Nowhere to be Seen

Ok, this is my revision for The Escape. Like I said, a bit gory.

    I tried to run, to scream, to do anything at all, but I was frozen where I stood as the hideous man, no, creature, crept toward me. I felt the terror run through me like the knife he held tightly in his left hand, and above all, I smelt the stench of the room. It choked me as I spasmodically tried to bring gulps of the fetid air into my struggling lungs. In a panic, I began to stumble backward until I tripped over one of my own burdened feet. My head hit the floor with a sickening thud that temporarily blinded me as I continued backward, stars still flashing brilliantly before my eyes and my head thumping with pain and fear.
    I looked up when my vision returned and immediately wished I hadn’t. He was just before me now, and I could see the dark, metallic smelling blood lapping at his torn leather boots, one of them with an enormous hole in the front. His toenails where long and yellowed, jagged and forced into strange angles, upwards and sideways, like little crooked teeth. I sloshed backwards frantically, searching behind me desperately for something to grab that I could defend myself with. All I felt was blood. Why was there blood?
    I could barely see in the dim cellar-like room. There was a staircase just behind me, and all I had to do was reach it. I repeated this thought to myself over and over again maniacally, becoming fraught with impatience. The man continued to give chase, and each time I flailed his spine-chilling smirk grew wider and more sinister; I was his prey and he relished every second I spent trying in vain to make my escape. I tried not to look down as I scooted back, each time causing more of a disturbance in the thick liquid we were splashing through. I gagged as a finger floated past and brushed my wrist, and wondered why in hell he chopped off his victim’s fingers. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, and when it floated by him, he picked it up, eyed me to make sure I was watching, then placed the dirty appendage in his mouth and crunched it between his brown teeth, savoring the taste and my look of disgust and horror. I understood now what this monster was. A cannibal.
    I heard the squeak of a rat somewhere in the eerie darkness beyond us. The psychopath  pursuing me grinned so wide it was as if his own rat-like face would split, then let out a high-pitched, whiny giggle. I stopped in shock at the sudden noise. He was laughing at my struggles. I felt hot anger so abruptly it was as if my very soul was blazing. I felt my face get hot, and my body shook more uncontrollably than it had been. Searing tears welled up in my eyes at the injustice of my situation. I was probably going to die, but not without I fight, I told myself, like a fool out of the movies.
    I forced myself to my feet and whipped around, catching my foot on the first wooden stair but quickly regaining my balance. My hunter howled in rage as I bounded up the stairs. Again I nearly tripped, and I turned to look over my shoulder. I was at the bend in the rickety staircase, and as the boots tread heavily behind me, the very wood bent and swung, straining to it’s limit. I tried to continue, but I felt hot breath on the nape of my neck before I could take another step.
    I tried to clear the last step, but I was snatched up by my arm and thrown down at the top of the stairs. My arm felt as if the very ligaments had been torn, and I groaned. Again, I was snatched up, but by my other arm this time, and more violently. Much more violently. I whimpered in pain, and I looked up.
    The monster before me grinned at me, then wrapped his arm around my neck and lifted my left arm with his other hand. He looked me in the eye, then looked to my arm and back, before licking his lips. He grabbed his knife and nicked a small hole in my skin just below my elbow. Then he gouged the blade in deeper, and flicked it up, taking a chunk out of my skin this time. It stuck to the knife and he licked it.
    I winced and closed my eyes, feeling more helpless than I had ever felt. I could feel my skin starting to get wet, and a sticky scarlet blanket wrapped my arm, flowing freely from the perforation in my skin. The killer and I watched it, entranced. Then, as a small drip fell from my arm and plopped softly on the splintered wooden floor, two things happened.
    First, the murderer leaned in to catch the droplet with his hand. Second, I lifted my knee as hard as I could against his forehead.
    His knife clattered to the ground as he began to fall, a red smudge from my pants imprinted on his face. I pushed him toward the stairs, and he thumped awkwardly down them. I leaped down the stairs two at a time, in a rage, and jumped on top of his sprawled body, beating him in the face with my clammy fists.
    I frantically looked about for a more effective weapon, and all that was in our vicinity was an art pencil floating on top of the wet floor. I slipped over to it and fumbled around until I finally gripped it, shaking so hard it could barely keep it within my grasp.
    I scooted back over to where the man was laying and blindly smashed the pencil in to his head. It slipped constantly as my fists quickly became soaking wet with sweat and blood. Hot tears fell from my eyes as I hysterically tried to brain the slaughterer. It wasn’t nearly as effective as his blade, but I really didn’t want to chance leaving him right then.
    I started to choke on my own breath and frenzied giggles, then leaned back, and hugged myself, shaking uncontrollably.
    My shoulders shook fitfully as I transitioned from panicked giggling to sobbing frenziedly.     Flashes of my former life flashed through my head, and I closed my eyes, knowing if I ever escaped  I’d never be the same.
    When I finally got myself together enough to stand, I looked up at the staircase, then down at the slippery floor, then at the carcass of the man who had attempted to take everything away from me. I looked around, calm now, and found something useful by the back wall.
    A long cable was wrapped up and hung on a hook above a couple of moderately sized crates stacked on top of each other. They weren’t labeled, I noticed, as I rushed over. I scared a rat in the process, whom squealed and scurried away behind a crate on the other side of the room.
    I shuddered numbly to myself, then grabbed the cord from the hook and turned around. The cord caught on the box under the hook and I yanked on it, trying to free it as quickly as possible. In my hurry, I overturned the crate and the lid burst off, spilling the contents of the box onto the concrete floor. An eyeball rolled over to me, pupil up and seemingly staring straight at me.
    My heart jumped and I grew faint, gripping on to the box as I tumbled. I felt a hand slam down on to my shoulder and I gasped, turning around quickly to try and defend myself.
    I looked down and breathed a heavy sigh of relief as I realized it was just a severed hand that had fallen onto my shoulder. I looked up and was reassured to find that my killer was still lying on the ground in the same position as he had been when he first fell down the wooden staircase. I leaned over and detached the cord from the corner of the box, trying not to look at the bit and pieces it contained. It seems like that freak has a little more than a finger-fetish, I thought to myself, cracking a half-grin at the bizarreness of my current situation.
    How did I even manage to get myself into this, I asked myself bitterly. Stuck in a cannibal’s house in the middle of the woods with no chance of being rescued. How did I manage this?
    “Am I going to survive this night,” I muttered worriedly, looking into the box. Eyes, fingers, toes, and god only knows what else, just laid inanimately in the crate. They had no answer for me, and I had no answer for myself. I closed my eyes and offered up a quick prayer, hoping something would hear my plea and assist me.
    I pivoted and crept over to the corpse, then held my breath and poked him with my foot. He did not move, so I rolled his heavy body over and began the strenuous task of wrapping the cord around his limp body.
    Once I finally finished I knotted the cord until it couldn’t knot anymore. Then I pulled the cord as tight as I could, it digging into my hands as I did so. I tried to block out the pain in my hands as I pulled harder. And harder. Only when I was afraid it would snap with all the pressure I was putting on it did I stop.
    I stepped back and surveyed my handiwork. He seemed secure enough. Sometimes that isn’t always good enough, but I was too tired to care. I sighed and rubbed my eyes,  then started to trek up the creaky stairs.
     I reached the landing and looked over the balcony. The bonds looked a little loose, but I figured it was just a trick of my eyes. I trudged heavily over to the door, stopping when I saw a glimmer on the floor. Intrigued, I looked closer.
    It was the knife! I crawled underneath a table with strange looking hand-made instruments on it and grabbed it, then stuck it under my shirt, just in case. Then tried to stand, slamming my head on the bottom of the table as I did so. I froze as a metal object clattered loudly behind me and winced, gritting my teeth and hanging my head until the last echo faded.
    S**t, I thought. If that couldn’t wake a dead man, nothing could.
    I stayed put on the floor, listening. There was the squeak of a rat, and a little sloshing sound. Then all was silent.
    Relieved and more than just a little terrified, I tip-toed to the next room and looked around. This looked like the kitchen. Everything was surprisingly organized for a killer’s house. I shook my head and moved on as quietly as I could, though the floor groaned incessantly with each step I took.
    I looked across the room and found what I was looking for. An exit.
    Thanking God, I rushed over the old door. Daylight seeped in from under it, and I felt freedom so sweet I could taste it so close, so attainable.
    I grabbed the door handle, and started to turn it. Well, tried to turn it. It was stuck fast, and I shoved on the door as hard as I possibly could, then began to beat on it, panicking. I slammed my shoulder into the door with all my might, but nothing I did helped. I was trapped if I didn’t find another exit, and fast.
    Running back into the room with a balcony, I searched for windows, holes in the walls, anything. Tears started to fall as I brooded on the injustice of my near escape. I plopped down on the floor and hugged myself tightly, rocking back and forth sulkily.
    It’s not fair. Why me? I angrily repeated this in my mind. Stuck in my own thoughts, I was startled to hear a sudden scurrying noise in the cellar.
    I froze, and slowly looked over at the balcony.
    No, I thought over and over, as I pushed myself up. I snuck up to the balcony, my mind still teeming with false reassurances. No, its over, just find an exit and leave, it’ll be okay. Im going to look down, see him laying there, and have a good laugh at my own edginess. Deep in my mind I suspected it wasn’t true, but I took a deep breath and hugged myself, glancing over the edge of the balcony anyway.
    I gasped in shock, what I saw even worse than I had suspected.
    The bonds weren’t just loose. Oh no, I’d never be so lucky. No, the bonds were far more than loose. They were completely empty.
    And the slaughterer?
   
    Nowhere to be seen.

Author's Note

Feel free to comment and critique! And thanks, Zak, for helping me improve! Any better?

Reviews

[Zak]

Bhahahahahahaha. I love how you turned the SOB into a cannibal. Great move!
You gave a great reason for there to be random body parts!

Go through it again and look for awkward wording and grammar.
This is strictly my opinion, but if you want to be within the bounds of common sense, you won't have her return to the room with the balcony at the end. Why would she go towards the cannibal, even if it is up the stairs from his supposed corpse? Instead, have her look for a way out at the balcony room BEFORE she goes to the locked front door.
And continue to read through it to find the places where your phrasing doesn't quite flow. There are certain places in a situation that fear is streamline, and others where a characters thoughts can't seem to come together. Putting that sort of thing in the sentence structure will certainly allow us to grasp her fear.

Other than that? You got some great stuff going! I love how you put her under the table and knock something off by accident. Doesn't that always happen when we're trying to be quiet? I hate it when that happens!
Genius thought on your part!
And you made a wonderful effort to make it more desperate, and in that respect it's a much better story.
Any other stories coming? :P