Hey y’all, welcome back to my blog and our series (see part 1 here if you missed it!) of Reading Red, where we read and enjoy a hand-crafted horror short story I wrote myself about 2… actually 3 years ago (happy belated new year…).

Let’s not lallygag around and get right into the suspense I left you all with!

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Red, Part 2:

I looked up at him and noticed that he was staring at the knife in his hand. 

“Stand up,” he commanded. 

I froze. 

He glanced over at me. 

“Stand up,” he repeated. 

He then, himself, stood. 

I looked him over, and then rose, much more slowly than he had. 

He studied me carefully, and then stepped around the side of the table. 

I kept my eyes on him as he moved closely to my side. 

He stepped towards me until his face was nearly inches away from mine. 

“Give me your hand,” he muttered. 

His eyes pierced right into mine. 

I reached my left hand up to my chest. 

He cautiously reached out towards it and took it gently by my wrist. 

I looked down at the knife by his side as he tightened his fingers around it. 

A moment or two of silence passed. 

Then, suddenly, he whipped the weapon upwards, tilted it to the side, and swiped it fiercely across a large area of my lower arm. 

I screamed out and leaned over in pain. 

I tried to pull my hand away from his grip, but he wouldn’t release me. 

“Oh!” I continued to yell out, grabbing at the cut he had just given me with my one free hand. 

“Yeah, that’s more like it,” he softly spoke, under my shouts.   

Then, he abruptly let go of my wrist, causing me to tumble over and collapse onto the cold floor. 

My screams began to cease as he continued speaking. 

“You know, maybe it’s time we start playing a different game…”

I officially fell to silence and stared at the floor below me. 

I could hear him rustle through a number of objects on the workbench, not too far away from where I knelt. 

I looked up once he fell quiet, too, and saw that he was holding a tall, thin bottle up to the dim ceiling light. 

“Here we go,” he mumbled as he brought the bottle down and turned back to me. 

A smile crossed his face and he took a step into my direction. 

I looked from the camera ahead to him as he approached me. 

“Now,” he went on, crouching down in front of me. “Do you have an idea for a new game?”

I bit my lip and shook my head. 

“Me neither,” he stated while he looked me over. “I guess we’ll just do it the old-fashioned way, then.”

He pushed his free hand off of one knee and stood himself back up. 

“Get back in the chair, Anna.” 

I glanced up at him.

He was now hovering over me. 

I placed both of my hands on the floor underneath me, and then gradually guided my body up to a stand. 

I proceeded to move towards the chair on my right without looking back at him. 

He moved around the table as I carefully sat.

“I’ll let you pick what’s first,” he directed, slamming the clear, but dirtied, bottle he held onto the tabletop across from me. 

I studied the yellowed, hand-written label before he continued and read ‘H2SO4 96%’. 

“Head, shoulders, knees, or toes?” he questioned.

I raised my eyebrows as I gazed up at his face. 

He suddenly let out a loud, deep laugh. 

I flickered my eyes back down to the table and waited for him to finish. 

As soon as he did, though, he swiped the container back into his hands. 

He stood and started to pace around the side of the table. 

I kept my eyes down as he stepped up to my side. 

I could feel his presence floating over me for a few seconds. 

Then, gently, he leaned over my shoulder. 

I jumped under my skin when his fingertips touched the side of my neck. 

“Why don’t we start here?” he whispered as he brushed back a few pieces of my long, dark hair. 

He leaned in even closer for a moment, so near that I could feel his breaths blowing directly onto my neck, and then stepped backwards for a longer moment. 

I could hear the sound of plastic moving against plastic and, afterwards, the noise of something small bouncing off of the hard ground. 

Suddenly, his cold fingers stroked my neck, once again. 

After a few seconds, he pushed his fingers upwards and interlaced them into the roots of the hair behind my ear. 

He leaned inwards yet again.

“Take a deep breath, Anna,” he faintly mumbled. 

My body shuddered at the ring of his words. 

Then, immediately after he spoke, a burning liquid splashed onto the lower half of my neck’s side, underneath his hand’s grasp, as well as over the the top of my shoulder, which was almost entirely exposed under my thin-strapped tank top. 

I screamed out and pulled my body into the opposite direction of him. 

He swiftly unfastened his fingers from my hair and let me bend my body over in pain. 

“Oh!” I shouted as the stinging sensation progressively became worse. 

I threw my right hand over my burning skin and attempted to brush the acidic liquid away, but the action only spread the stinging onto my palm as well. 

I screamed even louder and hunched tightly overtop my knees in my sitting position. 

The sensation was excruciating.

My skin felt as if it were physically boiling and melting away, dripping into puddles on the ground. 

“We’re doing very well, tonight, aren’t we?”

I took a shaky breath and glanced upwards, feeling hot tears fall from the corners of my eyes. 

He was standing in front of the camera, staring directly into its lens. 

I softly cried once he turned back around. 

“Why don’t we see what other toys I have, hm?” he asked. 

I let another tear drip as he stepped over to his workbench and twisted back the other way. 

My eyes trickled downwards when he began to rummage once more. 

I took another shaky breath while I glanced over to the floor on the left of the table that I sat near. 

My eyes froze when they caught gaze of the pocket knife, thrown right onto the ground underneath the camera. 

Slowly, I grabbed at the edges of my seat. 

I stared at the knife for a long moment, and then glanced back over at him.

He was still facing the other way. 

I began to carefully and quietly push myself up to my feet. 

After that, I took a silent step in the direction of the knife, keeping my eyes locked onto his backside. 

He continued to throw a number of unidentifiable, heavy objects around on the countertop. 

I hurriedly, but steadily, finished my way over to where the knife rested, and then crouched swiftly down and swiped it from the floor below. 

I gradually brought myself back up to stance and wrapped the fingers of my right hand tightly around the cool, smooth handle. 

I exhaled deeply as I put one foot towards him. 

I held my breath when I took the next step. 

He continued to pillage and threw a rusted hammer onto the counter area next to his computer, a mere inches away from my side, forcing me to jump a slight amount as I walked. 

By now, I was only about two feet away from his backside. 

Before I could fully make my way to him, though, he turned around. 

His eyes fell immediately onto me. 

“Anna!” he shouted out. 

At the exact same moment that he yelled, I lunged forwards, the knife held out in front of me. 

“Ugh!” I screamed as I jabbed the knife towards his chest. 

Snappily, he threw his hands up in defense, causing me to slice the side of his wrist, but also stopping me from performing any significant damage.  He then grabbed at my right hand and twisted it back sharply. 

“Ah!” I cried out and grabbed my wrist with my opposite hand, now attempting to resist his force and pull the knife back inwards. 

However, before I could make any progress, he threw one knee upwards and thrust it directly into my abdominal area, causing me to scream out and jerk my upper body over into a hunching position. Then, while he had the chance, he pushed me back, his one hand still grasping mine, and the other shoving at my left shoulder. 

I tumbled backwards as he let go of me and toppled onto the ground, directly onto my back, forcing part of my head to smash onto the concrete floor as well. 

I let out a groan. 

But, the knife remained in my palm. 

I lifted my head upwards a bit, putting tension on my neck, and saw that he was standing directly over me, one foot placed on either side of my waist. 

I threw the knife in front of my face, once more, while he bent himself over. 

But, again, he grabbed at both of my wrists, making it impossible for me to make a move. 

Instinctively after that, I began to kick my feet as an effort to escape his grip, but he brought himself down to his knees and drove my arms downwards until they were pinned to the floor, making any more resistance against him virtually pointless. 

I retired my squirming and gazed up at his demeanor.

“Oh, Anna,” he breathed out, onto my face. 

He searched my terrified face for a moment, and then let out a roar of laughter. 

He pried the pocket knife from my dominant hand, and then started to stand back up. 

I remained in a still, frozen position on the floor as he stepped to the side of my body. 

Then, suddenly, he bent back over me and delivered a slash of the knife blade to the entire top of my right thigh, cutting through the thin material of my dark leggings as well the thick tissue of skin underneath it. 

I screeched out in agony and threw myself onto my side as I reached down with both hands to gently touch the area around the wound. 

He stepped around my head, now ceasing his chuckle. 

“I expected more from you,” he proclaimed. 

I continued to scream. 

A long bang erupted from somewhere behind me, followed by a continuation of his words. 

“It looks like we’re going to have to get things moving a little faster.”

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Let me know what torture you think (or hope… I mean, just kidding!) Anna will have to endure next!

-iKari