|| ᴄʜ ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜ✪ᴛ ||

ᴍᴇᴀᴛ ꜱᴜᴘᴘʟʏ (New Zealand)

ᴺᵉʷ ᶻᵉᵃˡᵃⁿᵈ, ᴳᴺ!ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ
Beta reader: sofiwon

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Trigger Warning: Graphic violence, gore, captivity, psychological manipulation, and implied cannibalism.

You run, the sound of your ragged breathing drowning out the pounding of your feet against the decaying wooden floor. Your arm is slick with blood, the deep gash throbbing with every heartbeat. You clutch it tightly, the warm liquid slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you press. The pain keeps you focused, keeps you moving, but your mind is blank with terror. 

How did you get here? The last thing you remember is waking up in that cage—cold, cramped, and utterly alone. The room was decrepit, with walls that seemed to rot before your eyes, a smell of damp and decay filling your nose. You had screamed for help, but only silence greeted you. And then… he appeared. 

You’d fought, desperation and adrenaline giving you strength, but he was stronger. The axe had come down fast, and though you managed to deflect it, the blade caught your arm, the pain nearly blinding. You barely managed to escape the room, but now you’re here, running through what seems like an endless maze of a house.

The floorboards creak beneath your feet, and you freeze, pressing yourself into the shadow of a large cabinet. Your pulse is deafening in your ears, and you clamp a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle your gasping breaths. You hear him. His footsteps are heavy, deliberate. He’s near.

Closer.  

Closer.  

And then… silence.  

You strain to hear, your body trembling as you pray he’s gone. But the stillness is more terrifying than his approach. Your fingers dig into the wood, your bleeding arm throbbing as your mind screams at you to move, to do something—but you can’t. Not yet. Not until you’re sure.

A low creak shatters the silence, and you barely stifle a scream. He’s just on the other side of the cabinet. You shut your eyes tightly, as if willing yourself invisible, but your heart betrays you, beating so loudly it feels like he can hear it. 

Suddenly, the cabinet door flies open, and there he is—eyes wild, face twisted into a grin that is all hunger and madness. His axe glints in the dim light as he lunges, and you scramble backward, your hands clawing against the floor for purchase. His hand darts out, grabbing your leg, and you kick wildly, your heel connecting with his face. He grunts, momentarily stunned, and you use the chance to crawl away, dragging yourself with all the strength you have left.

But then you feel it—a sharp, agonizing blow to the back of your head. The world spins, and the floor rushes up to meet you. The coppery taste of blood fills your mouth as you gasp, trying to push yourself up. You see his shadow looming over you, and for a moment, his laugh fills the air—low, guttural, and filled with triumph.

You kick again, weaker this time, and he staggers, growling in frustration. You don’t wait to see what he’ll do next. On hands and knees, you crawl, dragging your injured body toward the faint light spilling from what you hope is an exit. Your vision blurs, the edges darkening, but you force yourself to keep going, the sound of his boots thudding behind you like a death knell. 

The stairs appear suddenly, a narrow escape route carved into the dark, crumbling house. Your breath catches as you sprint toward them, your bleeding arm hanging uselessly at your side. The world sways from the blow you took to your head, the pain pounding in rhythm with your frantic heartbeat. Desperation fuels your movements as you descend, but your foot catches on a broken step, and you tumble forward.