Reading Red, part 4.

AHH!

It’s getting (even more) intense!!!

What’s going to happen to Anna next? Remember to check out parts 1, 2, and 3 first, too!

And now we continue with reading my short scary story, Red.


Red, part 4.

I screamed out and shot my eyes open. 

I was forced to see him standing over me with the hammer slung back, behind his head. I watched as he let out another sound of frustration and heaved the head of the hammer towards the outside edge of my left calf. 

I yelled out in pain, again, and leaned my upper body as far forward as I currently could. 

“Ugh!” he shouted out as he brought the hammer down on my opposite kneecap. 

My continuous scream turned partially into a sob. 

He yelled out, louder than before, and smashed the rusted metal tip into the top area of my left thigh. 

My cry turned back into a sharp shout. 

He next took the hammer to a section of my left leg below my kneecap. 

My loud cry of pain fluctuated a bit, but remained mostly constant as he gave a handful more blows to my lower legs, two per each calf. 

After that, he straightened his back and took a few audibly heavy breaths. 

My scream died down and became a loud sob once more. 

I leaned back slightly and tilted my head up to glance at him while I cried. 

He stared back down at me for a moment, and then raised his hammer back up to the side of his head. 

I screamed out. 

He threw the hammer head into my left knee, again. 

My shouts fell quiet to my breaths as he turned and tossed the hammer across the room. 

I leaned back in my chair and bit my lip as I fought the throbbing aches that now controlled my lower limbs. 

I watched him as he stepped back to the counter near the camera and rummaged through a few of the objects atop it. 

“Damn it,” I could hear him mumble under the intensifying ring in my ears. 

He twisted back into my direction, and then made his way back to where I sat. 

He knelt down in front of me and placed his hands gently on top of my knees. 

I winced in pain. 

“I’ve got to go get something,” he started, his eyes darting in between each of mine. “If you’re still sitting right here when I get back… then you’ll get a treat.”

He flashed a smile and stood back up. 

I turned my head to see him pace up to the door in the back right corner of the room. He then opened it up, stepped through, and slammed it shut behind himself, forcing me to jump a little at the bang-like noise that it created. 

I stared at the quiet exit for a long moment, listened to his distancing footsteps, and then turned my head back to center. 

Immediately, I pushed myself up to the edge of my seat and wriggled my arms over the metal back that separated them from the rest of my body. After that, I began to frantically fidget my wrists about and swipe at the sides of the rope around them with my fingertips. 

“Mm,” I grumbled after a few seconds of finding it impossible to obtain a hold on the thick string in any way.

My eyes glanced from the floor, to the table ahead, to the counter even farther away. 

Then, I pushed my feet as closely to the ground as possible, within their captive means, and raised my body onto my tiptoes, bringing the attached chair up with it. I shuffled my way over to the edge of the workbench, specifically an area of it that rested to the left of the camera and computer’s place. 

I searched the entire array of dirty, rusting tools with my eyes, and then caught a glimpse of a small, yellow-handled box cutter, its blade poking halfway out. 

Hurriedly, I turned to one side, raised my arms as far upwards as I could, my tied hands outstretched, and reached for the cutter. I craned my neck to see behind my back as I searched the countertop with my hands and, soon enough, I was able to take hold of a cold, rigid-feeling handle. 

I swung my hands back from the counter and re-sat myself in the chair knotted to my ankles. 

I could feel my heart pumping as I situated the knife-like device in my hands. 

I placed one thin edge of the blade under my right index finger, and then coordinated my left hand on the handle underneath it while I began to saw at a chunk of rope. 

As I worked, I heard a booming sound come from somewhere directly above the ceiling. 

I started to slice the fabric faster. 

The knife slipped for a moment, dealing a thick cut to the side of one of my fingers in the process, but I recovered my hold swiftly after. 

I took a few shallow breaths. 

And then the rope loosened its hold on me. 

Quickly, I dropped the box cutter onto the chair behind my hips and wiggled my wrists out of their captivity, afterwards allowing the string to fall and slide off of the chair’s side. 

I snatched the knife back up and leaned forwards to fix my eyes on the rope that held my ankles down. 

I reached down and slit the middle section of rope that stretched between both feet, and then stood to slip the legs of the chair away from my own legs, not even taking time to cut off the globs of ties that rested on my ankles. 

I slid the metal seat back, softly, and then turned towards the far wall, the box cutter still in hand. 

I wiped my eyes over the entire room, not letting them stop until they reached the door on the far left, the one opposite the other that he had left through. 

I hobbled over to it, forcing the pains in my kneecaps to exit my mind as I did so. 

Once there, I reached out to twist its knob. 

Locked. 

“Ugh,” I grumbled, turning to make my over to the only other door in the room, the one he had exited from. 

I repeated my test on its handle. 

Again, locked. 

“No,” I moaned, choking back a quiet cry. 

I tried the door once more. 

The handle was unmoving. 

“Oh, God, no,” I muttered, turning back to look over the room, once again. 

I took a few steps forward and searched each wall, eventually landing my eyes onto the camera sitting on the ladder in front of the counter. 

I swiftly walked over to it, stopping a mere foot in front of its lens. 

I looked from my reflection in its glass to my image on the computer monitor on its right. 

“If…” I started to speak, my voice both shaky and crackly. “If anyone is watching this right now…” 

I paused as I felt a tear come to one eye. 

“Please… please help me…” 

I stopped to let the tear drip down my cheek. 

“M-my name is… Anna… Webber… and I’m in, or near, Sandusky, Ohio and…”

I took a deep breath as another tear fell. 

“Please, just… call the cops, or…” 

My voice trailed off as my eyes wandered over the mess of objects thrown next to the base of the computer. 

Instantly, I slung the box cutter back onto the desktop and rushed forwards to snatch up an empty, but dirty and blood stained, syringe. 

Once I had the thin, plastic tube in my hands, I stepped to the right a little more and wildly examined another pile of rusted tools with my vision. After taking two more steps, I tossed one hand out to run over a few objects, and then halted. 

I grabbed a tall, yellowed bottle by its brown cap and brought it up to my face to read its sloppy, hand-written label. 

‘Hydrochloric Acid Dilute’. 

I heard another bang come from over my head and shuddered a bit. 

I proceeded to speedily twist the lid off of the bottle I held and place the container on the edge of the countertop in front of me, letting the cap bounce off the floor afterwards. I then bent over and brought the syringe up to the top of the bottle, the base of it in one hand and the movable plunger in the fingers of the other. I guided the tip of the worn needle towards the meniscus of the clear liquid in the container, which rested about three-quarters of the way up the side. 

I commenced pulling the black piece carefully upwards and, as I did so, I began to hear approaching footsteps from the other side of the left wall. 

I started to shake as I finished filling the solution inside of the unmarked syringe. 

The footsteps grew closer. 

I ripped the syringe away from the bottle, its needle dripping, and turned around. 

I rushed over to the left wall. 

My knees wobbled underneath my weight as they carried me to the side of the closed door, of which was currently releasing the echo of the footsteps into the room.

I clutched the syringe close to the side of my thigh and pressed my back against the cold, cement wall. 

The steps stopped. 

A stillness fell. 

And then the door beside me propelled forwards. 

I held my breath as it swung around its hinges and smacked against the wall a mere inch to the right of my shoulder. 

I glanced over to the open doorway, although I couldn’t see much of it from my angle in that moment. 

“Anna?” he whispered. 

I continued to hold my breath, until I saw one of his green tennis shoes poke out from behind the doorframe. 

“Oh, Anna?” he called out, placing his opposite foot out a little farther. 

I took in a tiny breath of air as the door beside me creaked forwards a small amount as a result of its collision with the wall behind it. 

He took another step, now revealing part of his side to where I stood. 

I gave myself a deep inhalation. 

And then sprung forwards. 

I let out a soft grunt as I lunged at him and threw the syringe up by my chest, the needle pointed in his direction.

He instantly snapped his head towards me and threw his hands up in front of himself, dropping some type of large, black label-less plastic bottle in the same moment. 

“Anna!” he shouted out.

I threw myself towards him and thrusted the syringe forwards. 

He grabbed my forearms and began to push me back. 

“Ugh!” I yelled out, desperately trying to force the needle closer to black tee shirt that covered his chest. 

“Drop it, Anna,” he muttered. 

“Mm…” I mumbled, shoving my occupied hand farther forwards than my other. 

I managed to make some progress, the needle now a close two inches or so from the center of his chest area. 

Then, abruptly, he released my left hand and reached out with his own to my opposite, which currently held the syringe. 

Before he could grab anything, though, I snatched his wrist back with my left. 

“Ugh!” I repeated as I threw my right knee upwards, delivering a rough blow to his crotch area. 

He shouted out in pain and folded his upper body forwards. 

I thrusted the needle in my hand outwards and jabbed it into the front side of his shoulder. 

Hurriedly, I rammed the top of the syringe plunger downwards, forcing every ounce of liquid within the device’s tube underneath his skin. 

He screamed out, louder. 

I ripped the needle out and dropped it to the floor below. 

His hold on my wrist grew tighter as I stepped back from him. 

I yanked my arm inwards to my body. 

He wouldn’t let go. 

“No!” he shouted, bending towards the ground. 

I jerked my hand back, again, and let out a sound of frustration. 

His hold remained on me. 

He was now kneeling to the floor, forcing me down alongside him. 

“Ah!” he continued to yell out. 

A cold sweat broke out over my body as I tried to throw my wrist back one more time. Then, when he still didn’t release me, I brought his hand up in front of my cheeks. 

I poked my head forwards, opened my mouth, and lowered my teeth into his skin. 

His grip loosened, just a bit, while he continued to shout. 

I brought my other hand up to pry his fingers away from my wrist as I leaned my body as far back as possible. 

His hand fell down to his side. 

I shot up to my feet and turned around to face the open doorway, a sour taste now left in my mouth. 

“Anna!” he screamed out. 

I jumped forwards, into the dark path set ahead. Quickly, I realized that the door actually went to a long set of wooden steps that led straight upwards on the right. 

I proceeded to hop up the steps, leaving his screeching voice behind. 

At the end of the staircase, on the left, sat a dimly lit, open doorframe. Once I had reached it, I turned into its direction, and shot myself through. 

I now landed myself at the end of a long, dark hardwood hall. 

I heard a bang pipe up from the staircase and immediately sprinted to the opposite side, past a number of closed, wooden doors. After that, I reached for the handle of the farthest door and pushed forwards. 

It was locked. 

“N-n-n…” I stuttered out, now turning to the closest door, on the right. 

“Anna!” his voice reiterated, audibly closer than before. 

I tried to open the door in front of me. 

Locked. 

I spun around and reached for the one across the way. 

I could hear footsteps echoing out from the staircase. 

I made an attempt with the next door. 

Also locked. 

I scrambled to the door a few feet to the left and grabbed at its knob. 

Again, locked. 

I let out a soft cry as I whipped around and reached for the one across the hallway. 

Before I could get to it, though, I saw him appear from the the doorway to the stairs. 


I’ve got chills, how about you?

-iKari

One thought on “Reading Red, part 4.

  1. Pingback: Reading Red, part 5. – iKariLynn

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