Locked [DISCONTINUED]

Day one

Phoebie's eyelids felt heavy as she woke up. Her mind was dazed and confused and all she could think of was how tired she was. Restlessly, she turned over only to find herself rolling onto a hard surface. She groaned in pain and sat up slowly. Well that woke her up!  

She hadn't quite noticed where she was until now. She was sitting on a wooden floor; definately not hers. She preferred her thick carpets because she had a habit of falling to floor. Her house used to have wooden floors until she had left a wine glass beside her one night. She had fallen straight onto it and the wooden floor only made the fall harsher. She had to get seventeen stitches - although that was mainly from the glass. 

She looked around at the boring-but-comfortable furniture. It was all grey but was fluffy and soft. She got up and walked over to a large mirror behind the sofa. It had a metal frame that was cold as a corpse.  

One glance at her reflection and Phoebie felt disgusted. She grimaced at the sight of her tangled hair, messed up make-up and deep cut in her forhead. Wait, what? Phoebie didn't remember that being there...what had happened? 

She swivelled round and stared at the bare, windowless wall. The small tv plastered to it made Phoebie realise just how much this was not her home! Suddenly, the thought occured to her. How had she gotten here? She couldn't remember coming here...for any reason. She didn't even recognise this place. 

The last thing she could remember was... Phoebie's face formed a frown as she tried to recall the memory. She could vaguely see someone...lifting something behind his head? A bat? Maybe... Phoebie vigorously shook her head. All this thinking was hurting her head. 

She walked to the front door. It was strangely made from metal. What kind of person wants a metal door? Without a word, or even a sign of life, Phoebie grabbed the handle and tried to turn it. She shook it violently when it didn't budge.  

Great! She was stuck here. Was she going to get murdered? Raped? Starved? Tortured? All the news stories she had read about stuff like this spun through Phoebies mind like a car wheel going at full speed. What if her death would be the next big headline? 

Calm down Phoebie, you're going to be okay, she told herself. How could she calm down? she was in a house she had never seen before. She needed one thing, a distraction. 

Cautiously, she made her way up the stairs, her feet sinking into the neutral-coloured carpet. She came to the top of the stairs and looked around. The full-lenght mirror to her right at the end of the hall portrayed her messy reflection. She hated it when her hair was so messy; it made her cringe.

She walked down the hall and looked in the bedroom to her left. It was massive; it must be the master bedroom. There was almost nothing in it except a large bed, a pile of dust-covered bedding and clothes and a window. The distinct bars over the window made Phoebie feel trapped. 

Unable to help herself, she walked over to the cold metal and gripped one of the bars. Anger starting to boil inside her, she shook the bars and growled. How could anyone imprison her this way?  

She let go of the bars and walked over to the bed. The bedsheets were messed up. She lifted them off and chucked them in the corner. A painful gasp escaped her frozen lips when she saw the blood stain in the center. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Was she going to die? Was it her inescapable fate? 

All her thoughts were interrupted by a loud sob coming from another room. Instantly, she forgot about the blood on the sheet and walked out the room. She looked left then right, trying to figure out where the sobs were coming from. Eventually, she settled on going left. She only walked five steps before she saw the open bathroom door. 

Reluctantly, she walked in. Her heart melted at the sight of a small girl crouched in the corner of the bath. Her hands covered her dirty face with her ginger hair flowing in harsh tangles.  

"Hello? What's your name? How'd you even get here?" Phoebie asked, more to herself. When she got no reply but the continuous sobs, she walked up to the girl. She crouched beside the bath and placed a comforting hand on her back. She rubbed small circles on the little girls back and her hand found a label. She glances at the words written in perminant ink. They read 'property of Sophia'. 

"Sophia? Is that your name? C'mon, lets see if we can find something to eat" Phoebie offered. She picked Sophia up and they walked down to the kitchen. The lights above them was their only source of light and Phobie was feeling more and more trapped by the minute. 

The walked into the kitchen and Phoebie sat Sophia down by the table. She searched through the cupboards and was shocked to find them all full of food, cutlery and glasses or plates. The kitchen showed obvious signs of someone living here but the bedroom told a completely different story. 

What a mystery. 

Phoebie eventually put some bread in the toaster and waited for it to finish. When the sound of the toast coming out filled the air, she took it out and spread it with butter she had found in the fridge. She set it on the table and poured two glases of orange juice. For all she knew, the food could be poisoned but she was trapped anyway. 

She kept trying to get Sophia's attention by she was so unresponsive. She looked at a clock on the wall. It was 9 o'clock already! A whole day gone in the blink of an eye. She must only have woken up at like 7 o'clock. She went to the couch and tucked Sophie under the blanket laid on it.

When Sophia finally drifted off, Phoebie made her way to the other couch and laid down. A tear silently trailed down her cheek and melted into the soft fabric of the pillow. Phoebie fell asleep soon after.