One Shots

The Intruder

The intruder towered above Barbra; looking down at her through the eyes of his white mask. She didn't move; neither of them did. Barbra knew if she tried to run there wouldn't be a place to hide. Not anymore. They simply stared at each other until footsteps were heard outside the apartment door. They both looked and when Barbra realized the stranger looked away; she took her chance and wriggled out from under him. He took notice and grabbed her arm. The woman fought with her life and eventually kicked the man in the knee causing him to fall.

"Who the hell are you!" She yelled as she ran down a hallway into her bedroom. She slammed the door behind her and locked it before scrambling for her gun that was kept in her nightstand. Footsteps echoed in the hallway as the man drew closer, but she had steady hands. She quickly loaded the gun as she kept her breathing steady and stood in the corner of the room, right in front of her closet. She watched the door, eyes focusing as the adrenaline rushed through her veins. The footsteps stopped just outside her door; silence falling in the apartment. At least until she heard the closet door behind her open. She barely had time to think before she felt a sharp pain hit her in the neck. Darkness fell and she blacked out.

Hours passed and she eventually woke covered in freezing ice. She gasped for air and jolted upright; breaking through the freezing cold ice only to find a stinging pain in her side. Shakily she crawled out of the tub and forced herself to endure the pain. She could barely stand as the sedatives were still in her body, making her situation just all the more dream-like. She stumbled her way to the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. She was pale and her eyes were sunken. But something more important stood out. A large bloodstain on the side of her shirt. With shaking hands, she slowly pulled the cloth up only to find large stitches just below her ribcage. Her breathing grew heavy and she began to panic but... that soon stopped when she noticed a note taped to the faucet. On it was a photograph of her twelve-year-old son, tied to a chair in a cold cement room. Rage quickly built as her motherly instincts began to kick in, her cold body growing hot as she read the words on the bottom. "Don't play on the deep web." She only had one thing in mind. Getting her child back.