π³πππ π³ππππ’,
ππππππππππ’ πππ'π π ππππππππ ππ πππ’ππ. πΈπ ππ πππ ππ πππππ.
πΈ ππππππ ππππ .
πΈ ππππ πππππ πππ ππππππππ’ ππ ππ’ π·πΏ π’ππππ ππ πππππ πππ’πππ ππ ππππππ ππ πππ. π°ππ πππππ πππππ’πππ ππππ’ ππππππ ππππππππππ, ππππππππππ ππππππππ, πππ ππππ ππππ-π πππππ ππππππππ, πΈ πππ πππππππππππ’ πππ’ ππππ πΈ π ππ'π ππππ ππ πππππππ.
πππ πππ, πΈ ππππ πππ ππ’π ππππ ππππ’, ππππ’ πππ’. πππ ππππ ππππ πππππππ ππ πππππππππ’ ππππππππ. πΈ ππππ π ππππππ ππ’ ππππππππππ ππππππππ ππππππ ππ: πΌπππππ πππππππ, ππππππ ππ πππππππππ πππππ ππππ πππππ πππππππππ, πππ ππππππππ ππ πππππ ππππππ, ππππππππ£πππ.
ππππππππ£πππ.
ππππ πππ ππππ ππ πΈ ππππ ππ? π³ππ'π πππ ππ π ππππ, πΈ ππππ πππ ππ π ππππ. πΈ ππππ πππ ππ ππππππ πππ π πππ, πππ ππ'π ππππ ππ ππππ ππππππ π πππ π’ππ'ππ ππππππππ’ ππππππππ ππ ππ ππ. πΈ ππππ πππ πππππ πππ πππππ πππ'π ππ‘πππππ ππ, πππ πππ'π ππππ πππππππππππ?
π°ππ ππππ π’ππ ππ ππ π πππ ππππππ π ππππ πππππ’πππππ ππ πππππ ππππ πππ ππ πππ'π πππ π πππππ, πππ π’ππ πππππ, 'π·ππ’, πππ 'π ππ’ ππππππ. ππ πππ ππππ πππ ππππππ πππππ, πππ’ πππ πππππ ππππππ πππ πΈ πππππ ππ ππππππππ’.' π±ππ ππππ πππ ππππ π πππππ, πππππππππππππ πππ ππππ - πππππππππππππ πππππ, πππ π’ππ ππππ π’πππ πππππππππ ππππππ, ππππππ πππππ πππ ππππ, πππ ππππππππ’ π’ππ'ππ ππππππ ππππππππππ, πππππππ ππππππ πππ ππππππ πππππππππ.
π° πππππππππ’.
πΈ πππππ πΈ'ππ π πππππ πππ ππππ ππ πππππππππ πππ π πππππ ππππ πππππ ππππ πΈ'π π ππππππ ππ πππππ. πΈ'ππ πππ ππ’π πππ ππ’ ππ π, πππππ πππππππ, πππ ππππ’ π πππ πππ ππ’π ππππ ππππ: ππ π ππ πππππ πππππππ. πΈ, ππ ππ π ππ’, π πππ ππ πππ πππππ’ πππππ ππππ ππππ’'ππ ππππ’ππ ππ ππ’ ππππ πππ πππππππ πππππππππ. π°ππππ ππ’ ππππππ’ ππππ’ πππ πππ ππππ πππππππππ ππππππ ππ ππ. π±ππ πΈ π ππππ'ππ ππππππ’ πππππ ππ πππππ π πππ πππ 'ππππ ππππ', ππ ππππ ππππππ πππππ ππππππ πππ ππ ππ πππππππ. πΈ ππππππ'π ππππ ππ ππ ππππππ, πΈ π ππ πππ ππππππ.
π°ππ ππππ ππ π ππππ πππ πππππππππ πππππ πππ πππ πππ‘ππππ’ ππππππ.
π΄ππππ’ππππ πΈ π ππ π πππ πππππππ π ππ π πππ'π π ππππππ, πΈ π ππππ ππππ πππππππππππ. πΌπ’ ππππ π ππππ ππππ πππ ππππππ ππ ππ 'ππ°π ππΎπΌπ΄ππ·πΈπ½πΆ π°π½π³ π°π²π π½πΎππΌπ°π»! ππ·π π°ππ΄ ππΎπ π³πΎπΈπ½πΆ ππ·πΈπ ππΎ ππΎππππ΄π»π΅?!' πππ ππ’ πππππ π ππππ ππππ ππππ’ ππππ, πππππππ ππ’ ππππ ππ ππππππππ’ πππππ.
πΈ πππππ ππππππ ππ’ πππππππ ππ πππππ ππ ππ ππ’ ππ π, ππππππππππ’ ππ ππππ ππ. πΈ'π ππππ ππππππ ππ ππ ππππππ, πΈ πππππ ππππ'π πππ ππππ π ππ’ ππ ππππππππ ππ. ππ πΈ π πππππππ , ππππ’ ππ ππ’ ππππ ππππππ, πππ'π π πππ πππππππππ, ππππ. π°ππ πΈ ππππ ππππ, πππ.
ππ, ππππ'π ππ. πππππ’ ππ ππ’ ππππ!
πΈ ππππππππ’ πππ'π ππππ π ππ’ πΈ'π π ππππππ πππ ππ ππππ πππ π. πΈπ π ππππ ππ ππ‘πππππππ’ πππππππππ ππ πππππππ π πππ ππ ππππ ππ. π±ππ ππ'π πππ ππππ ππππ ππ ππππ πππππ ππππππ! ππππ ππππ ππππ’π ππ ππ’ πππππ.
πΈ'π ππ πΉπππππ'π πππππ πππ π πππ π»πππ πππ πππππ’. ππ'ππ πππππππ πππ ππππ ππππ ππππππ π π πππ ππ πππ ππ π πππππππππ πππππππ, ππππππππ’ ππ πππππ ππππ πππππ. ππππ'π πππππππ ππππππππππ, πΈ πππππ ππππ ππ ππππ ππ πππππ π πππ ππππππ ππππ ππππ’ πππππ. πΈπ ππππππ’ πππππ.
π±ππ ππππ ππ π πππππ πΈ'π πππ ππππππππ ππ ππππππππ ππ ππππ ππππ. πΌππ’ππ πππ πππ πππ‘π πππππ’.
πΆπππππ’π.
With a slight smile, you closed the well-kept book in your hands, its pages recalling many years of your life, ups and downs.
You wouldn't exactly call yourself very literate, but you liked writing down one or two things once in a while. It let you keep track of how far you've come or how deep you've fallen and it made you feel good, so why not.
"So, Sarah," you looked up from the memory wielding piece of literature in your arms, your eyes meeting Stacy's brown ones, "What's going on in looovee town?" she asked, a smirk plastered on her thin lips, knowing damn well there wasn't anything interesting up in your town.
"Oh don't be a dick, Stace. You know this town's long been ghosted, cleared of any existing life form," Luca took what was your cue to answer. With a wink he smiled sweetly at you, letting you know he didn't mean it like that.
You know he didn't, even without the wink. The idiot.
"Well," you began quietly, eyes wavering over to your right, scratching at your nose a bit, "who needs a town when you have the whole damn city?"
"Ooooouuuuhhhh," came the exaggerated reaction of the two, wooing in sync over your absolute unfunny comeback, and quivering in your bad burn, like all the ice in the world couldn't save them now.
You huffed and made a face, nodding as if to imply, 'Yeah that's right. I did in fact just say that.' Both giggled lightly. You smirked at them, feeling at peace.
Your three heads whipped around as footsteps approached your friend's tiny, comfortable living room.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the proud owner of the house himself," Luca announced Jordan's entrance. Sarcastic as always. God, you loved sarcasm. You thought it was just so funny. You were quite good at it yourself.
"You've been in that kitchen for so long, I thought you terminated the lease," Luca continued.
"Imaging some random guy walking out of there, the apartment already rented to someone else," you picked up the joke, bringing a hearty laugh out of Stacy.
Your own smile grew a notch. Or three. Making people laugh always felt good to you. You took pride in it like the bad, attention craving bitch you were.
Jordan came over to all of you, holding a big bowl filled with a white, fluffy looking, delicious smelling substance in both hands, "Yeah, yeah, be glad it's still just me. Some random stranger possibly wouldn't bring you this", he announced as the bowl of popcorn found its way upon the coffee table in front of the couch that so generously occupied all of your asses.
You dug in. A bowl of the popping corn, some good friends and an entertaining movie. Honestly, this was it. This was what you would call a beautiful life. You didn't need more.
Sure, you wound't decline a boyfriend either, but baggers cannot be choosers and you knew it.
"Wow, Jonny, this is so good!" Stacy gushed over the salty treat, mouth as well as both hands absolutely stuffed with the food.
Jordan let out an acknowledging grunt, his own cheeks filled with the corn, "It better be. Considering I almost sacrificed myself for it," his words came out muffled as he attempted to both talk and chew at the same time.
You would've been disgusted by it, had his statement not caught your attention, your head perking up and eyes leaving the delicious goods in the bowl to land right on his munching and spitting face.
"What do you mean?" you asked half serious and half expecting to be told a ridiculous story he lived through while getting the popcorn.
The gazes of you and the other two teens in the room all landed on Jordan, who finally had found the decency to swallow down his mouth full.
"Well," he began, swallowing the last pieces of corn that got stuck in his throat during his first attempt. You felt for him. As tasty as popcorn was, it was evil just the same. You would probably spent the whole evening at home trying to get the last crumbs out of the little spaces in between your teeth, where your toothbrush couldn't fit.
"So, I was walking through the store, searching for the aisle with the popcorn, minding my own business, right?" Jordan set up the outline of his story.
Your smile grew, expecting some sort of hilarious punch line. Some absurd popcorn packed telltale, you would still be grinning about tomorrow night.
It wouldn't be Jordan's first stunt that'd make you wheeze. You nodded your head, eyes fixated on him, urging him on to tell you the rest. This oughta be good!
Jordan looked down, absently patting away some invisible dust on his jeans. All attention was on him, "And there was this guy I ran into. I mean quite literally, I bumped into his side with my shopping cart as I was passing him. He just stared at me and I was looking back before making a run for it, out of that aisle."
"Man, this sounds awkward," the other boy in the room piped up. Stacy and you nodded in agreement. You were still kinda waiting for the... punch.. line.
Jordan narrowed his brows, still not looking at the faces that scanned him like he was being interrogated. He seemed like he was pondering about something really hard, a thoughtful mumble leaving his mouth, "Yeah... No, no actually it wasn't awkward. It was more like, weird. Just.. just the stare of this guy. It was creepy."
You frowned. Something about the way your close friend was telling his story didn't sit quite right with you. Not really sure if it was his unnerving tone or daunting expression that set you off, you shot the others a slightly worrisome look. They didn't return your gaze, Jordan having sucked in all of their attention.
There was a long silence falling onto the tiny apartment room. It was so quiet, you could have dropped a pin and still heard it, no problem. The movie had long been muted and forgotten.
Jordan's eyes fixated on something on the floor. His form had gone very still since recalling the incident, shoulders hunched up and tense, eyes flickering with fear, looking like he was reliving the moment with the man that creeped him out so much.
Honestly, you had never seen him like this. It was concerning.
If he was just acting and ready to turn this tragic operetta into a blissful comedy, you'd be impressed. Somehow you doubted it, though.
The way he said 'creepy' sounded very much like he meant it, like he was saying the truth. The unfunny, punch line lacking, petrifying truth.
B U Z Z
You jumped, your soul leaving your body for just a second. Your friends beside you were looking just as rattled up, staring in unison at the now unlit lamp at the ceiling. With a sharp sound the power in Jordan's apartment said its farewells, leaving all of you not only in bitterful silence, but also in spine chilling darkness. You could feel your heart pounding in your head. Talk about a coincidence, huh?
"Jesus fuck, I almost pissed my pants," came the first reaction out of Luca, his words still wavering with nervousness. He was grinning, a coping mechanism to weight down the fear that had spread throughout his body.
Stacy was the second one to move, dropping both her hands that had shot up to her chest in panic. She, too, was giggling slightly.
As for yourself, you were quite alright. You mean, sure, did it feel like you were dying just for the tiniest of milliseconds? Yes. Was it really necessary for the universe to pull something like this after a big, spooky story like that? Of course not. Did your thoughts turn into stupid, sarcastic monologues as a pitiful attempt of dealing with your state of shock? Definitely.
As your brain was babbling away, making fun of your own thought process, your eyes landed on Jordan once again. As far as the dim light coming in through the window would allow, you could see he was still glued to his spot on the couch. It was 9 pm and night had long settled in, moon and a street lamps tinting your friend's living room in a yellow hue. Squinting your eyes, you attempted to take a better look at the brunette. His own eyes were wide, staring past you and the others at something you had your back to.
"... Who is that?" he breathed out, voice almost inaudible.
A strange sensation filled the dark room, laying a blanket of fear over your minds. Your other teens in your presence had stopped their giggling and bickering, heads whipping around in order to see what Jordan was seeing. You felt a wave of uncertainty overcome you as you turned around, too.
Your eyes immediately landed on the window, or more precisely, at what it was showing you of the outside world. On the property's lawn, maybe 30 feet away from the house's walls, stood a figure. Jordan's apartment was on the ground floor, so you were basically eye to eye with the unnerving occurrence. The few street lights shining brightly behind the uninvited visitor probably did a great job illuminating their back, but all you could really see was only their outlined body, making it seem like a shadow was standing in the yard.
He was buff looking. You assumed they were a he, the bulging form and broad looking shoulders making it anyone's first guess. The ominous man didn't move a muscle, and yet something about his bare presence, something about how he just stood there in the grass, seemingly glancing in your direction, made your skin crawl.
The shadowy figure's hands were buried in the pockets of what you assumed was his jacket, hood pulled over his head. It wasn't a stance of agitation he was holding, neither was it one of relaxation. But he did look like he knew exactly what he wanted. As if he had a task, a mission.
And he was tall. His obvious height even noticeable from your spot on Jordan's couch. He must have easily come up to 6'2". You couldn't see his face, collecting yet another obscurity to your list of things that creeped you out about this man. All you could make out was the black blur of a human watching you from outside your luckily very safe apartment.
Without so much as looking at each other, you and your companions slowly rose from the couch's cushions, four quiet pairs of feet making their way over to the window. Your legs carefully calculating each movement, as if a false step or creak in the wooden floor would turn the guy outside into a threat.
Once your little party had reached your destination; namely the same old, crappy window you've been staring out the entire time, you released a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. None of you had said a word yet, as you didn't dare. The tension was thick. All you could do was stare dumbly, and him staring back, waiting for something to happen.
When it did, you jumped slightly. The stalker's head had suddenly moved to his left, looking at something beyond the window's reach. Squinting against the night's unwelcomed darkness, you could barely see him giving a single nod in the direction. The simple gesture made your mind race. Was he... giving instructions?
You didn't have time to contemplate the theory as your thought train was rudely interrupted by some loud rumbling coming from the wall opposite the window - the barrier between you and the next apartment. There were various thumps and clattering radiating off of the wall of Jordan's neighbour, letting the mumbled sounds vaguely echo through the dark room you sadly had decided to spend the evening in.
At one point, you thought, you could here something shatter, a feeble, male scream following the commotion.
Great. Not only was there a creepy guy in Jordan's front yard, making a show out of fabricating some cryptic messenges with his head, unleashing a mass of fear in your jumpy asses along the way. Now, of all times, the people next door thought it would be the perfect moment to jump into an argument. Juuust peachy.
Beside you, Stacy let out a shriek as the noise in the other apartment finally died down with one last crash, reminding you that you weren't the only person in this somewhat fucked up situation. You teared your eyes away from the now suspiciously quiet wall and back out of the window. But what you saw didn't calm your nerves in the slightest. Or more like, what you didn't see.
The dark shadow of a man that had been decorating your buddy's lawn like an intimidating gnome until just very recently was nowhere to be found. Your stomach was turning, clenching painfully at the lack of his presence, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You know how they say the spider's only scary when you can't see it? You decided that also applied to massive late-night stalkers.
"Shit, he's at the door!" Luca screamed in your ear, your eyes darting from the spot the man had stood in, over just in time to see said door being shaken violently. The harsh rattling of the doorknob telling you that whatever was standing outside really wanted to be inside. With all of you.
Jordan was the first to rip himself out of the useless, trance-like state you all had found yourselves in the second you caught sight of the shadow-man, "Oh god, come on people!" the boy clapped his hands for emphasis, making you blink, coming back to reality, "Let's get the door! Barricade the door!" Jordan took on the lead. You really appreciated it, being told what to do like that. Your brain seemed to be in stand by, too overwhelmed with what was actually going on. So, having a normally well-organized boy yell somewhat hectic but rational commands at you seemed like the right thing to happen.
As Luca, Jordan and you were occupied removing the heavy furniture β mainly the couch β from its affirmative spot in front of the TV in direction of the door, that by the way still made the impression it was going to be hanging loosely of its hinges any second now, Stacy scoured the kitchen for chairs she could throw on top of the improvised barricade.
When the whole thing looked like it was strong enough to hold its own against the wannabe intruder, you and your friends placed yourselves in a semi-circle in front of the door.
"Fuck off, Freak!" Luca yelled at the trembling wood. Whatever force was responsible for the attack on the innocent entrance was enormous. You took an involuntary step back, feeling quite small.
Suddenly a scream tore through the tense air, its origin the apartment next door again. You stumbled back, now being scared of the door and the wall that was entertaining numerous thuds and rumbles again. The sound mixing in together with the rattling, causing a cacophony of chaotic and terrifying noise that seemed to be filling out the entire living room.
With the panicked yelling and sounds of struggle, it didn't take you long to realize that Jordan's neighbours weren't arguing but fighting. And you didn't think they were just entangled with each other's butts.
You voiced your thoughts, "Guys, he was signalling something earlier," you began with a nod to the barricaded door, silently letting the gang know how you thought the door-rattler was also the grass-trampler, "And over there," you pointed at the expressive wall, "has been something going on."
Stacy was the first to understand what you were hinting at, "You mean, there's two of them?" she asked in a hushed, frightened tone.
As you were about to confirm her worries, a new sound found its way into your nerve-wrecking collection. Someone was knocking on glass. It came from the kitchen.
Three, you completed Stacy's question in your head as you returned her worried gaze at the new realization. "The window," Jordan said breathless, bolting into direction the new sound was coming from. Curiosity winning over better judgment, you followed him, leaving the other two behind with the dangerously rattling door and from rumbles vibrating wall.
As you rounded the corner of the kitchen's entrance, skidding to a halt right next to Jordan, you were met with yet another unpleasant surprise. Right behind the window's shielding glass stood a person. Contrary to your first encounter that night, you were able to make out this stranger's appearance quite easily. It was a young man, a boy you would even call him, looking roughly about the same age as Jordan and Luca. His notably shorter height and lanky body frame telling you that he was not the buff-looking garden gnome, further proving your ongoing theory of whose fists were showing the poor door what's what right now.
The slightly dirty glass and thick darkness you were surrounded with made it hard for you to see any details, but you were pretty sure the guy was wearing a hoodie, some dark, messy hair popping out from under his hood, curls falling loosely into his face. His clothes held some kind of striped pattern that began on his sleeves, travelling all the way down his arms. It was too dark to make out the actual colors, but you thought they were some darker shades. The most noticeable thing about his appearance though, was the mouth guard hiding half of his face and the bright orange goggles flickering your way, hiding the other. Between them, sickly pale skin graced his face, the silvery moonlight making it almost look greyish.
His gloved hand was still hovering in mid air, curled into a fist, ready to come down on the glass again. He had been the one knocking.
Upon seeing you and your friend's rattled up selves, the boy in the window startet grinning. He didn't try to hide it, you could easily make out the telling features even under all his masking, his mouth guard moving slightly with the motion. Lowering his arm, he continued to stare at you, savouring the moment. He looked content; pleased with himself you two came when he knocked. Like trained rats, you thought bitterly. You didn't now where the grim comparison came from, so you pushed it down your subconscious. There were more pressing subjects at hand, you realized, as you felt the newcomer's heavy stare, the rumbling and door-rattling behind your back, the panicked whispering of Stacy and Luca in the other room, all at once.
You were surrounded.
'Surrounded by what?' you meekly asked yourself, still eyeing the stranger outside. Suddenly, a jolt shot through the boy's body, his head jerking violently to the side down to his shoulder, resulting in the sickening crack of his neck. You grimaced, cringing at the sound. It looked awful.
Jordan shifted at your side, rage-filled steps making their way over to the occupied window. The palms of his hands came down against the cold glass with a loud smack as he let the thin pane catch his weight, eye to googles with his opponent.
"The FUCK you want?!" Jordan all but roared in his face. It had to had sound muffled to the boy's ears on the other side of the glassy barrier. He didn't look impressed by your friend's sudden outburst in the slightest, shit eating grin only widening under his mask. The distressed cry of Stacy hollering over from the living room let you take your eyes off of the scene in front of you and turn around.
"Oh my God!" the girl screeched.
"Shit! He's almost in!" joined another male voice you identified as Luca's.
They grunted as if being exposed to heavy bodily stress. You imagined them throwing themselves at the furniture in front of the door, using their own bodies in a desperate attempt to hold the barricade in check. To hold the massive man behind it in check.
βFuck off!" Jordan yelled at the glass again, your head whipping around once more, body still uselessly fused to the same spot you landed on when you entered the kitchen. The noise in the other apartment grew louder, terrified screams mingling together with booming footsteps and shattering glass.
βShit!" Stacy's desperate voice broke through the commotion.
βJust press!" Luca's immediately followed suit as the gruff dragging of heavy furniture on the floor joined the cacophony of sounds. The front door that was slowly shoving Jordan's couch and two petrified teenagers out of the way, you were sure, started to groan loudly with the pressure on each side.
The boy outside the kitchen window let out a hearty giggle, "Wuh-won't you let mmuh-me in?" His body twitched as more spasms jolted through his system, the involuntary movement fucking up his speech. Jordan bared his teeth at him, looking about ready to pull him through the window. It only fired up the boy's mood, goggled eyes excitingly scanning your friend's reaction, shoulders now heaving with laughter.
The situation you had found yourself in could only be described as utter chaos.
A deafening scream - Stacy's scream - traveled through the apartment as you heard the rumble-shielding wall start to tear and bust open, finally coming apart under the stress.
"Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Luca voiced how you felt. Even though you didn't see it with own eyes, you just knew that whatever took place in the other apartment was soon going to be slamming right into Jordan's living room.
Apart from the disassembling wall's thundering cracks you filtered out Stacy's heart breaking cry, "I don't wanna die!" She was scared shitless. So were you but you would never blare it out like that. You'd never been that expressive, apparently not even in death's eye.
Realizing some barfs and hisses wouldn't shoo the guy in front of him away, Jordan grit his teeth, hands frustratingly smashing against the glass one more time with an exasperated growl before turning on his heels and speed-walking away from the boy's taunting form, back to the with noise overflowing living room. That put you into motion, too, swiftly stumbling over to the window on shaking legs.
"JORDAN, WHAT THE FUCK SHOULD WE DO?!" Stacy's hysterical scream reached your ears. "Somebody fucking call the cops already! Shit!" was the invaded apartment owner's answer. You could hear the big guy from Jordan's garden smash the poor door to smithereens, probably using his own body as a battering ram.
"Heeyy, what's guh-going on over ther-there?" the third out of your three problems asked, leaning to his right glancing past you. He was trying to get a whiff of the sweet action playing out in the living room. His voice sounded kinda down, like a child who'd just found out his friends were playing his favourite game without him. He was disappointed he wasn't part of the tumult. Yet, your brain unhelpfully provided.
You closed the curtains in his face, the head of his outlined silhouette twitching once behind it as his view of the kitchen turned into ugly fabric. It would have been comical had the whole situation not been so dire. Turning around, mimicking Jordan's hastily exit, you too made a run for the main room all your friends were screaming and panicking in, leaving the guy and the unsupervised kitchen behind. You had no idea what he would do but you also didn't want to stay back and witness it first hand.
As you made it out of the kitchen's entrance, you were met with the exact same picture all these noises had painted in your head. The door stopper you had tinkered out of Jordan's furniture stood no longer were you and the boys had dragged it. Instead, it had been moved a few feet under force, leaving fat scrapes on the floor down the path it took. The door itself was almost standing half open, still being somewhat blocked by the ever so slightly crumbling barricade. A massive hole had been punched into its middle, a strong arm reaching through, pressing against the sofa. It was moving inch by terrifying inch.
The rest of the man behind the door revealed itself as half a body and a part of his head that was trying to squeeze through the jammed up entrance. Turns out, he wasn't wearing a jacket like you'd thought he was. It was a hoodie, bright yellow. Outside in the dark of the night and with the lights on his back, he looked like he was a shadow. But now the only black things about him were his big gloved hands and creepy fabric mask pulled over his face. It had a fiery red frown stitched into it, the yellow hood, still pulled up, shining in heavy contrast. You'd never have imagined the man like that.
Next, your eyes shot to the crumbling wall that looked like it had met a similar fate to the door. Countless cracks littered the once smooth surface, a hole slowly but surely forming in the middle of it all. Through it, you could see some poor bastard repeatedly being crushed into the hard material, making the wall shake as more chunks of its insides tumbled to the ground, whirling up dust in the process.
You looked around more, taking in the beautiful, beautiful chaos. Jordan was frantically yelling obscurities into the phone in his shaking hand. He was calling the cops. Stacy had begun to cry, sobbing loudly as Luca held her in his arms, unsure of what to do. He just kind of stood there with the upset girl clinging onto him, bracing himself for whatever man was going to make it into your safe-zone first.
The question was answered when the wall gave out under its own weight and came crashing down as the whole house roared and groaned. Dust and dirt was flying everywhere, your eyes not being excluded, sadly, as you and your friend's jumped back with according cries of distress. The noise died down and into view came one heck of a nightmarish sight.
A blood smeared body of a man was lying on the ground in the rubble, its head disgustingly deformed and battered in, bruises and cuts everywhere. He had to be the screamer you had heard the last 10 minutes, brutally murdered in his own home. What was once Jordan's neighbour was now a lifeless pile of flesh and bones.
Above him stood the person who did the dirty deed. A man clothed in a tan jacket and blue jeans - Is what you would have said normally to describe someone. This time though, it didn't apply as the killer's actual clothes were soaked in blood, defacing the friendly colors to the point they came off as a muddy brown. You couldn't see his face either, or at least not his real one, as a white feminine mask with black eyes and lips hung around his head, strands of brown hair falling over it.
The man was leaning over Jordan's dead neighbour, his feet placed firmly on either side of the body, gloveless hands still gripping his victim's collar tightly, on which he had brutally smashed him through the wall, head first. You briefly wondered if he would leave behind any fingerprints. The lack of gloves told you he wasn't as careful as the other two. It told you he may be more dangerous, not even caring about getting caught. Or maybe he just wasn't as smart.
In the commotion of a guy literally being thrown through a wall like a fucking sledge hammer, you stopped focusing on the slowly opening door on your other side. Big mistake, biiiiiig mistake, you realized as the six foot somethin' behemoth suddenly towered over you. With a surprised yelp you jumped away from him, huddling up with your friends into a little group of fear.
'The police has been called. It is all going to be alright,' you lied to yourself.
CRASH
Some members of your group screamed as the sharp sound of shattering glass rung through the room once more. You turned around to see the boy from outside the kitchen again, now very much inside. His chest and shoulders were downright pierced with glass shards, thick blood running out of them as you heard the teeth grinding pops of his joints again that seemed to constantly accompany his presence. The fact he was hurt didn't even seem to faze him, nor did he bother to remove the sharp pieces sticking out of his skin. Did he seriously jump through the window?
Your eyes landed on two weapons that were dangling on a belt around his waist. Hatchets - One old and dull, one new and sharp. You had a hatchet wielding crazy guy in front of you, a bear of a man on your right, and a wall-dismantling psycho behind you back. You couldn't believe it.
The man you had just witnessed beating someone to death on a wall moved away from his work-well-done, instead focusing on all of you and your pooped pants. With threatening steps he came closer. "I'm taking the screamer," his gruff voice informed viciously from behind the mask, undoubtedly hinting at Stacy and her constant panicked yelling. Step by step, he advanced to your group, and step by step, your group went backwards. You stayed on guard as you timed your slow retreat with your friends' rhythm.
Then, suddenly and without warning, the man pulled out a knife and lunged forward, a rage filled roar escaping his lungs. You bolted out of the way, your group disbanding into four different directions as the murderer ran after Stacy, determined to hunt her down and make her his new trophy. Jordan desperately tried to get him to shift his focus, yelling various insults and empty threats at the knife holding man.
Hatchet-Boy took his colleague's outburst as a cue for his own manic episode, jumping over furniture, chasing after Luca, threatening and taunting him and doing so with a smile and a good laugh.
You couldn't help him as you had your own assigned criminal to occupy yourself with. The enormous man advanced calmly in your direction, face frowning down at you and hands weapon-free. It didn't matter, you thought discouraged. Giving his looks, he could probably crush your head in his bare hands without breaking a sweat. He didn't need any tools.
You delivered a one-eighty, running away from the man and falling elegantly over the short coffee table that had been sitting behind you. You came back up with a groan, leg exploding with the kind of pain only a newly added bruise to your shin could offer. As you pulled yourself up on the table, you swiftly eyed the popcorn you and your friends had enjoyed before this evening turned into the nightmarish hell of a joke it was now.
With lack of ideas, you quickly grabbed the bowl and tossed it at the now rapidly advancing man. It was like a whole fucking tank was coming at you, the wooden floor booming with every heavy step, groaning under his weight. Luckily, he stopped when the bowl hit him, bouncing off at his chest, the white flakes partly sticking to his hoodie as most of the food tumbled down, the bowl itself shattering on the ground.
Generally speaking, it did nothing. Well, of course it didn't. It was popcorn, probably the fluffiest snack in the world! The man tuned on murdering the heck out of you was making first attempts to continue his journey over as a fat, pink book smacked him in the face. While he had been preoccupied freeing himself of the popcorn, you thought it would be a great idea to also throw your Dear Diary at him, aiming at his head for good measure. He halfheartedly caught the confidential book in his arms, giving it a swift look before tossing it aside carelessly. Rude.
Luca had locked himself into Jordan's bedroom by now, his hunter busying himself with chopping down the door's wood, adding yet another broken thing to the apartment. "Come on," he said as the hatched was pulled from the creaking and splintering door once more, "Duh-don't be a puh-ppphh-pussy." He rolled his right shoulder, popping it loudly, before swinging his hatchet back again to prepare for another blow. You looked away as the noise of a blade colliding with wood filled your ears.
On the other side of the room was Jordan, semi-hanging onto the back of a masked killer with a knife, screaming god knows what. In front of them against a wall cowered Stacy, face tear-stained and hair wild. The guy had just tried to get to her when Jordan launched his poorly planned attack. Your friend was quickly thrown off of the man with something you could only describe as raw-fucking-strength and stumbled towards the bathroom, falling over the threshold.
You swiftly saw the murderous intruder retrieve something from behind the door, leaning into the bathroom's entrance a bit. Before Jordan even knew what happened to him, the door was slammed shut with a bang. The key he must have grabbed just now sparkled dimly in the man's hands as he locked the most down-to-earth member of your group away.
"I'll get ya later, you fucking hero," the blood-soaked sonuvabitch informed the door that was screaming creative insults back at him. Kicking and knocking, roaring and probably throwing his body against the solid wood, Jordan gave it his all, he really did. But the weak rattling it caused looked pathetic compared to what the giant behind you had done to the front door.
At the memory, your head whipped back around. The ever-so sad looking man was still standing behind you, just an arm's length away. If he wanted he could've grabbed and done horrible things to you, but his gaze was still fixated on the two people at the bathroom door. The red dots of his mask's eyes intently trained on his colleague as he watched the scene play out in front of him. It was enough to make you watch it, too.
The man who'd just cleared his way of annoying little hindrances, such as Jordan once was by locking him in, was now towering over a very distressed Stacy. The girl was sobbing loudly, not even trying to get away. A dirty hand placed itself around her delicate throat, smearing blood everywhere and letting her breath hitch at the sudden touch. Then, you saw that she was being lifted, her ass leaving the floor first, her thighs next, finally a good part of her feet until only her toes were on solid ground. You saw how the white masked guy still wasn't pleased, lifting her higher by her throat single-handedly.
Now, a few feet in the air, feet dangling uselessly, fingers clawing at the wrist attached to an arm attached to a man who wanted her dead, Stacy couldn't even scream anymore. The air was squeezed out of her as she was hanging by her neck. You could only stare, frozen to your spot, as you watched her torturer pull the knife out of his pocket, navigating it steadily to the girl's throat. She gurgled as the sharp blade sunk into her thin skin like butter, right under his death grip. Agonizingly slow the knife went deeper down her windpipe. Your friend was nothing but a gurgling, spasming mess at this point, her once terrified eyes went still and glassy as the life was choke-stabbed out of her.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU FUCKING DOING TO HER, YOU SICK BASTARD?! STACY!"
It was Jordan. But he was just as useless from in there as you where out here. The only difference being that he was physically hindered from doing anything, while you were just a coward.
As Stacy's lifeless form was dropped to the ground like a broken toy, new screams filled your ears. The door that had kept the one with the hatchets at bay thus far was now on the ground and in shambles, its destroyer nowhere to be seen. When Luca made an appearance your heart sank. The boy was crawling out of the bedroom backwards, clothes teared and blood stained, frightening eyes starring up at something as he desperately pulled himself away from it, hurting and traumatized.
You put a hand over your mouth when you saw the reason. Luca's left leg had been cut clean off right under his knee, the wound leaving behind a thick trail of blood as he crawled further. Soft whimpers escaped his lips, the shock of suddenly losing a limb lika that probably still numbing his pain as he wasn't screaming his head off right now. One moment later, his attacker stood in the doorway. The weapon in his hand was now dripping with bright red liquid as he followed the gruesome trail of blood that led to his victim, shoulders and neck tensing as another batch of tics rolled through his body.
"You weren't duh-done with me alruh-already, now where yuhh-you?" he asked in mock offense, threateningly advancing Luca's cowering form who weakly dragged himself along, slowly bleeding out.
The man swung his arm back, adjusting the hatchet in his grip, "'Cause I," as he spat out the words the blade came flying down hard, hitting Luca in the chest. "Was not!" a guttural roar escaped the boy on the ground, his mutilated body twitching as the hatched buried itself deep into his ribcage. "Duh-done!" the weapon was jerked out of Luca's trembling form with a sickening crunch. "With," the psychopath pulled the hatchet up high above his head. You couldn't look away. This was it.
"YOU!" with full force, the sharp blade came flying down onto Luca's head. Blood oozed out where his skull had been split open, running into his eyes and mouth. He was dead. He had to be, no one could live through that. The boy at fault took a heaving breath before retrieving his tool in the most horrible way you could've imagined. Grabbing onto the hatchet's wooden handle with both hands, one foot placed firmly on Luca's now unmoving and blood stained chest, he stoutly pulled.
This was too much. As you heard the bones in Luca's head crack and break around the shifting blade you remembered what your legs were for. Without looking back at the murder you bolted forward. Past Jordan's rage-filled screams, still coming muffled from inside the bathroom. Past the man who had put him there, the features on his mask telling nothing about his intentions. And finally, past Stacy's dead body, ghostly eyes judging your cowardly actions because you'd stood by, doing nothing as they had been brutally murdered without mercy.
Your original plan to make it to the front door was quickly foiled by Big Frown who was guarding the entrance and remainders of the barricade now, arms spread and movements following your own, treating you like cattle, trying to herd you into his companions' deadly arms. You weren't here for it though and, with a steadying breath, made a run for the damned hole in the wall instead. Clumsily navigating over the beaten-up body of Jordan's neighbour, you hurried into the other apartment.
It was just as chaotic in here. Wardrobes had tumbled down, tables turned, vases lay in shambles on the ground. It looked like some kind of fight had took place, but you already knew that. You didn't have time to think about the why, you just needed to know the how. How in the everlasting fuck were you going to get out of here without dying? With a motherfucking weapon, you decided heading for the kitchen.
It looked like a hurricane had raged inside it. Instead, it had been a cold blooded killer. Not really an update, you though with a frown. The dishes were shattered everywhere, drawers had been ripped open, the floor a bloody mess. You almost fell one time as you made the slippery journey over to the knives. The stovetop build inside the cooking island that graced the room's middle was still turned on, burning in a brilliant red. A pot with what you assumed had once been soup was laying on the ground, its insides mixing in with the blood, a nauseating scent transcending from it.
As you grabbed the knives thundering footsteps approached, making you whip around, shaky hands placed onto the kitchen sink behind you. Secretly you were hoping it was Jordan, having another episode of "hero" and saving the poor damsel in need, or that the police had finally come but you knew it was one of them. Bracing yourself for the inevitably encounter, you scowled as Luca's killer dashed through the doorway, sliding to a squeaky halt on the disgusting floor.
There was nothing but the kitchen island between you two as you stared each other down, him slowly coming closer. The wounds of the window's glass shards still embedded in his body where leaking freely, your dead friend's blood mixing together with his own. You leaned back as far as the sink behind you would allow as the boy and his axe made it to the island, contemplating whether or not he should chase you around it or just hopple right over. His free hand landed on the brewing hot stovetop as he leaned over the piece of furniture, trying to read your intentions so he could act accordingly.
Your eyes flickered down to his hand, up to his face and back down again baffled, as he missed the usual reflex of jerking it back immediately. Yes, technically it wasn't exactly skin to boiling hot surface but the bit of fabric his gloves provided surely couldn't have been enough to block out all of the heat. You blinked at him, bewildered. He was still waiting for you to make the first move, calm as could be. Well, apart from the occasional twitch of course.
The lack of an appropriate reaction really left you standing there like a brainless zombie, confused eyes scanning him up and down. Maybe he was just a show-off, proving to you what tough of a guy he was, withstanding the pain. But somehow you doubted it as black smoke started to emerge from under his palm. Didn't he feel that?
You tiptoed to the side, taking your chance as the boy's glove finally caught fire, hungry flames rapidly travelling up his arm and eating away at his clothes. The heat was radiating, dark room suddenly bright and hot as the small inferno tinted everything in a vibrant orange. The man really must not have seen it coming as he jumped slightly at the realization he was burning, quickly dropping the hatchet and swatting away at his arm, the blazing fire reflecting wildly on his goggles.
You made a run for it, leaving the kitchen and ignited crazy guy behind, knife in your hand and head set on getting the fuck out. You heard something shatter as you bolted away from the escalated showdown, various things clattering to the ground. Good, you hoped the little fucker burned down to a crisp.
You ran through the unfamiliar apartment and out into the hallway. As you dashed through the already open entrance you got a glimpse of the big guy stepping out of his own pathetic excuse for a door, still hanging loosely in its hinges at the entrance of Jordan's home. You paid him no mind as the key to your freedom was located in the other direction, and you were pretty sure those footsteps behind you weren't just your paranoid mind hallucinating, but an actual homicidal lunatic in a white mask and a thirst for blood. Mainly your blood right now, which only spurend you on.
You briefly looked behind you as you run down the hallway, catching your three tormentors standing there, watching. The swift wave of disappointment about the one who'd burned and his not so crispy state right now was quickly pushed away by icily fear. The way they looked after you was just so creepy. It was like they were trained dogs, waiting for their master to give the right command, waiting to catch their prey.
Your eyes fell on Frowney, still continuing forward. His posture looked like he had something to say, so you perked your ears.
"Get her."
A cold shudder run down your spine as his inhumanly deep voice echoed through the corridor and into your very being. The second the words left his mouth, his two companions darted forward at impressive speed, giving chase. You quickly realized you weren't gonna make it to the front door in time, so instead, you were headed for the stairs. 'Probably a dumb idea' your brain warned you right before your foot landed on the first step.
"Toby!" you could tell in the way the name was pronounced that the man nearest to you just gave the one with the hatchets an order. The boy didn't reply as his focus shifted to something at the other end of the hallway and away from you. At the hall's T-section he let himself slam into the wall at full speed, right shoulder catching the impact, and using the momentum to dart off to the left in one fluent motion. He was going for the elevators, you realized, as his partner bolted down the right side, still hot on your tail.
You were focusing the remainders of your mental abilities to make it up the stairs as fast as possible when something grabbed your foot, making you fall into the hard steps. You spun around and found yourself starring down at the very same man who had destroyed a wall and taken two lives today, one of them being your close friend. He had lunged forward in his attempt to catch you, right arm propping him up on the stairs, while his left hand was still firmly wrapped around your ankle. In terrified, blind panic you started thrashing wildly, screaming pointless things like, "No!", or, "Let me go, you sick fuck!" and similar stuff.
You would've never guessed you'd yell at a stranger like that one time, but here you were. All the stress of watching your friends get brutally murdered and then be a target yourself was getting to you, and you were not having it. With a fiercely snarl you readied your free foot, aiming it at his big stupid head and letting it come down full force, accompanied by a desperate scream.
CLUNK
The sole of your shoe collided beautifully with the center of his mask as you froze, breath-holding and wide-eyed. Your perfectly executed kick barley even fazed the man, his head still in place, his hand still on you, and his body not in shambles at the end of the stairs like you had intended. A thick tension lurked between you as the black holes of his eyes bored into your own. He mockingly cocked his head at your pathetic attempt to stun him, silently asking what the fuck that was supposed to be, and honestly you didn't know.
A surprised yelp escaped your mouth as you were violently yanked down a few steps, your jaw meeting the hard edges. When he grabbed your other foot adrenaline shot through your system. With a war-cry you whipped your body around and blindly rammed the knife in your hand into your attacker's shoulder. He let out an enraged roar and gave you the reward of freedom, which you gladly took.
Though proud of having actually really hurt him, you didn't have time to sit around and enjoy the show. Still pumped with adrenaline and now knifeless, you scrambled up the rest of the stairs and pushed the heavy door open out to the roof of the apartment block. The cold air in your lungs felt invigorating as you stepped into the night.
You didn't actually know why you came here, you didn't have a plan. You should've just banged your fists on one of the many apartment doors, begging for help. But that could've easily ended in another massacre and one more innocent life taken, so maybe running up all the way to the top and trapping yourself on the roof was the better option.
"Where you going, girlie?" your hunter's icy voice rang out behind you. He was standing in the doorway, fingers still on the handle, and a bit out of breath from having had to run up three flights of stairs right after collecting a fresh wound to the shoulder. His partner - the one who'd given them the command to chase you, the one in charge..? - was standing behind him, red eyes boring into your trembling form once more. You scowled back, knowing damn well there was nowhere to run to as the men stalked closer to you.
A short-lived ding cut through the night, your heart fluttering from the sudden strike of fear the unexpected sound unleashed in you.
WHOOSH
You leaped to the side, barely dodging the hatchet dashing through the air at deadly speed, missing your head by an inch or so. Even the blood-soaked serial killer behind you had to duck in order to avoid the sharp blade, thrown aimlessly at the first moving thing through the still opening elevator. The hatchet rotated all the way back to the staircase, leaving behind a dent as it slammed into the metal door and cluttered to the ground. You could just see how unamused the man was about almost getting his co-workers weapon to the face as he stared at its owner, probably glaring daggers underneath his white mask.
Stepping out of the elevator, cracking his neck and rolling a shoulder, the boy - Toby, you vaguely recalled - gave his companion a 'what can you do' gesture before retrieving the other hatchet from his belt.
All three of them approached your cowering form, still lying on the ground. If you hadn't felt surrounded yet at any point in this catastrophic night, you did now. The one you had stabbed pulled the familiar-looking kitchen knife out of his pocket, presenting it with its handle turned to you, "Sorry, but I think you lost this," he announced as the knife was expertly flipped over in his hand, the sharp blade now sparkling threateningly down at you as his arm shot up, ready to attack.
"IN MY FUCKING SHOULDER!" he roared. You squeezed your eyes shut tight, not wanting to see it. Yes, this was how it would be. You dying a lonely, unheroic ass-death on the roof of Jordan's home, right after not having done shit to avoid the gruesome murders of your other friends. The last thing you'd ever see of this oh-so unfair world was going to be this terrifying psychopath and his equally unnerving ally, stitched frown almost looking bored as he watched his agitated comrade yank the knife down.
You braced yourself for a world of pain but, to your surprise, it never came. Instead, a second scream mangled together with the attacker's own enraged voice. Your eyes flew open as you recognized who it belonged to, and you were met with a scene that taught you the true meaning of selflessness.
For the second time tonight, Jordan had thrown himself onto the killer's back, clawing at his clothes, hitting and screaming. The man tumbled around, trying and failing hilariously to shake the much smaller boy off of him. A hysterical laugh sounded out from behind you, its origin no one less than Hatchet-Boy himself.
"Mm-man, Mmmuh-Masky," Toby doubled over, holding his stomach and slapping his thigh in uncontrolled laughter, "You needing uh-any help thu-there, buddy?" he hollored at the two fighting men. The third member of their party still didn't make a move, watching quietly as the tumult unfolded before him.
You blinked. Soooo, the killer's name whose trademark it was to wear a white mask, was 'Masky'.β¦. Okay?
With a grunt of effort, Jordan was hauled off of the stronger man, crashing head-first into the wall that held the elevator. Before your friend and saviour could recover, a boot was slammed into his chest, painfully holding him in place. It was the boot of the man who'd only stood by until now to be more precisely. His giant form towered over Jordan's, who uselessly clawed at his foot as the air was pressed out of his lungs.
"Well, well, well, would you look at that," Masky mocked the boy who was already on the ground ."The hero's back." With knife still in hand he slowly approached the by now whimpering Jordan, who was flailing pathetically under the crushing weight on his ribcage.
A denying "No" escaped your lips as you darted forward, determined to mortally wound the man again. Apparently, the stab to the shoulder wasn't enough for him, he wanted more and he was gonna get it.
He was not gonna get it. With reflexes faster than your eyes could follow, he whipped around and grabbed both of your hands with practiced ease. They had been weaponless anyway, nothing you could've done would've made a difference. This understanding dawned on you as Masky dragged you along, slamming you roughly into the hard ground, hands hold firmly in place behind your back as he set the knife on your throat. "How about you let them," with a nod of his head he let you know he was referring to Jordan and his companion, "have fun while we'll," the knife was flickering dangerously in the moonlight, "have our own," he purred in your ears, your heart skipping a beat. He was reeking of smoke and gore as the knife's blade ghosted over your delicate skin, not drawing blood.
"Wait," the thundering voice of the usually so quiet third member of the group cut in. The man who had just been about to slit your throat paused, glancing over to his teammate. You mouthed out a silent prayer, thanking who ever the fuck was up there and probably to blame for your hopeless situation in the first place for a little bit more terrifying time on earth. In your peripheral vision you could make out Toby watching the man as well, listening observingly to what he had to say. They really did look up to him, both in the literal and metaphorical way.
The gloomy mask serving as the large man's face turned to you, holding your gaze for a few nerve-wrecking seconds, your good friend still squeezed in between his boot and the wall.
"Make her watch."
With that he turned around, a hand disappearing into his hoodie pocket and quickly emerging again with a gun. Something horrible dawned on you as Masky grabbed your chin, locking your head in place so your eyes were falling directly on Jordan, still defending himself halfheartedly.
You heard a soft click as the man released the gun's safety, aiming it at your friend's head, who in turn had become very still, teary eyes locked onto the weapon. With his left hand the killer reached up to his head, fumbling around with his mask. You briefly saw him pulling up the fabric, revealing his face to his victim, but from your position on the ground you could only see his back.
Jordan's reaction though, was enormous. His eyes widened, understanding dawning on his face as his skin turned three shades paler. "No.." he whispered incredulous. "Oh my god, it's you-" his features distorted into something terrified as he stumbled over his words, "No, yo-you, you were, you are-" The man pulled his mask back down, switching out his real face with the red frown once more. The pistol in his hand was still aimed at Jordan's head.
"You're the oneβ!"
BANGNOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH!"
The ear-piercing sound of the firing gun turned into something much more human as a bloodcurdling scream tore itself from your throat the second the trigger was hit. With bulging eyes, writhing under Masky's iron-grip, you had to watch as the bullet bulldozed its way through Jordan's left eye, only leaving an oozing, bloody, steaming hole behind, the insides of his head and what was left of his brain now smeared across the brick wall behind him.
The air in your lungs that didn't go to waste on your useless cry found its way out in a shuddering breath. They were dead. All your friends were killed.
Still in shock, your body was hauled up by strong hands that gave you a hard shove, sending you flying to the ground once more. Slowly coming to your senses, you teared your eyes away from Jordan's dead body and up to the three men who were to blame. For everything.
Standing up, letting your eyes linger on every one of them as you did so, you turned around and ran. Contrary to your first improvised escape, you knew exactly where your journey would take you now. Footsteps sprung into action behind you, but you weren't going to just give these sick fucks the pleasure of killing you too. You owed it to your friends, whom you didn't help, couldn't help, and you owed it to Jordan who had carelessly left his life for you. That was such a waste, you thought, tears running down your face. Because you knew you wouldn't live through this. Because you knew that if you didn't do it yourself, they would.
So, you kept running, running as fast as you could towards the roof's edge. And you would jump. As terrifying as it was to you wanting to take your own life, you would do it. You may be dying tonight, but it would not be by their hands. A small smile tugged at your lips as you bolted over the edge, ready to embrace the same fate your friends had been dealt.
A pained scream tore out of you as someone grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you back at neck-breaking speed. Abruptly, you were turned around and forcefully slammed into your capturer's chest, coming face to face with Toby. The hand in your hair released itself, its new location being your color instead. He gave you a shove, half pushing you over the edge and holding you back with one arm, preventing your fall. Your feet were still on the roof but your upper body swayed dangerously in the air as you were dangling only by the neckline of your shirt in his hand. You clutched desperately at his arm, suddenly finding the idea of plummeting down a five-storey building not so hot anymore.
The fabric of his sleeve was torn where the fire had raged, burned skin shimmering through. He didn't seem to be in pain as you grasped at it, trying to keep your balance.
Terror shout through your veins as you felt the fist curled into your shirt starting to slip. "No," you whimpered weakly, "Please don't."
The boy leaned in close, your noses inches from touching, his two companions vaguely stepping into view behind him as you silently plead for his mercy. He was soaked in blood - Luca's blood - painted on his hoodie, face, in his hair, over his everything. You were sure he had gotten stains of it on your own clothes. Your friend's blood, whom you hadn't helped when he needed you most, was sticking to you. Again, both in the literal and metaphorical way.
Through his orange googles you could see Toby's eyes, deep brown in color, looking at you with malicious intend. "Duh-d-don't wuh-worr-" he grunted, face grimacing as his whole body seemed to tense, forcing out the word with an effort, "wwworry." You nervously watched the wave of tics wash over him, praying he wouldn't drop you by mistake.
The boy bowed his head, eyes squeezing shut as he gathered himself, fistful of fabric still firmly embedded in his hand. When he looked up again, he seemed switched out. Gone were the involuntary movements and uncontrolled stutters, instead replaced with collected calmness, shrouding in an unvoiced threat. With a smug look he leaned in once more, body free of spasms, a manic glee flickering in his gaze as he finished his line, "This is gonna hurt you way more than me."
With that he let go, your feet leaving the roof as gravity pulled you over the edge and towards the ground at insane speed. The cold air brushing up against you felt like icy daggers in your back, the violent fluttering in your chest making you feel dizzy as your arms helplessly flailed at nothing. You didn't scream as the wind rushed through your ears, your body gaining speed by the second, you didn't know how to use your voice anymore. You heard the faint sound of sirens going off somewhere deep below you. 'Too late,' you thought, a tragic smile on your lips.
It all seemed to go by so fast but at the same time, it took so incredibly long.
You wondered how it would feel, to die like that. Would you still be conscious when you hit the pavement, aware of the pain when your bones would break and your organs be crushed? Or would you feel nothing at all, your mind already gone off to the spirit world as your skull had been crushed first. Either way, it didn't matter. You were going to find out soon.
The three men leaning over the roof's edge and the star littered sky above were the last thing you saw as you fell to your death.