Nobody is stupid enough to venture into unknown territories, except for Ilya. Don't get him wrong! He never meant to enter that mysterious village.
Fate led him there to save, or be saved.
"Peekaboo!"
Beast is a cruel creature that used to be human...
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Two severed fingers dropped on that platform as the train left. Blood stained the concrete floor. White shattered pieces of bone poked out of wrinkled skin. Ilya never witnessed anything so gory in his life.
He couldn't move until another boom thundered in the sky.
"Jesus Christ!" Ilya took cover under a bench. "Stop shooting! I-I'm unarmed."
His breathing got faster, realizing that the shooter who had just severed the old man's fingers could be anywhere. He could be aiming at his head right now.
Ilya shuddered and covered his head. He might be safer under this bench, but not for long. He scanned this rural area he ended up in, trying to find the shooter and maybe reason with him.
This small town looked haunted. Not a soul in sight. The houses were all little cottages made of wood. The taller buildings were at the end of the town. Beyond that, surrounding the whole village, was a thick forest.
Ilya spotted his phone a few feet away from him. He took a deep breath and crawled towards it. He extended his arm, only a few inches to grab it, then—Bang!
The floor separating him from his phone was hit by a bullet. That could have been his hand. He could have lost his hand right there and then.
Ilya wriggled backward, screaming.
The gunshots kept firing more rapidly, now that Ilya's location was revealed.
The boy scrambled around the floor crawling, struck with fear, until he got up to his feet and sprinted into the village. If the bench didn't help him lose the shooter, then the houses will.
He hid behind a house, catching his breath. He swallowed and breathed hard. His chest was heaving; his whole body was shaking.
"What the fuck," he whispered over and over to himself. "What in the actual fuck."
Suddenly—Bang! Another shot almost hit him. This one splintered the wall behind him.
The boy screamed as he grabbed his head and crouched away as fast as he could. There weren't many hiding places left. Everywhere Ilya ran, the shooter always found him.
If only he could find someone to help him.
Then, in the middle of this strange village, he saw someone—A man roaming alone, so carelessly, in a foggy clearing.
This man was walking on two wobbly feet, swaying from left to right. He was making a weird sound like he was moaning.
He might be drunk. Still, Ilya decided to approach him, crouching and carefully glancing in all directions, on the lookout for the shooter.
"Help!" He hurried towards the drunk man. "Sir, can you please help me?"
The man didn't respond. The closer Ilya got to him, the louder he heard him. The drunk man's moan was coupled with a gurgling sound.
"Excuse me, sir." Ilya poked him in the shoulder, and the man stopped. "I need your help."
The man started to turn around.
"Someone's trying to ki—"
A gasp sucked the cold air into the young boy's lungs as he stumbled backward to the ground. A gasp so loud and harsh, it left him wheezing, trying so hard to breathe again. Ilya clutched his chest as he crawled away from that thing in front of him.
It used to be a man—a man with eyes, a nose, and a mouth—a man with a face and a name. However, now, Ilya was staring at a faceless somebody.
He had no face. It was all just a bloody hole with lesions of flesh like it was chewed off.
That person suddenly felt Ilya's presence. He hung his arms, extending them forward as he marched to the sound of Ilya's heavy breathing. A chilling voice came out of his exposed throat. Blood splattered out of the hole in his face with every long vowel as he moaned.
"Jesus fucking Christ!"
Ilya clumsily tried to get up, but fear took over his legs.
When the faceless man almost got a hold of Ilya, his brains splattered all over.
A headshot from the anonymous shooter took him out.
The man's body hit the ground with a thud.
Brain matter dropped all over the boy's face. He touched his face in shock, feeling the mushy raw flesh on him. He checked the blood on his hand and started breathing faster, and faster, and faster until he let out a burst of hysterical screams.
When the gunshots began firing again, he clumsily kicked himself up and ran away from the gruesome scene.
All he could hear was bullets flying everywhere. He wasn't sure if it was one shooter or more. When he stayed away from the clearing, a large rusty green dumpster appeared behind one of the houses.
Ilya took cover behind it and started crying.
"Oh, God. Please, help me."
Resting his hands on his knees, he coughed and cried. He closed his eyes and prayed for God to save him from this town and the lunatic hunting him. Blasts of gunfire kept shooting, all wild and scattered. The boy had a feeling that the shooter was having fun with him, watching him helplessly running in every direction, before killing him.
"What is happening?" Ilya whined.
The metal dumpster rang. Another bullet almost got him.
Ilya dropped down on the muddy ground, covering his ears and screaming.
Then, out of nowhere, a man's voice came, "Psst. Hey, lad."
Ilya peeked behind trembling arms. He saw a hand extending out of a door, gesturing for him to come inside the house.
"In he'e," the voice urged. "Hurry up!"
As the shots continued to fire, Ilya had no choice but to accept the stranger's invitation. He got up, sprinted towards that old cottage, and grabbed the man's hand.
With a strong pull, Ilya landed face-first on the floor of the stranger's house.
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No more gunshots, yay!
Being inside a stranger's house isn't that bad, right? Right? 😬
