Spin Me Sweet Tales

Chapter Two

They're going to catch me. I can hear my defeat in their far-off screams of victory, as if I am already their trapped prey.

My bare feet scream in agony as they crunch upon the cold, twig-ridden ground. Gusts of winter air slash through the thin material of my oversized night shirt and short pajama shorts. It pierces my flesh. I implore warmth to return to my body, but I'm forced into a game where coldness is not my greatest worry.

The wicked winds slide down my throat and steal each gasping breath. My hands push against the surrounding trees in a desperate attempt to accelerate my slowing speed, but with each bite of nature's coldness against my tender flesh, my movements become more sluggish. Each time I falter or trip over a twig, the resolve that I'll survive is a dimming, flickering light.

A terrible mixture of icy rain and snow patter upon the ground as my assailants near me. Their screams of malice weaken my hope with each derogatory word leaving their vile lips. The sharp ends of tree branches shred my shirt sleeves. The sleeves' remnants slip down my arm, and the phantom touch of their unwanted hands upon my biceps are burning the bare flesh as if their fingers were the hearth of a flame.

I leap over a thicket of bushes, and my thighs plead for reprieve. My feet are frozen in the snow, and every time I run, the coldness pierces into the soles of my feet like knives. I veer left, narrowly avoiding a barely visible rock, but I'm not free from the three men who sprint behind me with flashlights in their deadly grasp. I do not know when they retrieved flashlights, and I do not have the energy to care.

Miles outstretches the cabin from civilization, the distance so far that all I can see is endless snow, trees, and hopelessness. Their yells grow louder, and as if they are right beside me. I can smell the pungent stench of their cigarette smoke, and I can hear their haggard threats. I try to make their screams and threats ammunition for me to quicken my speed, but my energy is gone. I'm barely running on fume.

As branches crunch beneath their booted heels, I know they grow nearer to achieving their brutal goals. I zig-zag through the woods, avoiding the flashlights' rays as if they are directly from the sun and ready to burn me to a crisp, but I know with dreaded certainty they will catch up. No matter how fast I force my feet to move, or how easily I evade myself from their light and alert them to my presence, they will find me.

And when they do...

A weekend escape to a small-town covered in trees and seclusion has turned into a killer's perfect playpen. The cabin I rented for the weekend is gone behind the thicket of snow I've run across and surrounding me is nothing but the frigid wilderness. I wanted a glimpse of freedom and isolation, but tonight, three townsfolk stumbled into my rented home with knives glistening and smiles frighteningly absent from merciful kindness.

The three men's presence are hands wrapping around my neck, strangling the freedom I once coveted.

The trees sway with the icy wind, whispering their excitement at the gruesome show they're the sole audience for. Monsters sheathed in human skin deplete the space between us, and only the wind and lingering scent of pine from the trees are there to witness. There is no salvation, no glimmer of hope, but I still run.

My feet grow numb, and my chest burns with exhaustion, but I do not stop. Not even as their voices grow louder. Or when I can feel the burn of their flashlights catching the side of my face. I force my tired and aching legs to keep moving. Twigs crack underneath my feet, and while I can't feel my toes, I know I'm bleeding.

Small red droplets are a trail for them, and I don't know how to stop it. If I had the strength, then I'd be crying right now. I'm uncertain how many miles I've ran, or how long I've been forced into this wicked game, but deliriousness makes me inattentive to my surroundings. In the beginning of the chase, I avoided fallen branches and snow-covered rocks, but now I fight only to keep my legs moving and my eyes open.

Barely, I can make out a thin, dark road in the far-off distance, and it's my hope. A grin forms on my frozen lips, and I sprint with motivation for the first time. I run, and I run, and I run, but fate has other plans.

Just when I see a chance at survival, a trap in the snow ensnares me. Thick, vicious claws snap into my left ankle. I clamp my hand over my mouth, suppressing the scream that pushes through my cracked lips. The tears I valiantly suppress come streaming down my pale cheeks as my knees plummet against the frigid ground.

I'm going to die, I realize with a terrible sob betwixt with muffled screams.

My gaze moves down towards where white mingles with crimson red blood. I drop my hand from my mouth, and I ignore the agony while on my journey towards survival. I'm cold and petrified, but I comb through the snow with my bare hands. Desperation pricks my skin, and my teeth fight to stop their loud chattering as the woods bellow with the three men's sadistic desires.

I expect to find my skin clamped down in metallic prongs. A trap designed for a bear, a mundane creation with an equally mundane way of escaping, but luck has long since abandoned me. Claws, not spikes, ensnare my ankle, and they're emerging from an opened door. There's no explanation for the origins of an opened door in the ground in the woods, which is painted in a shade of purple I've never seen before. Akin to amethyst and lavender, but not quite the same.

Grotesque, black nails, which are now dripping in my blood, slide through my skin with the same ease as a knife would with butter, and they pull me down, down, down through the opening that has no logical reason for existence. An ajar door on the floor of the woods, where a beast waits for its new meal. There is no light on the other side, or a morsel of assurance that death is not awaiting me, but I can't fight it. The monster is too strong, and the fight I had leaves with the pools of blood and the shock of what shouldn't exist staring back at me.

Gravity and rationality demand I stop seeing this door and the creature that drags me inside the door's opening inch-by-inch, but my eyes burn with the improbability of this reality. The scream that escapes my frozen lips is one of true terror, but it is also a beacon to my assailants, who race through the snow to capture me. My world is tilted on its axis upon the improbable, and now my fate lies in the hands of the men who are actively trying to murder me.

The creature's claws are tickling my bones, and it drags me towards unfamiliarity and undoubted death. Darkness lays in the open door, concealing the predator's face, but I can smell its putrid breath as it peels back a victorious grin. It reeks of death and sand. The smile, although I cannot see it, mocks my dire predicament.

Several seconds pass when it could've dragged me into the abyss, but it waits until the whiteness of the snow bleeds. Worse, it waits for me to gain hope as the three men round the corner. Their knives, unblemished and glimmering against the pale moonlight, find where I scream upon the ground with their flashlights. The line of light finally finds me, and they can see the claws embedded in my skin.

"What the hell?!" the sheriff yells.

The goatee man drops his flashlight in disbelief, while the third man stumbles backwards. To flee from his previous prey.

I once feared death from these guys, who are human but malicious inside, and a part of me wants to laugh. To mock my previous predicament because anything is better than the mythical monster that drags me through a door in the ground. Compared to the creature that digs into my flesh, the townie men are tame. Three mundane males stand there, their jaws slackened in astonishment, and I wish my fate lied in their hands once again.

The humans who tried to murder me in my cabin, who stare with horror slashing across their faces, are my last sight of normalcy before the creature pulls me down, down, down through a purple door that should not exist.

My screams of fear echo in a silenced, wintery forest alongside the beast's claws, scraping the door on our way down.

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I am infatuated with this story, and I'm certain that this will be my next epic book series. This story is nearest to my personal life than I've ever dared to venture before. Each Muddock and Christmas family member is based off of a real person in my life that I love dearly. If these characters seem real to you, then it's because some of them are the truth behind people that I love. 

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Updated: 12/26/2023

Word Count: 1,506