Grinded

chapter XXVIII.

The bedroom door handle twisted with a metallic click, slowly but surely. As the door cracked open ever so slightly, a sudden gasp of wind gently grazed August's face. A chill rippled down his spine as he exhaled shakily, pulling the door wide enough for him to slip through.

He kept his back to the frame and edged his feet further into the hallway. The collar of his shirt was slicked with sweat, clinging to his skin. August knew that there was a rancid stench emanating from his body. Normally, he would've handled it. But now that he found himself in a house with a deranged, knife happy serial killer,  there was no way he could focus on something that now seemed so trivial.

August let out another shaky breath before biting down on his lip, poking his head out into the hallway. His bloodshots eyes darted around rapidly. His stomach twisted with sick anticipation, like his body was simply waiting for the worst to eventually happen.

The corridor seemed to stretch on for eternity. He set his sights on the stairs towards the end of the hallway, but instead of making a run for it, his body was locked in place like stone, betraying his desperation to get to the Sheriff's car.

C'mon, August. Fucking move.

Releasing his now split lip from the harsh grip of his teeth, August finally stepped out fully into the hallway. He flicked his head back, grateful to see nothing but the worn down bookshelf and couch at the end of the corridor.

The teen began moving towards the stairs hastily, keeping his steps light and soft. Every howl of the wind and floorboard creak unleashed a flurry of paranoia that was close to sinking its claws deep into August's psyche.

August reached the top of the stairs and carefully looked out over the balcony. His fingers delicately trailed the railing, terrified to fully grasp onto it. From where he stood, it looked safe.

Safe.

August couldn't help but scoff at the word. It seemed like such a foreign concept to him now. Like it was nothing more than an empty promise, leaving the fools that believed in it to reap the devastating truth that lay beneath that false exterior.

CRASH.

The echoing sound of something hitting the ground with incredible force caught August's immediate attention. His ears perked up slightly, frantically trying to pinpoint where the fuck the noise came from.

It sounded like it came from the kitchen. August knew that this was his chance; the kitchen was at the back of the house, and if it wasn't the killer that was responsible for the noise, then they definitely would be making their way there.

August swung himself around the corner of the balcony and onto the stairs, his feet taking them two at a time. Everything around him seemed to blur as he was reinvigorated as he came closer and closer to the front door. He could feel his heart thundering against his chest, almost like it had a personal vendetta against him.

His throat tightened up as he reached the bottom of the stairs. The taste of the cool summer night's air was practically dancing along his swollen and faintly bruised lips. August reached out his hand for the handle and began twisting it aggressively, when a noise from behind him stopped him in his tracks.

There was no holding back the hitch in his breath as he straightened up. A current of horror ran deep within him as he tried to swallow down the cry that he was holding back. Turning his head, he was met with someone he wasn't expecting. And he didn't know if that was for the best or not.

"Thomas," August whispered shakily.

His best friend looked like he'd been through his own version of hell; his right eye was swollen and purple, there was a stream of blood that had dripped down the side of his face and August could tell the gash it was coming from was pretty fucking deep.