Game.... Over...."
he does.
I tried my best to make it scary and I'm glad I succeeded !
