In the dark

A woman is on a dark road and she encounters a stranger walking down the side of the road. This event leads into a terrifying game with the mind of a killer.

1.

She was driving down the dark road in her Mercedes Benz car, looking for the main road that would her home. Her name was Linda Coffey, and she was apparently lost. Linda had been at a party at her friends house; a birthday party that had some drinking it, but Linda had sobered up ten years ago, and she vowed never to drink again at a party, so occasional toasts of champagne didn't matter, as long as it was just one glass. She had left around an hour ago. It usually took about thirty minutes to go from her house, to her friends house, but this time, somehow she had veered in the wrong direction, and now she was on an unmarked road, in the middle of nowhere, small farms dotting the rows upon rows of corn. Her car roared. She hadn't seen anybody since she had left the highway, not a single car, so it was unusually quiet except for the small roaring of the engine that sounded like the pur of a lion, if in fact lions purred. That was when she saw the man walking down the side of the road, dressed in blue overalls and a straw hat that nestled over his large head, small tufts of hair poking from below the brim of the hat. She was exciting to have see another person since she hadn't been around anybody for so long, but she was still cautious because who knew, he could be some creeper or convicted serial killer for all she knew. She drove past him slowly, hoping to glimpse his face. 

He looked in at her and smiled, his face kind and gentle looking, with thick black eye brows, and small zits that dotted his face. He was probably about twenty years old. Linda, without thinking since this man seemed nice, stopped the car.

"Hey, do you need a lift?" she asked him.

His voice drawled in a southern accent, "why yes ma'am I do." A true redneck. "Are you offerin?"

"Yea. Come on in. What is your name?" she asked.

"Hector is my name ma'am," Hector said as he entered the car. He had a long nose, and glasses that stood on the bridge of his nose. He looked to be a farmer. "What you doin round these parts?"

"I got lost. I was at a friends party and I veered off of the main road for some reason and I don't know where to go."

"Can ya drop me off at the nearest bar," he said.

"I don't know where that is."

"I'll give ya directions...anyway you such a purty woman," he drawled.

"Thanks I guess." Linda looked unsure of herself. 

"Hey, couldya drop me off at my house instead of the bar...I got plenty of drink in the minibar at my house," Hector said.

"Where is your house located at?" Linda asked.

"It's just over here." He pointed. "Turn round this corner, and go north for about half a mile. It is on the left, behind a corn field." Linda turned left and in the distance a bright, but fading farm house stood in the midst of rows and rows of corn. "There." Hector pointed at the house in the distance. Linda drove down the street in the darkness and then reached the farmhouse, stopped the car and waited for Hector to step out of the car.

"Do you wanna come in for a drink?" he asked.

"Well, I guess one won't hurt," replied Linda. She turned the car off and stepped out, walking into the house with Hector. "Your not gonna rape me are you?" 

"Don't be silly...I respect purty women like you," he drawled. So they walked into the house. It was a small, but cozy house, with a fireplace in the living room, small kitchen appliances in the kitchen, and a coat rack that greeted you once you opened the door. She stepped into the kitchen and sat down at the wooden kitchen table. A noise was going off in another room and she figured it was just the television he had forgotten to turn off once he left his house for a walk in the middle of the night. She heard a click and suddenly got worried. Linda stepped up from the kitchen table and walked back into the entry room just as Hector locked the door.

"What did you do that for?" she gulped. Hector smiled.

"Oh nothing, I always lock the door in case some robbers wanna come in and rob me. Lets go back into the kitchen." Linda turned around to go back into the kitchen. Big mistake. Hector grabbed her from behind by the mouth so that she suffocated, and dragged her into the living room. He threw onto the couch and placed a pillow over her mouth. She tried to scream, but what could've been a scream was muffled by the fabric of the pillow. She thrashed around on the couch, kicking out, trying to kick Hector, her attacker. She tried biting a the fabric of the pillow, but none of that worked. Linda felt her consciousness fading away as the pillow was clamped upon he mouth; she felt as if she was going to die, she even thought she saw the light at the end of the tunnel. 

"Quit fighting, your not gonna f****n win!!" screamed Hector. He removed the pillow. Hector grabbed Linda by her hair and threw her against the wall face first, causing her nose to break and blood to explode from the broken nose. He grabbed her once again and hit her in the face, causing blood to trickle down her lip.

And then he dragged her once again toward a group of double doors, opened the doors, threw her in and slammed them shut. She was in a closet. She learned a lesson that day. Never trust a stranger.

2.

She had gotten very sleep confined in this closet, and the sleep she did get was littered the dark dreams and dark memories of her abusive childhood, as well as her drinking problems ten years ago and the people that she hurt including her whole family. She really had no remorse for hurting her family because as a child her family had hurt her three times as worse as she had hurt them. She had been mentally and physically abused so much that the child protective services had to be called in, and Linda was taken from her family, and moved to live with another, even more abusive family, all of whom were part of a religious cult. She managed to escape those people and lived on the streets for awhile with no one, not even friends. And that was when she started drinking. She drank and got drunk all of the time, before someone, about five years ago, helped her off the streets and she became whole again. She quit drinking, but then the house she lived in with her rescuer was burglarized and she found his dead, mangled and bloody body lying on the floor unmoving, and she relapsed before telling herself enough is enough and then she quit for good. 

She was in the closet, curled up against the wall, blood trickling down her lip. Her hair, soaked with sweat and smeared with blood clung to her face. She knew that one day she would have to get the hell out of here, but she wondered when, and how she would be free once again. She was scared, oh yes she was, and she hadn't been more scared in her entire life. This was even more scary then her childhood abuse. The closet was dark a dusty, with clothes shrouding nearly the entire closet, causing her to have a claustrophobic feeling. She knew she should've trusted her gut instinct, knew she shouldn'tve picked him up, and knew that she shouldn't've have brought him to his house. But to Linda, he looked so nice.

That is how they all get you, she thought. She was curled up in a ball again remembering what had happened with her father when she was kid and all the problems she had when she was drinking as an adult. It seemed like hours had passed, but it was probably only like two hours when he had attacked her, hit her, and thrown her in this f*****g closet. Her hair was stringy, soaked with sweat, and sticking to her face, dirt smearing her arms, blood and tears streaking her face. She remembered

(her father, an evil man, hitting her, abusing her, and she thought that)

her father would get in trouble. He would. But he didn't. He just sat in the living room, drinking, in his chair like a king as if he were on a thrown, looking down at everybody else as if they were minuscule beings, like ants or something. This is how Linda felt right now. Like she did when she was a kid, after the hours upon hours of abuse that ensued every time she talked, or did anything for that matter, by an evil man who did not get arrested and jailed. 

Suddenly Linda heard the door creak open and Hector appeared, dressed in a dirt smeared under shirt. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her up, dragging her across the floor toward the kitchen, where he threw her onto the floor. 

"Here, make your self useful and make me a damn sandwich!" shouted Hector. He walked out of the room. "Oh and by the way, try anything your dead." His voice drifted from the other room. She got a piece of bread and lathered a bit of butter on it, before putting Turkey on it when it dawned on her; she was in the kitchen, with all the knives, and he was in the other room, watching TV. She opened a drawer and found a knife and slid it into the waistband of her pants. She finished making the sandwich and walked into the living room, the plate balanced on her hand.

"Here you go," she said. Linda had sweat trickling down her face. She covered the sandalwood grip of the knife with her shirt. He took a large, disgusting bite of the sandwich, and damned near spit it out. 

"What the hell did you put on here!" Hector shouted. "It smells, and tastes like s**t!"

I-I-I...I put butter and turkey on the..." but before she could finish her sentence, he punched her in the face, causing her skin to open and blood to flow. That was when she whipped the knife out and slashed it across his hand. Blood smeared the deep gash in his hand and he screamed in pain. Hector jumped from his chair and raced after Linda, trying to chase her, find her, and eventually kill her. She screamed and raced through the house, looking desperately for rooms that she might be able to use as refuge against the murderous man now chasing her.

She pushed open a door and fled inside of it, slamming it shut behind her. She pushed away some of the garbage and saw a table near the far corner. Linda crawled under it. Hector was banging at the door. He was shouting things that were unrecognizable. Linda was whimpering trying not to make a sound, the knife brandished in front of her, stained red, so if he barged through the door, she was would be ready.

He heard his footsteps retreating and she thought, yes, finally I can get the fu...

The footsteps returned. She stayed in her spot and that is the a cacophony of noise was heard as a sledgehammer was slammed through the door. She saw he dull, flat surface that would be used to smear her brains all over the place. She Hector in the doorway and he looked mad. He slammed the hammer into the door again, and this time he barged into the room. Linda screamed, the knife out in front of her, and she drew back as Hector drew closer, the sledgehammer cradled in both hands ready to bludgeon and gore her. 

She was back against a wall. There was no window in the damn room so she had no place to go...no f*****g place to go. Hector swung the hammer and she ducked, and as she did so, she stabbed Hector in the leg and then ran toward the doorway. He screamed and howled in pain as blood poured from his leg. 

He limped toward the doorway, and saw her feet as she was bounding down the ever loving stairs. He limped down the damn stairs and found her ready to leave.

"YOU AREN'T GOING ANYWHERE!!!" he screamed. He jumped over the banister and grabbed her, pushing her down, ready to kill her, or rape her and make her suffer. He had the sledgehammer in his left hand and he raised it. "Should I kill you now, or make you suffer?" he taunted. He raised the sledgehammer and swung downward. Linda rolled to the right, but the full impact of the blow crushed one of her legs. Blood was everywhere. Linda crawled across the floor, dragging her bloody leg along with her. 

She had the knife in her hand. Another small taunt. And a blow. A crater in the floor. She pushed forward up onto the counter, or tried, and once she was halfway up the counter, she fell on her head. The pain in Linda's leg screamed.

She rubbed her head and felt blood bubbling out of the back of it. She was crawling now toward the living room. Linda reached out and grabbed the edge of the carpet and pulled herself in the room. 

She saw on a mantle well above her a rifle. If she could just get the rifle...

"Get back here!" he screamed. He rushed her and she kicked out her movable foot, kicking him in the groin. He fell to the ground in immense pain. 

She dragged her leg to the couch, and slowly sat up on it. And then she stood on the couch and grabbed the rifle...

He was below her, grabbing her broken leg. She screamed, nearly dropping the rifle.

"Give me the f*****g rifle. You don't know what you are doing...just give me the f*****g thing now and no one will get hurt." She aimed the gun at him and fired. The bullet slammed his head, causing blood and clumps of hair to fly. Half his face had been blown off. Blood was trickling and washing everywhere. He let out a scream as he felt his bloody face, as well as parts of his skull. He swung the sledgehammer and she fired and fired, eventually killing him in a spray of blood that splattered everything, including her hands and faces.