Dwight pressed himself against the cold stone. His body was trembling. Every nerve in his body told him to run, to run away and hide until it all goes away. He buried his face in his hands. He can't do that. He knows he can't do that. He has to be brave. For once in his life he must be brave, not just for himself but for everyone else. He took slow, deliberate breaths. You've done this before. He told himself. He gathered what little courage he had and peeked his head around the corner.
The mad beast his chainsaw and screamed at the sky, screeching what could be loosely interpreted as a song. The horrid sound uttered from the man's mangled lips sent shivers down Dwight's spine. The saw dripping with yet another fresh coat of crimson; today was a bloody harvest. Dwight could make out a bloody figure lying face down in wilting grass and wondered which friend fell victim to the saw. Any distinguishing feature was masked in the blood and mud.
When the raving creature finished it picked up the still body by its belt and threw it over its shoulder. Blood and gore running down its back like droplets of rain. Dwight caught a better look at the victim. It was unmistakable. The green jacket, the scruffy black hair already soaked red: It was Jake.
Dwight watched helplessly as the twisted creature carried Jake into the cornfield and being devoured in the fog. An explosion of light appeared from the other direction. Dwight turned to the beacon of light, the beacon of hope. One of the generators has been fixed. The roar of the saw came shortly after. The mad monster's wailing could be heard echoing amidst the crops.
Without thinking Dwight darted from his hiding spot and made a beeline for his fallen friend. That's right. He encouraged himself. Don't think about it. If you think about it, you'll give up. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Just do it!
Dwight saw Jake's head raised above the corn, a hook protruding him his shoulder and hanged him from a tall, rusty post. Dwight rushed to his friend's side. He looked around to be sure that the killer wasn't waiting for an ambush. No, this one wasn't subtle. He would hear him coming a mile away.
Seizing his chance, Dwight clamped onto Jake's sides and pulled him off the rusty hook. Jake fell like a sack of rocks. A cloud of dirt puffed up from the ground where he landed. Dwight tended to his wounds.
"Get up. Come on, we have keep going!" Dwight pleaded. Something was wrong. Jake was clearly breathing. His back rising and falling with the signs of life, but Jake remained on the ground just lying there. Dwight shook him again.
"Jake, get up! He'll come back any minute. Get up!"
Jake let out a cough and a wheeze. "There's not point. We can't escape."
Dwight heard the revving of a chainsaw in the distance and the scream of the next victim. He grabbed Jake by his arm and propped him to his feet with his shoulder.
"You know we can't think that. We must keep going. We're still here." Dwight spotted the lights of a generator towering over the corn. He walked over to it, careful to keep him and his friend hidden among the crops. He set Jake down by the broken generator. "Now get to work. We have to work together if we're going to make it."
Dwight already set to work on fixing the generator. He'd done it so many times that he isn't fazed by the tangled mess of exposed wires nor the strange and obtuse objects lodged in the machinery. He knew the circuits by heart. You learn that early on. It's all memory and practice. Practice, practice and practice and you might make it out alive by sheer habit.
Jake watched Dwight and did the same. His eyes held a dull, dead expression to them, yet his arms toiled away on autopilot like a puppet on a string. Dwight remembered being in a similar state back home. Yes, think of home. Home brings hope.
Dwight remembered long days at work when his shift would stretch from dawn till dusk. He remembers his mind drifting to better places during slow days at school. Neither contain happy memories, but it was better than here. Anything is better than here.
The machinery hummed as it slowly came alive. The pistons began rising and falling as if taking breath. The lights above flickered and flashed as wires were crossed and the bolts tightened.
Jake shielded his face as sparks erupted from the engine. They bounced harmlessly off his arms and faded out as they fluttered to the ground. The chainsaw roared in the distance. The creature's wailing's getting louder and louder. The last piston was slowly moving. The generator could be completed.
Dwight's heart pounded like a war drum. A sheet of sweat dripped from his fingertips. Exposed wires coursing with electricity burned his fingertips when he tried to grab them. The wailing grew louder and louder. He knew what was coming, he'd felt it before. He remembers the teeth of the saw ripping through his back. The pain, the fear and the stench of blood.
Dwight lost his nerve. All that liquid courage drained away. He dove into the corn, out of sight of any who would do him harm. He crouched low to the ground as the chainsaw grew louder and louder. He pressed himself again the dirt. That's right pretend to be a previous victim. Even if he sees you, he might think your dead. He covered his head, closed his eyes and prayed that he wouldn't be found. The monster raced past him. Dwight hesitated before taking a sigh of relief. He's fine. He's safe. All that relief vanished when he heard Jake's scream.
Dwight peered through the endless sea of corn and witnessed a familiar sight. Jake, on the ground covered in blood with the hillbilly standing over him, moaning in groaning haunting, gargling noises. It picked up Dwight's friend and carried him to the hook that once hung him. Jake didn't even struggle. He accepted his fate. The hook pierced his chest. Reality warped and twisted around the hook. Long, black spider legs weaved themselves into being, slowly crawling up the post. Twitching and scratching, one large leg swung down into Jake's chest. He caught it purely on instinct and suddenly that spark in his eyes returned: A terrifying will to live.
Guilt festered, leaving a heavy stone in Dwight's heart. This was all his fault. He should have warned Jake, tried to hide him. A hundred different scenarios ran though his head all of which where Dwight would save Jake from his fate at some cost or another.
The mad monster was barely a man and more of a starving animal. A steady dream of drool flowed from its gaping maw, salivating at the kill. It revved its saw again and vanished in the corn. Dwight rushed to unhook his friend when he once again heard the constant roar of the saw. The hillbilly charged headfirst to them. Dwight jumped behind the hook and the killer lodged his chainsaw into Jake's leg, severing it completely. Jake barely made a sound as his stump was made into a fountain of blood. Dwight felt the immense guilt crawling up his back.
The monster returned to its senses and its hungry stare was purely on Dwight. Dwight dashed through the corn as the monster gave chase. Even with its limp leg the killer was catching up as if the its invisible master was lashing at its back. Dwight looked anywhere for cover. He saw his salvation in a thrown together shack plopped right down in the center of the field. He ran for it, he ran as fast as he legs could carry him. Meg would be ashamed on his form. He's not breathing with every step like she taught him. An athlete, Dwight is not; that much is certain.
Dwight dove through the window as the hillybilly's saw dug into the rotting wood works. For a brief moment his view was obscured by the shower of splinters that flew into his face. Dwight stumbled back and fell down some stairs that waited to reveal themselves. He tumbled down each step, the jagged corners digging into back and sides. He shielded his head with his hands on the way down.
At last he landed at the bottom of the basement and his heart sank. Before him was a shrine: four conjoined hooks sprung from the blood-soaked ground. Shafts of light shined through the cracks in the walls and splintered wood. Small, budding veins were slowly crawling from the cracks. Feasting on the blood and stench of countless sacrifices. Dwight gripped the sharp pain in his chest. The memories still fresh in his mind.
His horror cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps. Dwight looked for a hiding spot. Nowhere to hide accept a nearby locker. He slowly crawled inside to not make any noise right before the monster entered the basement. It was cramp, and that horrible odor hung in the air. Dwight couldn't tell if the sound of his heart echoed off the walls or if it was his imagination. Dwight held his breath and hoped beyond hope that the creature wouldn't look there. It turned its crooked head around, its neck making ungodly snapping sounds as it forced it to move. It turned its nose to the ceiling and started sniffing the air like a dog.
He surveyed the scene, checking every corner. It took every ounce of control Dwight had to keep his body from shaking. The twisted monster walked over to the stairs, fuming that he lost his pray. Dwight watched as he slowly went up the steps, the trail of running wearing down the murderer. Dwight smiled. It was leaving. He made it. He heard the alarm of the last generator being powered. By the time he makes it to the exit gate it will be open. A blessed escape will be his. Dwight took a sigh of relief and the monster stopped dead in his tracks.
Dwight clasped his hands over his mouth, but it was too late! The monster tore open the locker and gripped its filthy hand around Dwight's neck. Its gore coated fingers crushing his windpipe. The smell of its rotten breath burned Dwight's nostrils. The hillbilly tore Dwight from his hiding spot and threw him on the quad hook. Before he could react to the hook in his chest, the spider's tendrils wrapped themselves around the rusty post. Dwight cried out in agony not just from the pain, but because he knew that escape had eluded him yet again.
It's always the same. The feeling of fear, the cold steel in his chest, the colder touch of the Entity tearing a part of him out. Tearing out a part you can never recover like an old wound being reopened again and again until there's nothing left but a hollow husk, an empty vessel devoid of hope. To be ripped away and violated in by the unfathomable. The feeling never leaves you. The void in left behind can never be filled. Darkness surrounded him. The cold grip of death graced his hand before he woke up to the crackling of the campfire.
He failed again. Dwight looked at the sullen, sunken faces of his friends. They looked to him for comfort, for guidance. He is their leader and he failed them again.
Dwight took a seat by the campfire, mindlessly staring into the burning flame. Sitting beside him were people just like him: trapped in an unexplainable situation in a strange, alien place. A long time ago it was just the four of them: Meg, Claudette, Jake, and himself, but over time that number has grown and shows no signs of stopping. Despite this, they all still look to him for leadership: the pathetic dork with broken glasses.
Meg was sitting next to him, drenched in sweat. She was still catching her breath from the trail before. She managed to escape by outrunning the killer and her clothes showed it. Worn running shoes that once were clean and bright now sullied by dirt and worn down by use. How they still have traction was beyond Dwight, maybe it was a 'gift' from their eldritch warden.
Jake and Claudette were on the other side of the campfire. Both shared the terrible trembling that comes after being sacrificed. Dwight understood. Nothing could feel that empty void in your being once it's gone. Nothing at all. Claudette comforted Jake who had his face buried in his knees. Guilt racked every fiber of Dwight's being. A dark voice whispered in the back of his mind "It's all your fault, coward."
Dwight could name people more suited for the position off the top of head. Bill was in the military, Adam was a college professor, hell Tapp worked in law enforcement. Anyone of them would be more qualified then himself. Why would they choose him over all others? Why would they look for him for guidance in these endless trials? What'd he ever accomplishes that made him stand out among the rest?
Reading the doubt on his face, Bill spoke up. Puffs of smoke hung on his words as his cigarette dangled between his lips.
"Like it or not son, you're leading the front-lines." The old man, still wearing his aged military beret scoots over to Dwight's side and pats him on the back. "Every unit has a leader and without that, the unit doesn't last long. I know what you're going through kid. I know what it's like to be an unlikely source of leadership." Bill's eyes went dark, reminiscing of treacherous times. He never talked about it much, only hints and the odd slip of the tongue, but everyone knew that he lost a lot. "And the sacrifices that come with it. Shape up, kiddo. We ain't FUBAR just yet."
Dwight gave a brave face. There must be hope in this hell, even if it isn't real. That's another thing you learn quickly: Even false hope has a purpose. Bill smiles back. His eyes regaining a bit of their sparkle.
"Good talk." He returns to his previous seat and took another puff of his cigarette. "What's the plan chief?"
Dwight looked down and twiddled his thumbs. His thoughts drifted to the corn. Hiding in plain sight while the killer was distracted. Stealth was used but wasn't as reliable as running. You know when you're being chased, you know where to run and how to loop the killer around until the exit is available. Hiding is something else. You never know when you're hiding spot has been exposed or not until it's too late. Sometimes you can't even hide. The creatures of the fog are unpredictable, wild and savage. They hold strange and otherworldly powers. You can't outrun them all.
"We can't outrun them all." Dwight echoed his own thoughts. "We need to get better at hiding. Lockers, tall grass, trees, rubble, anything and everything that can be used as cover." The survivors all nodded their head in agreement. "And we need to teach each other as much as we can. Meg, whatever routine you have for running, go for it and have everyone run it." Meg cracked a smile.
"I'll teach you what I can if you can keep up!" Her competitive spirit burning brighter than the campfire.
"That's the spirit! Claudette," Dwight turned to Claudette "do you have anything that can help us heal each other faster? Like in a pinch?"
Claudette's head darted up from Jake. Her glasses cracked and broken much like Dwight's. Her dreadlocks disheveled and messy. Her hands wrapped around Jake and were still shaking. Her eyes darting in every which direction. Hyper vigilant would be an understatement.
"What? Huh? What do you mean?" Her face was twitching, wracked with stress. She held onto Jake like a security blanket. Words flew from her mouth faster than Dwight could catch them.
"You're the smartest out of all of us. Is there anything that you know that we can help us heal faster. A plant we can pick or something we can do with the medical kits to make them last longer?"
Claudette reached behind her back and pulled out a small, dirty wooden box stuffed to the prime with plants and herbs. She flicked the latch and opened the box, clumps of dirt flew all around. Inside were stuffed plants of weird shapes and colors. Dwight had seen Claudette spend hours studying their strange, otherworldly properties. She pointed her finger at the flowery buds pushed to the side.
"These won't help seal the wound, but it will numb the pain." She dragged her finger to the other side of the box. "These will help stop the blood flow but will burn through medical kits faster." Dwight couldn't tell the difference between a lifesaving herb and a simple leaf. Still, he smiled and nodded.
"And Jake-" He turned to Jake. His eyes were dark. The color drained from his face. He dazed in and out of consciousness, swing from awake to sleep like a bipolar pendulum. "Jake!" Dwight nudged Jake's shoulder. "Stay with just Jake."
"What? Huh?" Jake said. His voice low and quiet.
"When you were hurt you didn't make a sound. How'd you do it?"
"What? Oh, that's easy. You just have to focus on something else. A happy thought, not being murdered. That stuff. It's all in the mind."
"Okay, can you teach it to everyone else."
Jake nodded. "Of course."
"Good and Jake, stay with us man. We have to survive for each other." Dwight held out his hand and Jake took it in a firm grip. Color returned to his face, a fire reignited behind his eyes. Hope was faded but not gone. They nodded their heads in newfound vigor and returned to their seats.
Both resumed to staring woefully into the fire. Dwight wiped the thin crust off his eyes. What he wouldn't give for a good night's rest. He can't remember the last time he's slept for that matter.
"What's the first thing you're going to do when we get out?" Dwight blurred out. Confused looks darted in his direction. Everyone has told their story at least once. In a place like this, there can be no secrets between friends. Secrets do nothing but gnaw at the bonds of trust and trust was one of the few things this nightmare can't butcher.
Jake tore his gaze from the flame. He brushed his fingers through the beard growing on his face. He looked back down with a heavy gaze. Regret personified on his face.
"I'd talk to my dad." He finally said. "Say I'm sorry for leaving. Tell him that I forgive him. He only wanted the best for me and I threw it all in his face." Jake wiped his watery eyes.
Meg was the next to speak. Tears were already welling up in her eyes with the thought of home. "Check on my mom. Make sure she's okay and taken care of anything happens to me again. Then maybe go back to trying to be a world class runner. Always wanted to run with the big names."
Dwight put his hand on Meg's lap. "Hey, nothing will happen to us when we get out. I mean, after all we've been through there'll be nothing we can't handle." The kindhearted statement did little to comfort her. Tears streamed down Meg's face. She got up from her seat by the campfire.
"I need a jog." She ran off into the woods. A moment later she returned from the opposite side and kept running. If Dwight didn't know better, he'd assume she ran around the whole world. But he knew better. This "world" if you can call it that loved to play tricks on you, to confuse and turn you around until you're at its mercy.
"I'd go back to my old chatrooms. I bet a lot of those guys still need help with their biology homework." Claudette chuckled. "Some of those guys wouldn't know aloe from a common weed." Her glasses sloped down her nose, causing her to push her glasses back up in place. "You know what? When we get out, I want us to all hang out!" Cheers rang from the crowd around the fire.
"Yea! We can all go to a dance club! I know a good spot!" Meg chimed.
"Naw, the firing range is where you want to go to have a good time!" Bill retorted.
"I don't want to be anywhere near you with a gun, old man!"
"I'll show you what an old man can really do! Next round, I knock the next crazy bastard's lights out! Watch me! I fought worse hand to hand!"
Dwight smiled. Good to know she was still capable of jokes after all this time. Say what you will about humanity, it is nothing if not resilient.
"What about you Dwight? What will you do when you return home?"
Home. A word that doesn't bring happy memories. He remembers the days spent at the pizza joint. The smell of dough and melting cheese kissing the inside of his nostrils after every delivery. The bright red face of his angry manager screaming at some poor, underpaid worker. The smallest mistake being punished with overblown severity. Nothing as bad as their current situation, but unpleasant nonetheless.
"Just… just look at the sun again. It's been forever since we've seen daylight, you know?" That got a few chuckles from the crowd. Dwight's cheeks ran red. He didn't mean for it to sound like a joke. The rest that weren't laughing were staring mournfully into the campfire. Daylight, real honest to god sunlight didn't seem real anymore. Just a dream that they've long since woken up from.
A snowflake fluttered through the trees and into Dwight's hand. It melted into a tiny droplet and sat in his palm. Snow… Another thing he never knew he would miss. Except this snow wasn't real, it wasn't cold. Just another prop in the Entity's game.
Through the fog he could make out a cabin of some sort. It resembled the same dilapidated ruins he's used to running through. The miss matched boards of new and aged wood were stacked on top of each other in strange and obtuse ways. A cold wind moaned throughout the lodge.
Inside didn't fare much better. Thrown together furniture and broken chunks of what might have been the ceiling lay scattered haphazardly around a warm fire in the center of the room. Made Dwight's old bedroom look good. Dwight didn't pay much attention to the decor. What he was looking for was wedged between the rubble: A generator.
Dwight surveyed his surroundings, making sure he was alone. No shimmers in the air, no masked men hiding behind bushes, nor chainsaw wielding maniacs to tear into his back, and no friends to watch his back. No time to lose. Dwight knelt by the generator and got to work.
It was quiet, too quiet. Normally by now there would a scream either by a killer let loose or a fellow survivor in danger. Dwight kept one eye on the mangled mess of wires and the other over his shoulder. His palms began to sweat, his hands trembled in anticipation.
The silence was deafening. Dwight looked around for the smallest sign. Startled crows, footsteps in the snow, something to tell him something was lurking in the fog. His breath caught in his throat. He looked up to the pine towering high above him reaching into the impenetrable fog. Hanging above him was a ski lift dangling over him. The rusty metal screeching with every swing.
Dwight squinted his eyes but couldn't see past the dense blanket of fog. Every passing breeze graced Dwight's shoulder, every snapping twig rang in his ear. BOOM! The generator exploded in a display fire and sparks. Dwight cursed under his breath. He checked his hands. Minor burns to on top of the newly healed skin. Another scar to add to the collection.
"Hey, you there!" Dwight jumped out of his skin, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He turned around, back against the broken generator. Before him stood a figure in wrapped in a dark, nondescript jacket. The voice brimming with youthful rebellion and underlining hostility. His face was covered in dirt and grim, his bandaged fingered caked in what Dwight hoped was mud. One of the stranger's hand was hidden behind his back.
The snarling teenager pressed his lips together and narrowed his dagger point eyes at Dwight. "Where the hell am I?" He demanded.
Dwight shrugged. "I couldn't tell you if I knew." The teen griped his fists and pushed Dwight against the engine.
"You best tell me where I am before I get mad! I don't like to repeat myself! Where. The hell. Am I?" Dwight shielded his face and cowered in the corner.
"I don't know! I don't know! But if you want to get out, we have to fix the generators!" Dwight pointed to the generator clinging to life. Only a pair of pistons were moving at all, the rest were still as stone.
"And how does that help us?" The teenager yelled, tightening his grip on Dwight's shirt. His nails, sharp as talons digging into his skin.
"It powers an exit gate we can use to escape." Dwight said swiftly. He looked along the walkway above them. He could have sworn he heard something. A humming song? A haunting lullaby? No, no it was just the wind, right?
The teen flashed a twisted smile and released Dwight from his grip.
"Leave? Why would we leave?" the teenager's right arm is twitching in anticipation. He stared at Dwight with an instinctual, almost wild hunger.
"We're endanger! There's a killer on the loose!" Dwight returned to his repairing. "And keep your voice down or the killer might find us! Trust me, if they catch you, you'll wish you were dead."
"So, this is what we do…" The teen muttered to himself.
"We have to work together. I'm Dwight by the way. You?" The teen turned around, revealing a masked grimace carved with a crooked smile.
The masked teen lunged at him with his knife. Dwight dashed to the side, the blade plunging into the mangled mess of wires of the generator. The masked teen let go of his blade and swung his fist, back handing Dwight square in the jaw. Dwight tasted blood on his tongue: his blood.
Dwight sprinted out of the building and into the snow. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The fog thickened. Dwight couldn't see two feet in front of him. He heard heavy panting behind him, then the killer tackled him from behind. The masked teen pounded his fists to Dwight's back and cursing with every punch. The edgy teenager gripped Dwight's neck and squeezed. His vision darkened, and the world grew cold. His lungs begging for air, gasping like a dying fish.
Dwight clawed at the mask, bloody fingerprints painted on the wooden face.
"Please… don't…." Dwight pledged.
"Hey!" A beam of light shined on the mask. The killer shielded his eyes from the blinding light. Meg standing holding a flashlight with both hands. "Run, Dwight, run!"
Dwight squirmed beneath the killer until he was free from his grasp. He ran so fast, ripping up the dirt as he went. The former track star running by his side.
"Remember what I taught you! Control your breathing. Pace yourself!"
"Got it! Thanks for the save back there!" Meg gave Dwight a cocky smiled.
"Like you said: You have to survive so that we survive!" Meg turned her head back. "Don't look back, but he's right behind us."
Dwight did look back and instantly regretted it. The masked killer was right behind them. Squeezing his knife and swinging wildly at the air.
"Keep running! If we split up, one of us can work on the gens!" Dwight ordered.
"Ay, ay captain!" Dwight took a hard left and Meg took to the right.
Dwight saw the lodge through the fog. A pillar of smoke rose from its heart. Dwight rushed to the generator he was working on. The ever-sneaky Claudette appeared before his very eyes.
"Dwight, I know how the killer is! It looks like some hot topic wannabe freak with a mask!"
"I just had a run in with him. Meg should be giving him the slip or at least loop him around for a few more minutes."
"Then we don't have much time. What's his gimmick?"
"Didn't stick around to find out. Now come on! We got to get this done!"
Dwight and Claudette began cutting, slicing the wires crammed into the engine. Dwight caught a loose gear covered in grease and lodged it back into place with its spinning brethren. After a few more sparks and crossing a wire, the generator sprung to life releasing a floodgate of light.
"Good job, Claudette." Dwight cheered. That's right keep encouraging them. Tell them they're doing a good job. Do anything and say everything to keep them motivated. The moment they lose hope; it's all over.
The ground quaked. Dwight and Claudette lost their balance as the world shook. Furniture thrown around, chunks of rotting wood came crashing down.
"Get out! The ceiling's coming down!" Dwight scrambled off the floor and ran to the nearest exit. Claudette followed closely behind him.
What remained of the already damaged roof collapsed the lodge's lobby and crushed the generator. The lights flickered then returned to darkness.
"No, that's cheating! We fixed it fair and square!" Claudette said before the ground began to shake again.
The trees tore themselves from their foundation, throwing mountains of dirt up in the air. The ski lift creaked and moaned before collapsing into a pile of scrap. Dwight curled up in a ball, shielding his head from incoming debris.
"Whatever is happening, make it stop!" He cried out.
To spite him, the world shook harder. Dwight struggled to keep himself anchored to one spot. He dug his fingers deep into the dirt. The world ripping itself apart, cracks bursting with light erupted from the ground.
Out of nowhere, Dwight felt a knife worm between his rib and the smiling grimace of that pale white mask. He was barking like a mad dog, asking questions of how and why. Dwight could only hear his heart beating in his head. The wound cut deep. The air tasted like blood and he found it harder and harder to draw breath. He was drowning in his own blood.
The tree branches bend and contorted to long, shadow spider limbs. They swatted at the air, weaving reality back together. Bright, yellow strings swiftly stitched the glowing cracks shut. That's when Dwight heard a sound that caressed his ears with ceremonious song. The cracks brimming with light were singing. No, playing music, music on a radio. He didn't recognize the song, but he knew it was from a radio. The signal static frosted over the upbeat tunes and the cheesy lyrics.
Dwight saw the light shimmer through the slit in the world, a crack, a peek behind the curtain. He crawled to it. He could barely hear Claudette crying out as the killer fell upon her. Her muffled screams drowned out by the siren song. It didn't matter where it took him. Home or the campfire. Anything is better than this hell. Dwight held in his guts, digging into the soil with his free hand. The world trembled, and the crack slowly began to close. Long spider legs weaving a thick web over the portal.
Dwight dragged his mangled body closer. The crack was closing, the Entity weaving it close to prevent escape. That means it must lead somewhere, right? Somewhere outside, somewhere safe. Dwight reached the portal and without thinking threw himself into the void of light.
"No! Get back here!" He heard the killer scream.
"Dwight!" Was that Claudette or Meg? Someone shouted his name before he was taken by the blinding light.
Dwight fell in the bright abyss. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care. At least his last moments would be free. Before he knew it, Dwight landed with a thud in a small space lined completely in leather. A veil of darkness shrouded his vision. He felt around to get a sense of where he was. He felt cold metal all around him, closing in on him like a casket.
Dwight scrunched up his knees. Blood from his wound staining the leather and forming a puddle beneath him. The trunk of the car was just his size. He pounded at the wall and kicked at the ceiling.
"Help! Help me!" He screamed.
Dwight kicked the ceiling until the hood of the trunk popped open. A brief gust of cold air blew into Dwight's face. Outside, towering stacks of warn cars pilled around him. With an all too familiar green hue painting the sky. Swarms of moths
"No. No! I'm still here! No!" Dwight cursed himself, tears welling in his eyes. "I'm still here." He muttered. "I'm still here…" He groveled to the ground, wrapping his hands around his still bleeding wound. Hope faded from his mind. The scrapyard another playground for the Entity's game. Dwight was sure that it was over. He was certain that any moment another twisted creature of the fog would strike him down and drag him away. He fell to his knees, ready to accept his fate, then he saw the impossible.
The moon set over the horizon and to the east shined the first rays of sunshine Dwight has seen in years. He didn't believe it. He always dreamed of seeing the sun again. It was brighter than he remembered. His eyes burned but he didn't want to look away. Precious golden light warmed his skin. The sounds of birds chirping were a sweet, sobering symphony. Tears streamed freely down his face, forming puddles in the dried dirt.
The sun rose over the horizon. The dark sky turned bright baby blue. The scene was worthy of a painting to be hung and savored for all to see. His fear washed away, replaced with blossoming hope. He made it. He escaped. The song that guided him to freedom gently echoing in the wind.
"Hey kid!" A gruff old man yelled from his small box office parked at the entrance of the scrapyard. A fence bordered around the yard. "What they hell are you doing? Get the hell off my property or I'm calling the police!" Dwight ran to the old man, almost in shock of seeing a new human face. His small office priming with old, discarded magazines, an overflowing ash tray and the blaring radio tucked away on the windowsill.
"Holy hell kid, what blender did you walk into?" The old man pointed to Dwight's blood-soaked clothes. "Holy shit, you're bleeding!"
Dwight raised his crimson coated hand. He's been cut, stabbed, bitten and choked so many times that he barely noticed.
"I'm fine. Where am I? What year is it?"
"Kid, you need a hospital!"
Dwight's thoughts got fuzzy, scattered, and unfocused. He began coughing warm blood in his hands. Struggling to give air to his blood-filled lungs.
"No… No I'm fine… Whe- where am I?" He leaned up again the gate. His legs turned to jelly. Dwight stumbled onto the rusty gate, conciseness slipping away from him. The last thing he heard was: "You're in the town of Weeks kid."