𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

𝟎𝟗. 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟑𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖

"Nick!"

You called his name so many times that it no longer sounded like a name at all—just something you knew you had to repeat over and over until your tongue felt like a numb slab of muscle in your mouth.

Everything that happened in the witch's cellar played on a loop inside your head. The weight of watching one of your friends die right in front of your face slammed into you a tidal wave and left you blindsided and gasping for air.

You felt the strongest urge to scream until your lungs squeezed out the last of the breath trapped inside of them. Maybe then you would stop feeling so helpless. So lost.

The tree you were leaning up against supported your weight as you slid down its rough bark. Even in the semidark, you could tell that your ankle was festering into a reddish, purple mess of bruises. Walking on it probably wasn't the best thing, but what other choice did you have?

"Nicky!" you croaked, voice breaking halfway. The mess hall seemed impossibly far away despite how long you'd been stranded out in the inky darkness, pawing around for any sign of life.

The rhythmic sound of footsteps slapping against fallen leaves made your ears prick up and you mustered just enough strength to raise your flashlight in the direction of the noise. Your thumb wobbled over the switch, ready to kill the light if it wasn't who you hoped it was.

"(Y/N)?"

Nick came bounding out of the green brush with a boyish smile etched onto his face that quickly fell away once he saw the state you were in. He didn't hesitate before rushing forward and kneeling in front of you, eyes wide with fear and disbelief. "Jesus, what–what happened to you?"

You choked on your own tears, not bothering to put up a fight as Nick tugged you against his shirt. You clung to the cotton fabric like it was your lifeline in a sea of towering evergreens. "You're shaking," he realized aloud, petting your hair back so he could take a good look at your face. "Who did this?"

You willed your bottom lip to quit wobbling before you melted into a puddle of tears. "We-We went to the...to the witch's house in the woods. There was a tunnel 'n my name...my name was on the wall. Tommy! Oh my god, Tommy!" You were borderline hysterical, gripping Nick's shirt so tight that you thought you might tear right through it. "He killed Arnie! He just cut him open with an axe. Cindy and Alice are still down there. We-We need to warn the others!"

Nick didn't seem at all as alarmed as you had hoped. "Okay, okay," he hushed, still trying to lull you with his constant petting. "We'll get help for them, okay? But I'm going to help you first."

His words barely registered in your mind. Every thought you had was already replaced with the image of Tommy Slater picking that hatchet off of the wall and bringing it down over Arnie's skull, splitting it in half and splintering fragments of bone in every direction.

When it became obvious to him that you wouldn't be able to walk the rest of the way, Nick cupped your face in both hands and pressed his warm lips against your clammy forehead. "Slater," he murmured into your skin. "It's always a fucking Slater."

You felt trapped in a daze as Nick hooked his arms underneath your legs and hoisted you up against his chest. You instinctively wrapped your arms around the back of his neck for support and he kept you balanced until you were comfortable. "Easy, easy. I've got you now. Nothing's gonna get you."

You wanted so badly to believe him.

Relief washed over you as your skin flooded with the orange glow of the street lamp that hung high above the beaten path that led into camp. Your eyes filled with the threat of exhausted tears but before you could let a single one slip, a figure darted out of the trees and made you yelp, clinging embarrassingly tight to Nick's chest.