WATTYS 2021 HORROR WINNER!
Diego's life has spiraled since the gruesome death of his brother Miguel, and moving to a new town right before his senior year definitely wasn't on his to-do list. Oh, yeah, and neither was saving the world from a centur...
My breath heaves, and the cold night air stings my lungs with every struggled inhale.
There's something in my hands, resting on my shoulder, and the dull weight is familiar but I can't quite place it. I grip the object tighter to try to stop myself from shaking and feel grip tape dig into the flesh of my palms. It's a baseball bat.
For a second, my mind rambles the way it often does in dreams. It questions if I remembered to join the team after all, if I'm in the middle of the game. But no—I'm a pitcher. And this isn't a baseball field.
I'm on the football field. And I'm not alone—Watts, Renny, and Ambrose stand by my side under the sky, which is painted in surreal shades of maroon. Watts is saying something—I can't tell what. Every word seems to slip by my brain before I can make any sense of it, and the wind is whistling so loud I can hardly hear him.
There's a book in his hands, old and tattered, and he's reading from it with a pained expression. Renny is by his side clutching a red fireman's ax, and the silver blade glints as she shifts her weight. Next to her is Ambrose, holding a heavy-looking sledgehammer in his hands.
I don't have time to wonder why we're here or why we're armed. From across the field there's a guttural scream, then high-pitched, maniacal laughter. It's Kayla, decayed and demonic, eyeing us hungrily.
There is no choice, anymore, I think as she charges us, body moving unnaturally, limbs looking disjointed and out of rhythm. It's kill or be killed.
By the time she reaches us, I've made up my mind. I swing with all the force I can manage, but time feels slow, like the air is thick molasses.
Everything is a blur—Watts's ranting, Renny and Ambrose emitting what sound like desperate battle cries as they raise their weapons.
And then there's pain. Sharp and hot, all over. I could drown in it.
Their swings of panicked fury miss Kayla and collide with me. A sledgehammer to my gut, an ax to my skull. And my dying thought is simple and quick: we lost.
I wake up in an instant, drenched in a cold sweat, my pulse pounding in my ears like a drum. My room is dark, and the clock tells me it's still hours before my alarm. Tears sting the back of my eyes as I will myself to breathe, repeating that it was just a dream.
I repeat something else, too. A mantra that's harder to believe.
We won't lose. We won't lose. We won't lose.
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