Rich Kids Don't Die | Featured

Chapter Thirty

MADDIE SCREAMED, THE DARKNESS slithering around her neck with a low hiss, the tendrils of smoke tightening around her lungs.

As the shadow tugged on her neck she thrashed in pain, her reflection on the white, linoleum school floors a sight of young terror. Behind her, Elle was bound to shining, supple blue metal, the rows of lockers behind her splattered with blood and shredded by fast, glittering claws.

The moonlight dripping from the large, paneled windows of the hallways illuminated the beast, it's silver claws the size of snake fangs ripping through skin and school books, tearing through cheap backpacks and wooden desks and the faces of all the kids Annika had known her whole life.

Ablaze, the wide corridors she'd walked through every day since freshman year rang with shrill screams. The janitor was sprawled on the floor, his cleaning supplies standing beside him and his mop submerged in a foamy, lemon-scented liquid that looked terrifyingly similar to blood.

Hundreds of students were pinned to the walls, their bodies pierced with pieces of metal rods that had previously accompanied the stairs. They lay there, lifeless, like large black letters burning into fearful minds, written into long messages pinned to the school bulletin, left for visitors to read.

A thunderous roar ran through the walls. Annika shivered, her breath entangled in her lungs like the chewing gum stuck to the bottom of the table she was hiding behind. Beakers on the shelves beside her shone in the moonlight, reflecting a warped version of her bleeding face and tear-filled eyes.

Suddenly, a loud rattle shook the classroom door. Her breath hitched, her heart collapsing under the vision of being torn apart into shreds of singed skin and pain like her friends. Turmoil swirled like cafeteria food poisoning in her stomach, and she felt sick. This was it.

The sound of screeching metal crept towards where she hid. Stools were thrown to the ground, making her flinch. There was a pause, a curious sniff, a wide, creeping grin. Next to her, the dripping scent of massacre and fear hung in the air.

She didn't have to open her eyes to know the beast was beside her. Moments later, there was a sharp slicing of air, claws springing up from the floor to deep into her skin. Naturally, she screamed, but did not resist. Instead, she waited amongst the burning sensation of teeth sinking into her arm, the prolonged, painful feeling of each fragment of her soul fleeing her body, before she finally fell dead.

Then, Annika's eyes flashed open.

Immediately, maniac laughter surrounded her. A white gauge had been carelessly tightened around her mouth. The skin around her wrists was bright red, restrained under a tight, winding rope that bound her to a brown chair. There was a weight hanging at her feet, and she understood the sensation to be her heels. She was still dressed in her clothes for the art gala.

It felt like there was a storm in her skull, her nerves erratically shooting off in all directions as she struggled to comprehend her dim surroundings. White lights overhead burned into her vision. Blinking, Annika carried the leaden weight of her bones forward before falling clumsily back again, her skin rubbing against the thick fabric of her dress.

In her peripheral vision, two figures stood meters from her, doubling over in laughter. The wretched sound angered her mind, and her thoughts arranged themselves in defense as if soldiers. Memories and fury flooded her mind. Finally, she remembered where she was.

Two beady black eyes swept over her. "I haven't tortured someone in so long," the man grinned. "Mind games are my favorite."

Drained, Annika failed to reply. Words she wanted to shoot at him latched onto her tongue, remaining unsaid. Instead, she observed him in quiet remembrance of how he had captured and brought her here.