Chapter 15 #2
“No!” I scream again, yanking back through the hold of whoever’s hands are wrapped around my head, but before I can get a glimpse of who it is, a scratchy, musty smelling sack is placed over my head.
Kicking my legs, I scream until my throat aches, just in case there’s anyone walking by on the street. Some of my kicks land, but I might as well be kicking a statue. Whoever it is doesn’t seem bothered; they just stay firm and strong, solid like a mountain of a person.
I pull my head back, my intention to headbutt whoever’s standing in front of me, but another set of hands wrap around my face, holding a palm over my mouth and nose on top of the sack.
My screams get caught in my chest as I try to gain any traction I can from my teeth to bite the motherfucker, but the material of the sack is too thick, and I’m growing weak.
Not stopping my efforts, I wiggle my body, my legs, my arms, anything and everything I can to try to get away, but whoever’s holding me tightens their arms like a vise and holds me still.
Suddenly, I’m lifted, carried through wherever we are, and dropped onto a hard surface. I wiggle my arms, realizing that whatever was used to hold my wrists together is loose and I can easily get free if I work harder.
Then I hear a loud slam above me, and I’m suddenly suffocating with the feeling of being smothered.
As darkness takes over my mind, words spoken on my very first day at Blackmore University echo around me…
“I hope you like the dark.”
After wiggling my wrists free from the loosening confines, I rip the sack off of my head, but still only find darkness.
Overwhelming panic and terror have me gasping for air, and my hands shoot out in front of me, but before I can extend my arms completely, I make contact with something solid and hard.
“Little Raaaabbit…” The voice continues its taunt. “I can hear you.”
I jolt, pulling back a little, but when nothing’s jumped out and eaten me up, I reach forward again. It’s a flat surface and feels like it might be made of wood, but it’s not smooth like a table or floor, it’s rough and textured, threatening to leave splinters in my fingertips.
The rough wood must be about a foot above my body, because my arms start to ache with being bent upwards uncomfortably.
My chest heaves as fear snakes its way around my lungs and squeezes, and I trace the wood until I meet a corner.
The wood continues downward and meets at the bottom, where I’m lying.
I’ve been chased, kidnapped, and trapped in a box…
A sick and twisted thought races through me, so I kick my legs softly to feel the shape of whatever I’m inside of, and my stomach sinks when I realize it’s long and rectangular.
I think it’s a fucking coffin.
Fear thrums through me painfully.
“Let me out of here!” I scream gutturally, pounding my fists on the lid above me. I kick my legs, creating echoing bangs. When my feet start to hurt, I bend my legs and use my knees at the same time as my hands to try to get the lid off, but it’s no use. I’m fucking trapped in here.
“Please…” I sob, tears streaming down my face. “Please…I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go, please!”
There’s no reply, though, only my panting breaths and racing heartbeat fill my ears.
“Please…” I whisper, unsure if I’m talking to my captors this time, or to whatever god may be watching over me.
I cry, loud and heavy, as visions of my impending demise flash across my mind. Who knows what these freaks are going to do to me? They could be mass murderers going after their next torture and kill.
“Your begging is such a pretty sound, Sage.”
All the blood in my veins freezes the second my name slips from their lips, because now I know this isn’t random—they know me, they targeted me, they meant to take me.
There were at least two people in the cemetery, maybe even three… The Hallows Boys?
The voices have been unrecognizable so far, like they’re using some sort of voice changer to disguise themselves.
They were deep and almost robotic, telling me that this has been planned and plotted beforehand to perfection.
They knew every step to make, every single fucking detail precisely perfected.
“Are you ready to play, Little Rabbit?” a voice growls, still using the voice changer.
I cry in answer, scared shitless. My voice is strained from screaming, and my fists and feet hurt from banging against the lid of the coffin. Every inch of my body is tense and aching from adrenaline.
I start to think about how much I’ve taken for granted in life.
How I let resentment for my parents fill me up so high that it spilled over onto my grandmother.
She took me in, gave me so much comfort and love, and what did I give her in return?
A snotty, angry girl who stormed out of the house when she just wanted to help.
I had the chance to make something of myself after my parents died. Sure, I was moved out of my comfort zone, but I could’ve been less bratty about it.
For weeks, I’ve let anger burn me up and bring me down, and now I’m going to die. Now I’m going to just be another headstone in the Blackmore Cemetery, where college kids get drunk and fuck on top of me.
I bang my fists against the lid of the coffin one more time, then I let my limbs fall lax. Sniffling back the tears that have kept flowing, I let them turn to dried streaks on my cheeks, and then I take a deep breath.
I’m not dead, and I’m going to get the fuck out of here. I’m going to fight. They have to take me out of the coffin at some point, right? And when they do, I’ll be ready.
No one’s coming to save me. Who would? I have no one… It’s just me, myself, and I.
I grit my teeth. “When I get out of here…I’m going to kill you.”
I think of the coffins my parents were placed in, feeling stupid in this moment for not paying more attention. I’m pretty sure they had hinges on one side that made the lid lift open. If I can just find the right angle, and the right side, I might be able to open it enough to stick my arm out.
“You’ll have to get out first.” A voice breaks through, halting all thoughts. I bang my fists on the lid once in defiance, but then laughter rings out all around me—manic laughter that makes goosebumps spread across every inch of my body.
There’s banging on the outside of the coffin then, pulling a scream of surprise from my throat just before they start shaking the coffin from side to side.
I scream as I try to hold myself in place, but there’s nothing to grab on to, so I just slam into the sides like a fucking bouncing ball. They continue laughing, louder and louder, as they torment me.
More screams fly past my lips as I spread my arms as far as they’ll go and lock my elbows to hold myself in place.
“Your screams are so pretty, Little Rabbit.” One of the voices laughs.
“Fuck you!” I scream, banging my fists against the wood all around me, not caring that I’m scratching up my skin. “Fuck. You!”
The coffin spins around—fast. Like a fucking amusement ride, it makes me dizzy, but after a moment, it freezes again.
With the way they’re able to spin it around, I bet it’s on one of those wheeling tables like they have in morgues and funeral homes.
If I can get the box to tip over, it may break when it lands on the floor.
I’ll probably get hurt, maybe even impaled by broken wood, but I’ve got to try something, right?
The laughter and banging stop, and silence cloaks the room again, making me sigh heavily in relief. I count my heartbeats in my head until I reach a hundred, then I start moving. From side to side, trying to get the leverage to tip the box over and onto the ground.
I put every ounce of strength I have left into rocking the coffin. Side to side. Side to side. Side to side. Until I finally feel it lift an inch and a smile snakes across my face.
This is going to hurt like a bitch.
I keep going, rocking back and forth until, finally, the coffin flips. I brace myself for impact, wrapping my arms around my head for protection just as the coffin slams on the ground, smashing to pieces.
Stars skate across my vision from the fall, and I feel blood dripping from my hairline. There’s a giant break in the wood right by my face, so I reposition myself to peek through it to see what’s waiting on the other side.
A man in a mask stands about three feet from me, the large X’s sewn over his eyes, making me suck down oxygen in fear.
He laughs, rubbing his palms together.
“Welcome to the Hallows Games, Sage Lindman.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I scream, punching my fist through the broken wood as the Hallows Boy before me turns and strides away, slamming a door behind him.
“You motherfuckers!”
Anger pumps inside me as I punch the wood again, finally breaking a big enough gap that I can crawl through. I ignore the sting of the wood scraping at my skin as I do, pushing my body through like a snake to get free from the broken pieces of the coffin.
As I climb to my feet, my head spins from adrenaline and anxiety, and I have to rest a hand on the dirty wall to hold myself upright. I’m going to fucking kill someone. Fury wins over my terror, giving me the urge to come up with an escape plan.
Where the fuck am I?!
I spin around, and when I spot the graffiti marked along the wall to my left, my breath gets caught in my throat, and I step back instinctively, bumping into the windowsill with my ass.
There’re all sorts of different graffitied images and words on the wall, covering from floor to ceiling, but there’s one in particular that stands out to me and makes a chill rush over my skin.
In giant, red block letters, it reads: WELCOME TO HELL
I shiver as I swallow thickly.
Fuck this. I need to get the fuck out of here.