𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑, matt sturniolo

𝒐. ▬ prologue.

Ellsworth, Maine
October 31, 1989
11:37PM

          My legs ache as I sprint down the dimly lit street. Behind me, I see that the blood rushing out of me has left a trail and has stained the pavement. I clutch onto my stomach tighter whilst I continue to run, dismissing the agony though my hand is painted with so much red that the color is starting to make me qualmish. I can't spot a single person wandering the streets, all in fears that they might be next.

I glance back once more, seeing no one there.

Just ahead of the end of this neighborhood, I see the familiar structure of the police station. It only motivates me to run like I'm in a marathon. My heart is pounding against my chest so vigorously as I sprint with millions of unanswered questions in my head. The street is far too quiet and empty for me to make it to the station with just a wound to the stomach. I cry out a painful groan as I feel my wound begin to ache much worse, making me halt in my tracks because every step I take seems to worsen my agony. Crouching, I pinch my eyes shut whilst the pain overtakes my body.

What did I do to deserve this?

I express my pain loudly, tears that I didn't know I still have form just above my waterline. My drowning eyes glance at the police station not too far from me, the waterfall causing my sight to become blurry. I squint, though it does not help. My tears will not stop flowing down.

I'm close.

I can make it.

I think.

I have to.

I need to.

Slowly, I get up and immediately, I feel the throbbing sensation shoot throughout my entire body. I check my sounded stomach; still flowing pints of cherry red blood like there's no tomorrow. I have never dreaded each step until this very moment, feeling weaker by the second to the point where I think about surrendering.

It has been more than ten seconds, and the familiar silhouette is nowhere within my sight and that terrifies me more than seeing a spider an inch away from me. I gulp as I pivot my body all around to be wary of my surroundings; still no one. I turn in a semi-circle, stopping at 180 degrees to gaze with much melancholia at the street leading up to my house where I abandoned those I love to save my life. My father, my sister, I do not know if they are still alive or covered in their own blood.

"Run," the voice in my head whispers to me. I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of my tears roll down my face. I do not know what to do. I want to run, but my bare feet are glued to the pavement beneath me.

Run.

I can't.

Run.

I need to save them.

Run.

I cannot bear to drown in insurmountable grief if I live and they do not. I cannot handle the survivor's guilt.

Run.

I run down the dark street back to my house, the porch light still on. My heart pace is quickening with every step leading to the unlocked front door. I divert my gaze at the door knob, noticing the blood that was not there when I ran out of here to save my life.

Whose is this?

No.

It can't be.

I begin to hyperventilate, my throat closing up as it gets harder to breathe whilst I attempt to process it all. I fall to my knees, clawing at my neck as if it will help me breathe. The river of my tears return, this time the stream flows with more power. I can't think. I can't talk. I can't comprehend. I just can't. With shaky hands, I lift myself off the ground whilst trying not to break down even more. I open the door as delicately as I can, the silence inside terrifying me even worse. My father and my sister could be here, fighting for their life or not.

The walls are splattered in fresh coat of cherry red. Picture frames that once hung proudly on the white partitions are now on the floor, broken glass surrounding them. One of the cordless landline phones lay on the floor by the stairs, some of the numbers on the dial pad are stained with blood. Broken vases are scattered around the main foyer, some of the wilting flowers on the ground.

I feel sick.

I gain the courage to step one foot inside after a few moments, my hands trembling, and my knees buckling. The wooden floor creaks beneath my foot, causing me to hold my breath and freeze in my tracks for a second. The house is eerily silent. Way too silent. I could get attacked at any moment, and I don't think I can handle losing any more pints of blood.

Just as I was about to enter my home fully, a hand covers my mouth, pulling me back with the other hand across my mutilated stomach. I scream into the person's hand, only for it to be muffled. I try to rip their hand away whilst my salty tears fall onto their hand. Is this how I die? But I don't want to. I want to live.

I feel the person's breath ghost over my ear, whispering words that causes me to stop resisting and raise goosebumps all around my arms.

"I told you to run."