Getting stranded on an island isn't great. Getting stranded in an abandoned building after an earthquake had struck isn't great. Getting trapped in a house filled with psychotic cannibals is the worst. And that's the position that I am stuck in.
After traveling for two longs days, making my way back to California, my car had broken down. A sherif named Hoyt had seen me, asked me if I needed help getting to a gas station, and soon enough I was put into the back of the cop car, knocked out, and carried into the house.
I was with another person, my brother. We were on a road trip to California to visit our parents for summer vacation. We had just graduated college too.
I had woken up inside their house, tied to the table in the kitchen. I had seen my brother get nails shoved through his hands, hit in the head with one of those sticks that cops carried around, and eventually he had died. He left me alone with this crazy family.
I am still tied to the table. I looked over at their big dusty clock to see that it is almost midnight. Time seems to be getting slower and slower as the night grew on.
The floor that I am laying on is covered in dirt, small bugs crawling around. Once in a while I would hear the sound of a mouse move.
As the time ticked by slowly, I felt myself getting more and more tiered. I tried my best to not fall asleep. I need to be able to pay attention to my surroundings.
As I breathed in a little gust of dust I sneezed, causing more dust to fly up, making things for me more miserable than it already was.
Just moments later I heard someone's footsteps coming down the stairs. I didn't move a mussel as I tried to listen closer to the person who is coming towards me.
I can tell that the person is wearing boots because of the sound it is making as the person is walking across the wood floors.
The closer the footsteps were getting to me, the more I realized that the person is coming from behind me, making me unable to see who it is.
As the sound of the footsteps got closer to me, I felt the wooden floor shake a little with each step that the person is taking. It must be a man, since I'm sure that no woman would be able to make this type of noise.
I felt the urge to sneeze again, but I held it in. I didn't want to make any noise.
I saw the boots right in front of my face. I turned my face up as much as I could, staring at a huge man. Not 'fat' huge, but 'tall' huge. Even though I am on the ground and looking up at him, I can tell that he must be really tall.
His dark brown hair rested on his head, ending a few inches above his shoulders, messy and greasy. His eyes held an eerie look. The leather mask he is wearing puts together the whole 'I'm going to kill you' look and feel that he is giving me.
"Please don't hurt me" I said, coughing on my own spit. When I'm afraid, I over-salivate, making my choke on my own spit. Yea, it's weird.
I felt some spit come out of my mouth as I spoke, making a tiny pool of drool on the wooden floor. Hell, I bet the spit might have made that one little spot somewhat cleaner.
I can hear his breathing. The sound filled the room.
I put my head back down to the ground, closing my eyes. If he is going to kill me, I just want him to get it over with.
Waiting in line in the store or for the movies is just agony for me, but waiting to get killed is just like waiting in line to go to hell.
Slowly I opened up my eyes again and looked up at him. He is standing in the same place from when I had closed my eyes. He is still standing the same way, still looking at me.
I looked at his hands, which would twitch every once in a while. But I also noticed that he isn't holding anything. Maybe he isn't going to kill me.
Or maybe he is going to kill me with his hands.