The Stronghold

Trusting Can Be Dangerous

"Where?" I said, eyes widening.

"At the window! Coming in!" Trix yelled. He pointed, arm shaking wildly with fear.

"I can't see anything," Salt frowned.

"I can! It's a ghost!"

"Then it can't kill us," I laughed.

"The chainsaw is definitely real."

"Crap!"

"Trix, we're going to have to trust you," Salt said. "You have to direct us as to where to move so that we don't die."

"Um, okay," Trix said nervously. "Pepper, duck."

I did as he said and threw myself to the floor. Something whacked into my stomach and I rolled left, joining Cat under the bed.

"What was that?" I wheezed, glaring up at Trix.

"I told you to duck," he said. "Not throw yourself onto the floor. You just got a boot in your stomach. Salt, dodge to your left, now."

Salt slid sideways, hitting the bed and flipping over. His tail snagged the duvet and it fell on top of him. He yelled and lashed out, looking like a giant, cream-coloured fabric monster.

"You two are stupid," Trix hissed, lying on top of the bed and staring at me angrily. "He'll cut you in half! Talking of that, roll back under the bed."

I rolled my eyes before sliding sideways and hiding. There was a revving noise and a blade sliced through the mattress, feathers flying everywhere.

"Trix?" Salt shouted, his voice muffled. "Are you still alive?"

"Yes. Salt, to the floor, now!" was the reply.

Salt skidded across the wooden floor in all his duvet glory, tangled worse than before but with even more protection.

"Where is he now?" I asked Trix.

"The corner of the room, heading towards you. He can't see properly because of his mask."

"Mask?"

"Didn't I describe him?" Trix sounded surprised.

"No, you did not," Salt said through gritted teeth. "Hopefully you were concentrating on keeping us alive."

"Oh. Sorry," Trix said sadly.

"You can describe him, Trix," I said, staring at the bottom of my bed, trying not to sneeze.

"Really?"

"Get on with it!" Salt snapped.

"Well, he's tall. He has blood all over his clothes, more prominent on his dungarees. Yeah, thick, rubbery dungarees is what he's wearing. More of a fashion mistake than that silver shirt. He also has white gloves and, er, nothing on beneath the dungarees. He has thick boots with spikes by the toes. A chainsaw, not an axe, sorry, I got carried away." He smiled sheepishly.

"A mask, like I said. Rounded with small holes for the eyes and three where his mouth should be. No hair, as far as I can see. He smells like rotting meat."

"We can smell that," I grimaced.

"Okay, um, the mask is dirty white with what looks like either blood or faeces on."

"Ew!" Salt said. "Hopefully neither!"

"Um... what else?" Trix thought for several seconds. "Oh yeah, he's looking directly at you, Pepper."

I swore and sneezed, hitting my head on the iron bedframe. Eyes watering and head ringing I wriggled across the ground, almost reaching the other bed when I realised something.