The Dare

Upon entering the shack, Natalie concluded that accepting this dare was the worst idea ever. So what if people would've called her a chicken? Anything is better than this old place. The walls were stained with who knows what and there were multiple holes in the floor. Taking out her flashlight, she switched it on and examined her surroundings. In front of her was some dusty, old chairs and a table that was broken in half. Mold had claimed this place as its home and made its presence clear in multiple places.

With a sigh, she carefully walked over to the chairs. One was impaired with a lame leg. The other one, to Natalie's surprise, seemed to be in a good condition. Sitting down, she eyed her brand new watch. Of course, she had it coming as soon as she said those six words. Natalie closed her eyes and thought back to the event leading up to the dare.

"Everyone knows that ole Mr. Derrick was a murderer! Why else would he live in that hut in the middle of the forest?" asked Brandon. He paused to drink some soda. "And no, Dylan, he was NOT a werewolf."

Dylan, Brandon's younger brother, frowned. The only reason that he was even with us was because Brandon's parents were out of town for the week on a business trip. "It makes perfect sense, though! He lived in complete solitude. When he did come into town, his clothes were always ripped up and loose! He was also really hairy and-"

"Comeon Tinkerbell, werewolves don't even exist!" This was yelled by Sarah. She's the only one to ever get away with calling Dylan 'Tinkerbell'. She stepped out from the back of the room and positioned herself next to Brandon. "And you. We were all twelve once. Actually, that was six years ago! Can't you give him a break?" She waited until he shrugged before going back to her original spot.

Unable to stop herself, Natalie said, "Guys, that's just some stupid rumor." Their eyes situated themselves onto her as she clumsily pulled myself up. "It's true. That shack of his is probably just some hideout away from the town. Mr. Derrick has always been a loner. Well, at least that's what my parents told me."

Brandon laughed. "Still listening to your parents, Natalie? Well, since you think what you said is true, how about a little dare? You spend the night in Mr. Derrick's shack. Come out early, and you have to do my homework for a month!" He ceremonially held out his hand to me. "You gonna do it, chicken?"

With those words, she grabbed his hand and shook it. Nobody calls Natalie Sherran a chicken. "You got yourself a deal. Besides, Mr. Derrick is dead. It's not like ghosts exist."

Suddenly, a loud creak came from somewhere close. She opened her eyes quickly and looked around. It wasn't until there was a CRACK! that she realized it was coming from underneath her chair. By then, it was too late. She was already falling through the floor. Natalie screamed. It felt like hours when it was really just a minute before she finally hit the floor. Shakened, but fortunately not hurt, Natalie grabbed her flashlight from her pocket and switched it on. There were no ways out that she could see. After several minutes of searching, she gave up. That was when her light situated itself onto a notebook.

The notebook wasn't anything special. It was small and bound in something that looked like leather. It was well worn as if it had been opened many times before. With shaking hands, Natalie opened it and shined her light onto the pages. The words were a cramped together but she was able to read it.

"April 18, 1967. Patient 1. A small girl, presumably fifteen. Brown hair, blue eyes. She struggled with me and nearly gave me away. I choked her until she passed out. When I got back, I let her wake up by herself. I chopped off her arms and carved a smile into her stomach. She lived just long enough to feel me pulling out her liver."

Natalie's eyes widened. The next page showed a picture of a girl surrounded with blood and her arms missing. Her mouth was open in a permaneant scream and her eyes were wide in terror. Shaking, Natalie continued to read.

"June 19, 1973. Patient 2. A frail boy, about sixteen. Black hair, brown eyes. He went with me and barely struggled. No fun. I stabbed him in the stomach and gouged out his eyes. I was covered in blood by the time he finally stopped squirming around. His eyes did sell for a good price though." Now there was a picture of a boy with his eyes missing and blood pouring down his face.

"August 20, 1979. Patient 3. A strong boy, about twenty. Dirty blonde hair, green eyes. I tried to take his sister but ended up with him instead. Got a black eye. When he finally woke up back up, I drew a picture of his sister into his stomach before covering the wound in lemon juice. I chopped off his hand after he attempted to punch me again. When I got bored of him, I sliced his throat." A picture underneath the writing showed a boy with a poorly made stick figure on his stomach. His right hand was missing.

"October 21, 1985. Patient 4. A decently average sized girl, seems to be eighteen years old. She came to me herself, silly thing." Natalie looked at the page. There was nothing else underneath it. She flicked through the pages in fear. October 21 was today's date and the description fit her. Natalie dropped her flashlight and it hit the ground with a loud thud. The flashlight broke and flickered off before rolling away somewhere she couldn't see.

Swearing, she began to search on her hands and knees for it. It seemed to be nowhere to be found. Her heartbeat filled her ears. THU-BUMP, THU-BUMP, THU-BUMP. Blood rushed through her head as she furiously looked for the flashlight. Finally her hand brushed against the cool metal of the flashlight. Feeling victorious, she slapped the flashlight a few times until it flickered back on. Natalie smiled at the accomplishment. It was then she felt the hot breath on her neck. She turned and shined the flashlight on Mr. Derrick.

Mr. Derrick grinned and held up a knife. "Patient number four, it's time for the doctor to see you." A terrible laugh tore through his lips and Natalie stood there terrified. Suddenly, something slammed into her head. There is pain before she slipped away into nothing.