A loud noise startled you out of a dreamless sleep.
Once again, you had spent the night in the cramped up room they had giving you. Or maybe saying, they had given you to the room would be more appropriate because you really weren't here on your own accord. Drowsily looking around, your eyes found the source of your disruption with ease.
Masky stood there in the doorway, looking like the greatest moron. He was leaning against the frame, propped up on one arm, a hand on his hip, a smirk on his lips. It was as if he were trying to embody a mix of gangster and playboy, and failing properly to combine the two. You were sure there was a word for that.
Oh yeah, a douchebag.
Your look of irritation only made the man grin wider, "You awake, sunshine?"
Obviously.
"Get up, I'll show ya somethin'," and with that, he turned his back and left the room.
As you got up, you realized how hungry you were. The last time you ate was at poor Jordan's house and you sincerely hoped Masky would show you breakfast. You met him in the hallway, where he had waited for you, and began only moving again when he saw you following.
The living room was warm and bright, a few sunbeams struggled through the thicket of the woods and fell right into the windows, tinting the place in the light of day. The television played a programm at moderate volume, glued to it the boy you had come to know as Toby. In the armchair next to him sat his seldom talking colleague, calm as ever, invested in a book. A steaming mug of coffee was placed in his hand, the phrase 'Best Dad Ever' imprinted on it, and absentmindedly, he would take a sip from time to time. Why the hell he had a mug like that was beyond your understanding because you couldn't imagine, for the life of you, that this dude had kids.
Overall, the scene seemed serene, yet your state of mind was not. For as you stepped closer, more into the room, the deceiving facade of peace and harmony broke and crumbled away. Now, you saw the hatchet at Toby's side, glittering sharply in the sunlight. You felt the devastating aura, of whatever hellish events had transpired here, loom inside the house, steadily expanding and clouding up the atmosphere until everything you could still perceive was dread and death. The TV was showing a missing person report; someone they had taken? And also, with a new wave of despair, you recognized the book in Hoodie's lap to be your own; your Dear Diary.
Somehow it was this, out of all the despicable things they had done, that sent you over the edge. Being in a room with these monsters released a sick feeling of revulsion deep in your guts. The way they sat there, unconcerned with what had occurred, content, yes, even pleased with themselves. These people had no conscious. There was no morality, no ethics you could have appealed to. It was as if their hearts were rotten, gripped by evil, and not all the light in the world could change that.
You sneered into the group, hating Masky behind you, how he breathed down your neck.
You despised them simply for being, as their existence had inevitably led to your friends' existence to cease, and would soon, in an ironically cruel turn of fate, end your own. Your loved ones' lives meant nothing to them, erased, snuffed out like a burned down candle. How could it be that these madmen did what they had done, and were now sitting here, not in a prison but in the comfort of their own home, unpunished? And that they, ruthless and uncaring as they were, kept you here now, too?
How useless and utterly unfair this all had been just wouldn't fit into your mind, and didn't even seem to touch theirs, as they drank their coffee and watched TV, infused into a laughable pretence of an ordinary Tuesday morning.
It was unimaginable.
And now, above all else, they had the indecency to read through your diary and delve into your intimate, innermost feelings, violating your right of privacy like no one else had done before.
It hurt, and you wanted to leave.
"What, you fell asleep again? Sit down!" ordered Masky.
But you couldn't.
Leave, that is, as sitting seemed to be working just fine, especially since Masky basically threw you half the way. Stiff and shaken, you arrived at your destination and, unsteadily, your ass found the soft cushions of the sofa, right next to Toby. You didn't look at him, but distinctively saw him watching you out of the corner of your eye. He sat hunched over, both hands grabbing the seat, right leg restlessly bouncing, emitting the jittery energy of a nervous wreck.
You turned your head, looking at the open book in Hoodie's grasp. He was reading through page sixteen, your struggles with anxiety and a bad social life were written on it.
"How all these kids have the guts and self-esteem to just walk up to each other and connect, I will never know. I can't really fathom it," Hoodie read, sparkling up Masky's interest at once, who was leaning over his shoulder into the diary now as well. Toby huffed strainedly through his nose, grunting into his arm like he was suppressing a sneeze, when in reality, it was a word his broken brain had come up with. It was an effort no one else in the room could really understand nor appreciate.
Hoodie's eyes hadn't left your own. "Aren't you something precious," he drawled, his friend snickering behind him.
You met his gaze, blankly. There was heat creeping up your neck and face, and your ears seemed to only hear the rushing of your own blood. Nothing came to mind as you stared dumbly ahead.
It was moments like this, your head went into full blown shutdown. That is not to say you found yourself sitting opposite a serial killer, keen on exposing all your dirty secrets, and his guffawing buddies very often. That was a new one. But you felt the embarrassing sensation of standing in the spotlight all the same, uncomfortable memories of going red in class every time you had to talk flooded through the haze. This was very much the same, only far, far worse of course.
Hoodie smirked. He had dimples, goddammit. "Though school is fine, academically wise, I always fear the inevitable social aspect that follows it. During class I make myself small and avoid teachers' gazes. In the halls I won't stare at anyone, just don't meet anybody's eyes. I hate it when they look at me," he read and filled the room with a pitiable narrative. The fact that it was your pitiable narrative lay also heavily in the air, but you were probably the only one who could feel that.
Hoodie turned to you, his eyebrows locked high onto his forehead and mouth hanging open in a mocking show of shock and disbelief. When he got a grip on his expression, it showed nothing but indifference, "You're a real nutjob, huh?"
A 'nutjob'?
You were sorry, but between the man figuratively staining your precious book with the blood on his hands, and the twitching freak spazzing out next to you on the sofa, you really couldn't take this seriously. They were the ones going around, slaying people left and right like they were collecting bonus points, and you were the nutjob? Oh no, this insult had been doomed before it even left his mouth.
Masky, though, seemed to wholeheartedly disagree with that, "Man, Brian! When you told me about the fucker who ran you over at the market, I didn't think it'd lead to something so amusing," he cackled like a gossiping schoolgirl.
The statement was simple. Some poking fun at the defenseless, a memory, a good laugh between friends. But the truth was, he gave you two incredibly important pieces of information. First, Hoodie's real name was Brian. And secondly, he was the frightening man Jordan had encountered while grocery shopping. He had bumped into him with his cart, it was an accident, a little inconvenience. But for Brian, it had been reason enough to kill. These men were sick. They didn't just choose Jordan's house at random. Your friend had been marked for his misshap, had been a walking corpse the minute his killer felt the impact. And all of this dawned on you in a matter of seconds, and your face finally gave way to the hurricane of emotions storming inside you.
Hoodie smiled knowingly. You knew his real name was Brian but you wanted to think of him as this beastial monster, not a real person with a life. He would always be 'Hoodie' to you.
"Oh, did you figure it out?" he muttered lowly.
"You didn't have the right," your voice returned, a mere squeak.
Hoodie's face grew curious and even Masky regarded you now with a little crease between his brows.
"What accent is this?" the man asked, all interest lost in the book in his hands.
You hesitated, "German."
They were rendered silent, looking at you like the concept of other nationalities inhabiting this planet generated a fat ERROR message in their brains.
"Sss-say something in German," came the soft demand from your left. You turned to Toby. It was the first time you really looked at his youthful face, and now that you did, you noticed more than just the grisly scar. The boy in front of you was worn out and pale, with backs under his eyes, creating a sickly appearance. Every few seconds his nose or mouth would twitch, your mutual gazes interrupted by involuntary blinking as he struggled to keep eye contact through the tics. You also spotted a small scratch running over his right brow. His messy locks appeared clean and soft without the blood, so disheveled they kept him in a constant state of morning-hair. Toby didn't necessarily look bad, per se, without the scars and a little more sleep, he could have even passed as being 'sorta cute'. He just seemed so incredibly drained. But, you guessed, Tourette's and such a horrendous lifestyle would do that to you.
You stared at him for what felt like minutes, thoughtful. When your mind was made up, you turned away and addressed the whole room in a tongue much more familiar to you.
"Dafür werdet ihr zahlen."
Silence was your unmeaning answer. They sat still for so long, you started to wonder whether or not they'd understood your promise. Finally, Hoodie sighed deeply through his nose, closing the diary and tossing it onto the coffee table. "You should have written your entries like that," he said and disappeared into the kitchen.
That was true. Had you chosen to put every memory down in German, they would have never been able to read it. Because you all lived in times where the internet wasn't a thing, you thought dryly.
Masky grimaced at you like the fact you spoke a language he didn't personally offended him. With a huff, he too, made his way to the kitchen. You rolled your eyes. You were tired of his 'holier-than-thou' attitude.
That only left you and Toby in the room. You looked at your diary, sad and despairing, like a girl whose life had just been ripped from her would be. The boy next to you couldn't seem to calm down. His arms flew up to his chest or head, shoulders rolling forcibly and his neck bending at odd angles until it cracked. He only had a few seconds peace between these periodic spells of muscle spasms, before his body moved again without permission. You tried to pay the show no mind, but his involuntary jerking was so sudden and disruptive, you noticed it all perfectly anyway.
Toby then strained to gather enough control for speaking, the words coming out with a grunt, "Duh-don-don't you want tuh-to know?"
You looked at him, "Know what?"
"Everything. Where you ah-are. Thu-the reason you're here," a manic gleam formed in his gaze, "Why you're not dead."
You nodded with wet eyes, "Yes."
The unpredictable young man came a bit closer as though getting ready to tell you a secret. You let him, because you needed to hear this now more than anything. He leaned into your face, studying your orbs and you stared right back. The tension was thick.
"First it was fffh-fun, just a game, nothing mean."
You swallowed your spit, it ran dry down your throat.
"We killed your friends. One, t-two, three."
You wondered how they were all dead, you'd sat all in the same boat.
"Round one went to you. You suh-surrh- You survived, after all what had been."
You searched in his eyes for a spark, some semblance of warmth. But everything good in him had long since been gone.
"Angh-and after round two, wuh-we wanted to win."
His head twitched aside, defining his gash. The sight made you sick, you wished he'd put his mouth guard on.
"Sss-so, we changed thu-the rules and brought you here."
The clock on the wall kept ticking.
Tick
Tock
Tick
"And as we wanted tuh-t-to end it, HE took an interest in you." He snickered, "But no fear."
As the boy in front of you kept ticcing.
Tic
Tic
Crack
"The rules are stuh-still on, the game isn't over. Because the oh-opuh-, b-because the operateh-" he broke down in a trembling mess of spasms, cramping in on himself.
This couldn't be real. Here was Toby, chattering away about the how and why, ready to give you some answers on his OWN accord. Someone, who was finally willing to tell you - your golden opportunity - when everyone else had been nothing but mysterious and cold, and he couldn't fucking TALK!
Toby suffered through the aftermath of his spaz-out when he looked at you again, a deep dislike in his eyes. He was obviously frustrated at his inability to produce a simple sentence and found the person to blame in you, which was... pretty unfair, all things considered.
You eyed the weapon at his feet. He could easily just grab it and go for your head. But HE didn't want you dead - whatever that meant - so you knew he probably wouldn't. Probably.
"Playtime's over," mumbled Toby as he reached for his hatchet and stomped outside to lose some steam.
You slumped back in your seat, trying to digest what had just happened. With Masky and Hoodie still scampering about the kitchen, you didn't dare move without permission. You were halfway through the numbing realization that you didn't know whether Toby would let it out on wood or on bones, when a tiny voice piped up.
"Hi."
The sheer unexpectedness of the greeting almost sent you flying down the couch in shock. Your eyes whipped to the left and found... a little girl.
She was young, maybe seven or eight, and leaning over the armchair, looking at you with childlike curiosity. A river of blood gushed from her head, running over her face, and ultimately, dripping down her chin. Her brown, dirty locks stuck to it, as wide green eyes attantively scanned your every move. Finally, she was sporting a pink dress that was in no better condition. Several holes tattered the fabric, some looking like bloody cuts, some seemingly ripped apart. A teddy bear was squeezed between her arms. The girl was filthy and badly hurt, and also traumatized, if her blank expression was anything to go by.
You stared and, as if in trance, made your way towards her, overwhelmed by this new discovery. The laughter coming from the kitchen sent waves of revulsion down your spine. These animals didn't even shy away from touching kids.
"Are you alright?" you breathed to her, terrified of being heard. You put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, something you had seen countless adults do when checking on their children. She was ghostly cold. You looked her up and down. There were only socks on her feet. Distressed, you scanned the cabin. They must have kept her in one of the rooms and she somehow escaped. Your wandering gaze got stuck at the front door, an unspeakable idea forming in your mind.
Did Toby lock it...?
"No Brian, I told you, you've got to hold down the lid or it'll spill!" Masky's voice travelled faintly into the room.
"So you keep telling me, but it works well enough without. It made the coffee, didn't it?
"Yeah, but it's now on my PANTS!"
You stood up and ushered the girl towards the door, the commotion from the kitchen covering your own. With every step you prayed, and with every creak in the wooden floor you lost some hope. Maybe this was a suicide mission. They thought you to sit on the couch, and these psychos certainly wouldn't take kindly to your wanting to escape. You were, in a way, betraying them after all. But now, it wasn't just you at their mercy, but the little girl as well. This child's life was yours to protect. It gave you responsibility, a reason to fight.
And so, after one last look at the kitchen you made a decision and, with determination, turned the doorknob. Fuck all that permission shit, you'd get your asses moving!
The cold morning air slapped into your face like a wake-up call and you put your feet into gear, pulling the kid along by her hand. She went without resist, albeit a bit sluggish, teddy tugged to her chest.
"Don't worry," you gasped, "I'll get us someplace safe."
You didn't now where 'someplace safe' was. Hell, you didn't even now where this very hostile and notably unsafe place was located. Your only option was to just, once again, aimlessly roam the woods in search for help. Masky and Hoodie were bound to notice your absence when they were done tackling the coffee machine and… Masky's pants… it was only a matter of time! Toby, maddened as he was, would probably make himself known before you ran into him, chopping down trees was noisy. But even there you couldn't be one hundred percent sure, so you needed to tread carefully.
You looked back at the girl. Her little feet sank unrelentinglyinto the cold mud and her ruined dress fluttered in the wind. She had to be freezing. You yourself were shivering at this point, your left shoe still missing, and you felt your body lose strength from starving for three days.
"I'm Sarah," you said, stomping forward, "What's your name?"
"… Sally."
You smiled warmly down at her, "That's a nice name. Does your friend have one, too?" You indicated at the stuffed toy in her hand.
She seemed shy, reluctant to answer. "Mister D," was all she said.
You nodded, turning your head back up to concentrate on the path. Mister D was quite the unusual name for a plushie. You wondered what the letter stood for.
Trees and other shrubs passed you on your way, overhead nothing but leaves, the morning sun barley shining through. You were really scared. You tried not to show it, of course, because of the child, but your heart rate was going through the roof. There were at least four outlaws running around these grounds, none of them any less dangerous than the other. This thought violated your brain unyieldingly, while you just tried to move in one direction. Your goal here was to find civilisation, and, if that wasn't an option, to bring some distance between you and the cabin.
There was some fog emerging into existence, hanging around trees and over roots and rocks, making it hard to see where you stepped. More often than not you'd lose your footing, stumbling forward and taking the kid with you. You couldn't let that stop you though, you had to escape, you had to live. There was just no way you would die in here. You or the girl.
There was maybe half a mile behind you now, when suddenly Sally dug her heels into the ground, bringing you both to an abrupt halt. The stop was so sudden, you actually fell to the ground, your hand ripped away from the girl's. You looked at her with surprised bewilderment, but she didn't seem to see you. In fact, you seemed to be the furthest thing on her radar, as she stared incessantly at something past you.
With an uneasy feeling, you turned around.
First there were only plants and wood, but as you squinted, searching between the trees, you saw it. Some 150 feet away, half covered by the thicket and shrouded in fog, stood someone. This figure was dark, clothed all in black, hood pulled over the head. A blue mask shone through the misty area like a will-o'-the-wisp, something that wanted you to follow but wasn't to be trusted. The being stood out like it didn't belong, estranged in a forest that just a few hours ago lighted up the room so peacefully. You yearned for the bustle of your other hunters, as this one waited motionless, giving off the warning whisper of your promised doom. Two big black holes served as eyes, and you just knew they were trained on you - Trained on you as you cowered and forgot how to get back up.
It cocked its head in silent contemplation. For some reason, the movement fit the stranger. It made sense. You watched it coming closer, stalking through the overgrown path until there was only an arm's lenght between you. Gaping up at it from your position on the ground, you took it all in.
Its hands and throat, the only skin uncovered, were a grayish black. Thin arms wavered unsettlingly in the air, loose bandages wrapped around from wrist to elbow. A hoodie and a pair of jeans, black as night, concealed its identity. The mask was just eyes, it had no other features. Some thick black fluid oozed out of the sockets, leaving behind disgusting smudges, like tar that wouldn't dry. Not a sound emitted from it, and in its presence the forest seemed to quieten. It was dead silent.
You had never experienced anything like that. It could not be human.
What..?
Your delirious trance was broken ruthlessly apart by Sally, who rushed past you and bumped right into the creature's side, holding onto it, and staring back at you from behind its legs with frightened eyes. The thing barley reacted, wavering only a bit from the impact with something almost discernible as surprise, and then focused back on you.
Your own eyes, though, were on the girl. She was keeping distance, hiding and clinging to the being in search for safety, her guards up like the monster here were you. The terror, the unimaginable horror you felt after having made the connection as to what her behaviour meant, would forever be carved into the deepest part of your psyche.
She was one of them.
You felt sick. This young traumatized child, the kid you had vowed to protect, ran up to this… this demon like it were family. Like you hadn't just tried to safe her life, to bring her home, away from them. Your body started to shake. Like Sally hadn't needed your guidance and devotion, didn't want to follow you to freedom, because she wasn't even captured. You would throw up. To her, you were the outsider, a stranger among familiar faces, and maybe even, the monster.
Footsteps neared behind you, three sets of shadows falling over your sitting form. There was clanking from a gun being locked and a hatchet sliding back into a belt. It fell on deaf ears. You stared at the girl, betray written across your haunted face, even as strong hands pulled you up and walked you the way you came. Looking back, you saw the creature do the same to Sally, one hand on her shoulder to lead her away, neither one turning around.
And they disappeared into the fog.
As you walked, you had long come to realize your three captors showed up to take you back. It was a dreary stroll. They were quiet, dressed in full gear, and only interacted with you through Hoodie's hand on your back, keeping you on track. You didn't struggle, you didn't fight. You weren't sure you could, not after this.
When you arrived at the cabin, you fell to your knees. They gave you space, knowing they had done it, they had broken you. You had never felt so dead inside. A puny, pitiful figure, receiving nothing but ridicule and cruelty. In a world that wouldn't even allow you to trust a child, how could you go on? When everything you'd done and dared turned into nothing at the end of it all? And when dreams… when dreams turned into nightmares.
You stared at the place, crying.
Here, where bliss and hope were buried, you had to stay. And you would never see the light again.