"Marty! Marty! Do not let him stab me! Marty!! HELP—" Martin fell to the ground—instantly dead.
"Martin! You little sh—"
"Now that he's finished, it's your turn."
"NO! Not after what you just did!" Marty grabs a piece of crumbling wood "Wh—wha?"
"Ha-ha. You little fool, you can never beat me at this game."
"Give back Martin—NOW!!"
"Or what?"
" Or I'll—I'll" the piece of wood in Marty's hand dissolved into a pile of sand, then smoke—nothing. A dark, cold, merciless feeling swept over him, first numbing all his senses. But for a brief moment he could see black smoke and Martin's murderer disappearing in the smoke. Marty was just struggling to breathe. His body couldn't handle it. The whole time he was crying. And then, in what he thought to be a brief, good moment, he fainted.
"Ah!" Marty woke up from his dreadful nightmare.
"Oh, thank goodness you're awake. What happened?" Bertha asked in a worried tone.
Marty looked more exhausted and scared than ever before. He was holding a knife in his hand.
"I was having a--"
"A what? Oh crap--is that a knife?!"
"I don't know why it's here."
"Well, when you remember more, come tell me. And PLEASE! Give me the knife so I can go and clean it and then have breakfast. Ok?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
Seamus storms into the room with a look of confusion on his face. "Mr Eastwood, you alright?"
"Yeah. But why do I have this knife in my hand?"
"What!"
"I had a nightmare and I woke up with this knife in my hand."
"Well then, I will go fix breakfast." As Marty crept out of his bed, he realized something. "Hey! Wait! Where am I?!"
"Never mind that, just come and eat!"
"Okay, I'll--" Marty never finished the sentence, because he got sick. He coughed twice, and then emitted a small whimpering noise.
"Seamus!"
"Aye?"
"Mr. Eastwood... um... well..."
"Got sick?"
"Aye."
Seamus sighed. "I'll help him, poor thing."
Marty fainted, crying and squirming in his sleep...
"Marty! Don't let him--"
His murderer was wearing a black hoodie with tight, blue jeans clinging to his legs like a cat. His hoodie was covering his face, so you couldn't see his face. But there was something familiar about him, he had this low, strong, murderous voice.
Martin's face was pouring with anguish, his face red, tears falling...this was his last moment--and he knew it.
"I love my family."
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Marty sobbed. He was so angry, ready to fight-- but he knew he couldn't.
The murderer, along with Martin's body, disappeared in the same smoke as before. Marty could move now.
