I Survived The Witch [#1] ✓ [Follow Freelove to Read]

## Bell 01 A4CC13 01-01-98

Private Chapter 15 after this.

This next clip was what looked like an excerpt from some B horror film in the nineties, something that never hit the big, or in fact, small screen.  In fact, I doubt this film was ever released.

The clip seemed to be part-way through the full film, but it started with a young man with short brown hair, a square face, a button up collar shirt, and brown khakis.  The video was from his behind as he ran from something behind him.  He was in a small hall, everything was wooden—like he was maybe in an old building—a cabin of sorts.  He was breathing heavily as turned a corner and another long hall filled his view.

His running turned to something of a slow walk as, with his head consistently over his shoulder, he slowly etched forward.  Everything was quite; there wasn’t even music, as he slowly moved away from the corner he just turned.  A creak, deep and loud, groaned from that corner.  Whatever was chasing him was there and instantly he turned and sprinted down the hall.

He didn’t look behind him; he didn’t want to look at what was behind him.  He didn’t want to know what was there—it was like he knew exactly what image would be there if he dared to turn.  Instead he neared the end where a musky window was all he had left.  Without hesitation he turned to a door at the end and opened it.  At first the knob was jammed but with one panic induced shoulder slam he busted the rust covered frame right open.

Inside.  He threw the door shut as hard as he could and looked around for anything to barricade himself in.  Around him was what appeared to be a child’s room, no a baby’s room.  But everything appeared to be old, real old—it looked as if this room was never actually used and instead was left alone to rot in time.  There were no chairs, but he saw the old wooden crib.  That was all he had.

He went to grab the crib but when he got to it he realized he was not alone in this room.  There was a skeleton of sorts in that crib, an infant still wrapped in the blanket it was placed in when leaving the hospital.  The baby was long dead, but it didn’t look like anything killed it except time—it was like someone set it down in this room, closed the door, and forgot about it.

There were tears in his eyes, like he wanted to morn for this child as the camera swirled around it.  There was no time.  With one sniff he lifted the crib from both sides and spun to place it in front of the door.  The moment he did a gnarly bang hit it.  Wood flakes blew from the frame, but the handle caught on the crib and held taught.  A second slam, but the door didn’t budge.

The crib was a temporary fix.  He looked around the room, there was a closet, but other than that this room had no other doors, no windows, only the brown tinged flower wallpaper that must have at one time been white and red.  The beast at the door slammed into it again, the crib cracked with the brute force.  It wasn’t going to hold much longer.  He twisted around the room; sweat came of his brow as his eyes locked on his only sanctum, the closet. 

He went for the yellowed door and pulled himself in, managing to close both the doors as another slam caused the crib to literally crumble in on itself.  The video was inside with him as the sound of the door creaking open was heard.  He was breathing as slow as possible as this loud stomping seemed to come from right outside. 

The meaty beast outside seemed to wheeze as it hobbled around the room, going away from his safety spot.  Then he heard it stumble away, out of the room.  He took a deep breath and sighed out in relief that whatever was out there was too dumb to open the closet.  He listened carefully from inside as the stomping slowly went away before suddenly it stopped.

Quite. Nothing. It felt like hours when really it was only seconds.  Then all at once, the beast stormed back into the room.  The beast stampeded right up to the closet and stopped.  The man looked through the small gap between the doors and could see the massive stomach covered in stiches and flesh wounds.  He could see her stubby feet and chubby arms covered in what looked like blood from self-inflicted wounds.

The monser just sat there, looking at the doors.  Why didn’t it just go in? It obviously knew he was there; it obviously had found and cornered him.  Why didn’t it just finish him off right then and there?  His eyes moved to one side to get a new line of sight outside.  Through the crack he could see a massive kitchen clever she had in her hand.  Without even letting out a breath he moved his head to see in the other direction.  In the other direction was what looked like someone’s leg, a male’s leg, just being held in her grubby fingers like some type of sick and twisted club. 

He watched as the monster lifted her arm with the leg slammed it into the door.  Spots of blood sprayed through the crack and at the man, who jerked back, making a loud noise. “What are you waiting for!” he yelled at the door, knowing clear well the beast knew he was in there.

“Why you do it Tom?”

“I’ve already said this I’m not Tom! I don’t know who the hell Tom is!”  She slammed the leg into the door again, causing it to crack in before swinging limply open.  There stood a massive woman.  She seemed to be covered in scars and scabs.  She wore a ratty black dress which stopped well above her knees.  Most of her stomach stuck out of the half of a shirt she seemed to have tightly over her upper half.  Her hair black hair was slicked black as if she used the blood of her last victim to do it.  The cleaver in her other hand wasn’t just in the hand, but appeared to actually be sewn into her flesh.

She lifted the cleaver in her hand and mumbled again, “Why you do it Tom?”  The camera zoomed out of the room and around the corner as the man screamed and the sound of the clever hitting flesh echoed out.  His scream was cut off abruptly as the sound of her slashing down again and again resounded from the room.  The camera zoomed backwards further, retracing the chase. There was a trail of blood on the ground where the leg she held seemed to drip.

The video passed a broken table, a knocked over vase, and reversed into a kitchen.  There was a second man, or at least what was left of him.  The man seemed to be lain out on an old kitchen table with his stomach ripped open.  His right leg was missing, slashed right off.  The video hung on this for a bit before reversing further and out the front door.

Outside.  It was a perfectly normal looking house. Lawn was mowed, flowers clipped, hedges trimmed, around there were dozens and dozens of houses just like it.  Moving further out there was a neat sign on the lawn with red letters “For Sale.”  It backed out further to show a neat red convertible parked on the street of this seemingly perfect neighborhood.

A flyer blew into the wind and caught on the windshield wipers of the convertible.  The video zoomed into this flyer, “Agent Jason Anderson. You can Trust we’ll sell your home. Guaranteed.” Was printed along the bottom with a very neat picture of that same man who was now being gutted inside the house.

The video zoomed even further away, fast, down the street and another and another before stopping at a sign to the little development of homes, “Welcome to Sunny Ville.”