Fight For Survival

Seventeen-year-old Rachel ran through the dark forest, aided by only the barest of moonlight as their light rays filtered through the trees. He raspy breathing and her rapidly beating heart the only things she could hear. Time was irrelevant. All she cared about was her desperate desire to survive.

She couldn’t believe her situation. There was no way it was real. She was just a young woman who missed her last bus home. She had spent all day serving customers. She just wanted to go home.

Then that woman appeared. Offered her a lift in her car. She was a middle-aged single mother. She knew all the struggles of being a woman out on the streets at night.

Rachel’s foot struck a tree root, and she fell face first into the muddy soil. The impact forced the air from her lungs, and she gasped for breath. She couldn’t stay there. She had to get up on her feet again.

And run.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as Rachel forced herself to her feet and continued her reckless sprint through the darken woods. All in an attempt to flee her pursuer.

A woman.

Women were incapable of such feats of brutality. Only men did such terrible acts. That was what Rachel had been told her entire life. Only to fear men. Women were to be trusted. Women looked out for one another.

But that woman had tricked her. Pretended to be a motherly figure. Warned her of the perverted and untrustworthy men in the area. Coaxed her into her car with the promise of driving her home. She could be trusted.

It was all a lie.

The moment Rachel slipped into that woman’s car; her motherly expression changed into something darker. Something evil. She didn’t look at her like she was an innocent young girl in need of help. She saw her as her next victim.

Her violence started straight away; the moment she locked the doors. She punched Rachel several times in the face. Split her lip and broke her nose. Blood immediately rushed from her wounds and Rachel became instantly disorientated.

She remembered screaming. She remembered how she sobbed out questions and begged for mercy. But that woman didn’t listen. Didn’t care. Just told her to shut up. That she deserved everything for being a little slut.

Rachel didn’t remember the drive. Her face hurt; her head hurt. She was so dizzy. The next thing she knew that woman was pulling her out of the car by her hair and threw her to the ground. A swift kick to the ribs preceded an order to get up and run.

So, she did.

A small tree branch slapped her across the face, and she staggered on her feet. Her head ached, her legs felt weak and frail. She couldn’t keep running. She had no idea where she was. Definitely didn’t know where she was headed.

A hot, searing sensation exploded on Rachel’s thigh, and she immediately fell to the ground. A sobbing scream erupted from her throat, mingled with an echoing crack.

A gunshot.

Rachel whimpered as she clutched her leg and attempted to pull herself across the ground. She needed to get back up. She needed to run. But a sound froze her to the spot. That of footsteps. Of someone else as they walked up to her. Their footsteps casual, calm. Dominating.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she whipped her head around. Where she saw a dark figure. Of someone with a large stature, but undeniably feminine. Peppered hair shone under the quiet moonlight.

And the metal of her gun glistened under that same night.

“No…” Rachel sobbed as she tried to drag herself away. “Why are you doing this?”

That woman ignored her as she slipped another bullet into her weapon. “I thought you would be feistier than this,” she sneered, her voice icy cold.

As was her stare as she strolled up to Rachel and stood over her. She expression darkened further as she raised the rifle and with the butt of the gun, cracked it against the side of Rachel’s head.

And she fell unconscious.

*******

Rachel’s head throbbed in pain as she tried to open her eyes. Gray and fuzzy, her vision was far too murky. A low thrumming noise echoed in her ears. Everything hurt. Her head. Her face. Her leg. Her arms. Her whole body.

The scene before her didn’t make any sense. It was so dark and grey. She was in a room of some kind. Of sturdy brick walls and chains hanging from the low ceiling. Most striking, dark red and brown stains splattered across the walls.

A smell. She couldn’t describe it. A smell she had never smelt before. It was sickening. Dirty, acidly, and grimly. Of rot and decay.

More pain exploded along Rachel’s arms, and she released a quite whimpered. She lifted her head and gazed up at the ceiling above her. And she saw a pair of arms with chains wound around the wrists. It took her moment to realise that they were her arms. She was strung up; chains looped around her wrists and attached to the ceiling.

A horrifying realisation made her sick – that woman had attacked her and dragged her somewhere. Her home? And had strung her up like a piece of meat. Hung her from her wrists, her feet barely touching the floor.

Rachel dropped her head forward, her eyes wide. Disbelief washed over her. But fear and dread soon took its place. She didn’t know where she was or where that woman was, but she had to escape.

She lifted her head once more and scanned the area. But something to her left immediately caught her attention. It was close. Next to her.

A girl…

Chain was wrapped around her neck, the metal links cutting into the skin, bloody and black. The girl’s head was tilted sharply to the side, blood coating her lips and dripping from the corner of her mouth.

Rachel couldn’t even scream as vacant, death-riddled eyes stared back at her unblinkingly.

She was dead.

She didn’t want to, but she continued to stare, her gaze shifting to inspect the other girl. And immediately regret it.

Gutted. She had been guttered.

There was so much blood…

A sob lodged in Rachel’s throat as she whipped her head to her right. Tears spilled from her eyes and her heart raced further.

That was going to be her fate.

No, she couldn’t let that happen.

Rachel threw her head back and stared up at her arms again. The chains looped harshly around her wrists, but they weren’t locked in place. A small bolt held them together. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she knew she had to remove that bolt.

She desperately tried to stable herself, her toes barely touching the ground. She concentrated on using the tips of her fingers to slowly work away at the bolt. Twisting and turning. Nothing seemed to happen at first, but then she felt it – it moved. Her heart fluttered as she worked away at the bolt. Bit by bit, it moved and loosened.

Click. The bolt gave way.

The chains rattled far too loudly as the bolt fell to the floor. Rachel winced, her heartbeat increasing uncomfortably. She didn’t pause, however. She wiggled and tugged at her wrists, and as the chains fell away, she landed heavily on the ground. And collapsed to her knees.

But she was free.

She didn’t have time to celebrate. Despite all the pain, with her thigh bloody and painful from the gunshot, she managed to stand up. She purposely ensured that her gaze didn’t fall over that poor girl next to her.

The room she found herself in was completely windowless and had that smell that all basements had. But chains hung from the ceiling in numerous places, dirty and rusty. There was a single light, but it was ineffective.

She wrapped her arms around herself as she took note of a couple of doors. She had to be careful. That woman could be around somewhere. Listening. Waiting.

If Rachel encountered her again, she wouldn’t survive.

Rachel pressed her lips together as her bare feet walked across the dirty, moldy floor and she headed to the nearest door. She placed her hand on the handle, it also rusty and dirty, and slowly turned.

The single ceiling light was dim, but it gave her enough light to see what was inside the room. The small room, one with a wholly ungodly smell. Of true rot and decay. There was a pile of something in the middle of the closet-like room.

She couldn’t comprehend what was in front of her. Until something fell from the mound and rolled across the floor in front of her. And struck her foot.

An arm.

A severed arm.

Rachel covered her mouth with her hand, to smother a scream and a desperate attempt to stop herself from throwing up. Her throat tightened and she snapped her head to the side. She didn’t want to see anymore.

Severed body parts. Thrown into a pile. Kept in a closet.

That woman…was sicker than she thought anyone could be.

Rachel tried to silence her heaving as she closed the door. She wanted so desperately to sob and scream, to slam the door shut to prevent any more severed limbs from rolling out. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t make a sound.

The disgusting monster behind it all was close by. She had to be.

Tears blurred her vision as Rachel shakily crept toward the other door. Her hand trembled as she touched the doorknob. She felt shaky and skittish. She tested the handle, fearful that it would be locked. But the handle turned smoothly and creaked open. She swallowed thickly as she peered through the gap in the door.

A tall set of wooden stairs.

They were dark, dirty. At top of the stairs was a single door. With a beam of light at the foot. It reached into another room. To somewhere else. It would be dangerous, but she had to risk it. She couldn’t stay in the basement. Not with that other girl and those vile body parts.

The stairs creaked quietly under Rachel’s feet as she took one step at a time. With each step she took, her heart would beat louder in her ears. She felt faint when she finally reached the door. The handle moved smoothly under her hand, and she slowly pushed it open.

A hallway. Dark and silent. The smell of death and rot continued to assault her nose, but it had dampened, mingled with the scent of cigarettes and alcohol. The walls were covered in ancient wallpaper, that peeled and faded in numerous places. The carpet was a grungy brown, thick with dust but stained with a brownish-red substance.

The stains were more of a smear…

Rachel drew in a sharp breath through her nose and shook her head to stop herself from dwelling on the origins of those stains. How they made, who was responsible. No no no, she needed to focus. She did not want to be one of those stains. Be thrown into that closet. To have her arm…

A sharp clatter of metal from elsewhere in the building made Rachel jump, her heart in her throat. She whipped her head around in the direction of the noise. She had no idea of the layout of the house, but she knew to move in the opposite direction of the noise’s origin.

Rachel quietly shut the basement door and crept down the hallway. She wanted to rush, to run, but that would make too much noise. She tested the first door she encountered and was relieved to feel the handle turn quietly, the door itself swinging in on itself. She peered into the room, it being as dark as the rest of the house appeared to be.

With another metallic sound behind her, Rachel slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. She immediately cast her gaze around the room, desperate in her search for help or a place to hide.

It appeared to be a bedroom, but not one that was comfortable. A steel framed bed sat in the corner, under the window covered in thick curtains. There was no soft mattress on the frame, however. Just the springs and wires, with chains linked to the head and foot of the bed.

A place of torture.

She needed to find another room to hide. But before she moved on, she carefully crept across the room and peeled back the corner of the curtain. The glass was brown, covered in a vile mold. And gated in with steel bars. The wooden frame itself was nailed down. There was no way she could escape through the window. That woman made sure of it.

That woman…where was she? Preparing herself for her torture session? Heading out to get another victim? She had to be in the house somewhere.

Ok, ok, she needed to keep moving. She had to find an escape. A way out. Somehow.

Rachel turned back toward the door, only for her gaze to fall upon a piece of white cloth. Or a cloth that was meant to be white. It was probably used as a blindfold. Whatever it was used for, she grabbed it and wrapped it tightly around her wounded thigh. She bit her lips together to stifle a whimper of pain.

She didn’t know what could be on that cloth, but she needed to ensure she did not spill more of her blood. A trail that woman could follow.

Rachel paused by the door and listened, a feat that was made difficult with the thrumming of her pulse in her ears. But she couldn’t hear anything close by, and she desperately needed to find another place to hide.

The hallway was as silent as before, but she moved cautiously. The next door was just a few steps away. So close, yet so risky.

The other room was as dank as the first, but the smell was different. Pungent, like antiseptic. Numerous bookcases and wooden chests lined the walls. A single dimmed light illuminated the room. There were no windows, a mostly barren room.

Curiosity was not a good thing in a life-or-death situation, but Rachel crept over to one of the tall chests. Where a weaved basket sat atop of it. Inside was a bunch of plastic cards. Driver licenses and identification.

All of them young women. Like her. Some younger, others older. One card caught her attention. A blonde-haired woman smiled in her picture. A picture she had seen on TV for a news story. A missing person’s report.

Rachel dropped the card and covered her mouth with her hands.

That girl was dead. Her body probably in the basement. She had to have been trapped the same way Rachel had. Tricked by a middle-aged, pudgy woman with fuzzy brown and grey hair.

That woman would go out at night with the purpose of kidnapping young women. She used her motherly appearance to appeal to them. Pretending to be an understanding and sympathetic figure, purposely playing on the insecurities of her victims.

How many girls had she killed?

Rachel had to escape. She had to tell someone. She couldn’t let that woman keep getting away with her brutal crimes.

Rachel looked around the room. There were numerous bookcases, sparsely covered in books. They were notebooks, though. They were written by that woman. To detail her crimes.

Evidence.

Should she try to take some of the evidence with her? Would it hold her down?

She…

She had to try. There was a small shoulder bag on one of the shelves. She grabbed it and poured the identifying cards and grabbed a couple of books. She couldn’t carry too much. Her head, her back, mostly her legs hurt.

With the bag resting on her shoulder, Rachel carefully left the room. She looked up and down the hallway. And she jumped when she heard another metallic clatter in the same direction she had heard previously. She quickly slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her. She inched down the hallway to the next room.

The door was slightly ajar with a beam of light beckoning her. The light was brighter than any she had seen recently, and she hoped that the light indicated a window.

The smell of dust smacked her in the face as she moved into the room. Despite the low hanging overhead light buzzing quietly, the light dim and low, Rachel still squeezed her eyes shut from discomfort. After a moment, her eyes adjusted, and she looked around the room.

It looked barely lived in. Boxes and rubbish thrown about. A storage room, probably. A few old mattresses, leaned up against the wall, was located by a window. Curtained with the same kind of dark sheets as the previous room.

The sound of a door being slammed shut made Rachel jump. Her heart immediately leapt into her throat, and she whipped around to look at the door. She had thankfully pushed it shut behind her, but she feared that woman would notice the slight difference.

A moment later she heard that woman thunder up the hallway, her steps loud and harsh.

Rachel lurched toward the mattresses, hopeful that there was a small hiding place behind the leaning objects. The gap between the ratty mattresses and the wall was small, but she would squeeze herself inside, no matter what.

The floor beneath Rachel’s feet trembled in time with the footsteps outside, drawing closer as Rachel pressed herself into her hiding spot. She placed her hand over her mouth to stifle her breathing and pressed her back further against the wall. She was not religious, but she prayed in her head. For anyone or anything to keep her hidden. To prevent that woman from finding her.

“Where are you, you little bitch?!”

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut as the voice, violent like thunder, shrieked from the hallway. The stomping of feet purposeful. An act of intimidation.

They thundered past the room and further down the hallway, the windows and doors rattling as they passed.

Rachel released a shaky breath, but she waited for a moment longer. The sounds of someone else in another part of the house continued, but away from her. With great trepidation, she slipped out of her hiding spot and moved toward the door. She pulled it open just a crack so that she could peer into the menacing hallway.

It appeared to be empty.

Shakily, Rachel adjusted the bag on her shoulder and moved quietly down the hallway. In the direction that woman had stormed from.

“You little whore, do you think you can actually escape?!”

Rachel skittishly lurched forward to the nearest door and threw it open, thankful that it was unlocked. Once inside, she spun around and restrained herself from slamming it shut. She ignored the instinct to lock it. That would only alert that woman to her presence. She couldn’t afford that.

That thundering sound of feet began to move in her direction and Rachel’s heart skipped a bit. She whirled around on the spot and frantically searched for a place to hide or even a weapon to defend herself.

The room was like the first she found. Another bed without a mattress, chains and handcuffs attached to the bars. But there was a table close to the bed, it covered in rusty items. A hammer, a handsaw, a hand drill…

Another room of torture.

No no no, she could not be caught!

Rachel placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a panic attack. Her chest heaved as she once more scanned the room. Her gaze shifted to the ceiling where she found something hopeful but unexpected.

The house was so derelict that there was a hole in the roof. The hole big enough for someone to slip through. Big enough for her to slip through.

There was a small chest of drawers, tall enough for her to reach the roof. There was also a flashlight. So, she grabbed it as she scrambled atop of the furniture. The footsteps outside grew louder still. Far too close.

The hole was between two support beams which made it easier for her to scramble into the roof. Despite her injuries, she perched herself upon a roof beam, carelessly moving deeper into the darkness to get away from the hole. The flashlight worked, miraculously, and she quickly scanned her new surroundings. It was the empty cavity of a roof, not an attic. Wooden beams were bare, the insulation ratty and moldy.

Rachel snapped the flashlight off and not a moment later, the door to the room slammed open. She stopped breathing as she listened to the footsteps just beneath her. Nothing more than insulation and roof plaster between them.

“That little whore. How dare she think she can escape. I’ll make her punishment the worse I’ve ever done.”

That woman muttered to herself, her words cold and vicious. She stomped around the room for what felt like eternity. Mingled with the muttering and stomping was a metallic sound. That woman had to be gathering her equipment.

Rachel’s lungs burned as she continued to hold her breath. She couldn’t make a sound. She couldn’t afford to.

That woman finally stomped out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her. Rachel removed her hand and gasped loudly to draw air back into her lungs. She felt like sobbing, her whole body trembling. She felt so exhausted. She just wanted to go home. She just wanted to see her boyfriend. She just wanted to see her family.

Why…? What had she done to deserve this?

She drew in a deep breath to steel herself. That woman wasn’t going to let her escape. She had to help herself. She had to escape and find justice for those other girls.

Rachel slowly clicked the flashlight back on and scanned the beam of light across the darken space. From what she could see, she was in the centre of the house. There had to be a ceiling access door leading back into the house. Maybe even outside.

She just needed to keep her head. Just look around. And be quiet.

The flashlight wasn’t too bright, but it was enough to help her to navigate along the beams and archways. She had no choice but to pick a random direction and move quietly as she could.

“That stupid bitch! No, no, no, she did not just fucking escape! I’ll kill that stupid whore!”

Rachel winced. That woman was deranged. She hated girls and women. She had to. She held such hatred toward her and them.

There was the sound of a door that was slammed shut and everything plunged into silence. But Rachel couldn’t breathe easily yet. It was a trick. That woman was still around. She was waiting for her to come out of hiding.

That woman tricked her once; she wasn’t going to do it again.

Rachel moved quietly in the opposite direction of the sound. The air in the roof was dank and stifling, making her lungs hurt and her throat itch. But she couldn’t cough. No matter how badly she wanted to.

She moved one cautiously step at a time, her bare feet carefully resting against the decaying wood. As she carefully scanned the darkness with her flashlight, a dimmer stream of light was seen in the distance. Another hole in the roof, hopefully. And not the same room she had escaped from.

It took her far too long to move the couple of feet toward the light. She clicked the flashlight off as quietly as she could and carefully crouched down to peer through the steel grating covering the hole.

It…was a kitchen.

A butcher’s kitchen. Pots and pans filled with black water and crimson blood. Severed limbs scattered carelessly across the benches, staining the woodwork with yet more blood. The old oven was on, but from the angle, Rachel could not see what was inside. And she didn’t want to.

That woman was cooking her victims.

Rachel covered her mouth once again to push back the bile that rose at the back of her throat. The smell of decay and death was revolting. Nauseating. And she jumped again when that woman appeared directly underneath the grating.

Stringy brown and grey hair pulled back into a slick bun, her motherly clothing covered by a thick plastic apron. An apron that was smeared in blood. Fresh blood.

Was that…that poor girl’s blood?

A sob hitched in Rachel’s chest, but she swallowed it back. She watched, her whole body shaking with dear, as that woman stalked silently through the kitchen, wood axe in hand. On the hunt for her.

Rachel’s eyes watered with unshed tears, but she blinked them back. She needed to focus. That woman was searching for her. And wouldn’t stop until she found her. There was no way that woman would allow her to simply run away unscathed. She had hunted her down in the forest before. She obviously knew those woods better than her.

She had to find a way to slow that woman down.

Stop her.

Kill her…?

Rachel gritted her teeth. She was going to survive, no matter what she had to do. If she had to kill that woman, she would.

She readjusted the bag on her shoulder and looked around the roof space again. She noticed another soft beam of light. Probably that same room she escaped from. But there was weapons in that room. On the table.

One of them was an axe.

Rachel steeled herself as she carefully moved along the roof beams. Back toward that room. She had to prime herself, ready to do what she needed to survive. That woman chose the wrong target.

When she reached the hole in the roof, she paused and peered into the room. She saw the large axe laid across the table. The other utensils were gone, but the axe remained. Big enough for her to use.

Rachel quietly slipped back into the room, her movements slow and methodical. She removed the bag from her shoulder and placed it atop of the chest of drawers. She immediately picked up the axe and held it in her hands. The weight was reassuring.

She would use it.

Time to lure that vile, disgusting woman into a trap.

Rachel peered out through the door and listened. She heard the quiet sound of someone shuffling about. Her hearing was so crystal clear. She literally heard the sound of feet against floorboards, the sound of clothes rustling.

She could hear that vile woman breathe.

With her grip on her weapon tight, Rachel slipped out of the room and crept down the hallway. She reached a sharp corner and pressed her back against the wall to peer around. There was that woman. Her back toward her, her own weapon in hand, as she stalked through the house.

Rachel paused as her mind raced. Attack her now or draw her somewhere else? It was risky. Both options were risky. She pulled back to glance down the hallway behind her. Two doors were directly across from one another. One open fully the other partly.

Ok.

Rachel slipped down the hallway again, her feet fleeting over the carpet. She reached the partly open door first and as she hurried past, she idly grabbed the handle and slammed it shut behind her. She immediately hastened her steps as she slipped through the open door.

Not a moment later, she heard heavy footsteps. Loud and menacing. Rachel slipped to hide herself behind the door and gripped her axe tightly as that woman thundered toward her.

The door across from her slammed open and that woman stormed in, degrading insults and promises of torture on her lips. But Rachel didn’t make any of them out. Her adrenaline pumped in her ears as she stepped out from behind the door and stared out into the hallway.

That woman stood across from her. Back to her.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she slowly crept up behind that vile and murderous woman. She raised the axe up over her head. Every muscle in her body screamed in pain, but her jaw tightened and her eyes hardened.

She brought the axe down.

The axe struck that woman on the top of her head, the metal blade embedding itself halfway into her skull. Blood splattered out, landing on the wall and roof. Rachel felt resistance as she pulled back the axe, it difficult to remove from that woman’s skull.

That woman staggered around to look at her, her eyes wide. The sheer audacity to look surprised. That woman motioned for her own axe, but Rachel wielded her weapon around to chop into the side of her neck.

More blood.

The axe in that woman’s hands fell to the floor and her body slumped to her knees. Her wide eyes vacant, her mouth open on a wordless gurgle.

It wasn’t enough. Rachel brought the axe down. Over and over again.

Blood. Blood everywhere.

But she couldn’t stop. She had to make sure. Kill that woman. Stop that woman. Punish that woman. How dare she trick young woman. How dare she play on their fears. How dare she remove them from life.

When the axe felt too heavy to lift, Rachel let it drop to the floor and she heaved with breathlessness. Her head spun. Her body hurt. But there was a feeling of elation.

It was over.

Rachel let go of the axe and took a shaky step backwards. She stared vacantly at the bloody pile that was once that woman. And turned away. Her tired and dirty feet shuffled across the carpet as she moved. She paused by the room, to pick up the bag of evidence.

And just walked.

Passed the door to the basement. Through the bloody kitchen. And out through the door. Rachel staggered through the front door and out into the soft light of sunrise.