About the Author: Jordan Simon (Creative Writing, Class of 2019) is at home in the realm of ink and paper. He typically writes short stories of varying genres, though his most preferred is horror. Capable in poetry and comfortable with anything relating to fiction, he is a well-rounded writer with a bit of a soft-spot for the dramatic. He hopes to use his degree to further himself in the journalism field, where he hopes to write articles and art pieces for a newspaper or magazine one day.  

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I awoke to an unfamiliar scene and in an uncomfortable position. My face was pressed hard against the cold, wooden floor; my hands were bound tight against my back and judging by the cold chills which kept ripping through my form, I could deduce that I was un-clothed, save for my underwear. My neck itched, but I wasn’t really in a position to scratch it.

The pitch-black of the room made it hard to see any more than about a foot beyond myself. “Well, shit,” I muttered to myself. “This doesn’t look very good.” My voice was raspy, and my throat burned for water, with just those few words. “What the hell did I get myself into?” I berated myself, not really expecting any kind of response. So naturally, I was shocked, and more than a small bit spooked when a foreign voice invaded my eardrums.

“What, indeed.” The voice was feminine and light-hearted, almost conversational, as though I was not currently being held captive in a dark room. As that thought passed through my head, I was filled with a sense of dread; the whole situation had finally become apparent to me. I felt a rush of panic invade my body. My heart was doing its best to burst out of my chest as I swiveled my head back and forth desperately in an attempt to discern the location of my captor.

“Who the hell are you?” I growled, my fear giving way to anger. “The fuck is this? Let me go, dammit!” I yelled angrily, thrashing fiercely in my restraints. She giggled.

“Be careful,” she chided, as if lecturing a child. “You might hurt yourself if you keep moving like that.” She spoke sweetly, her void seemingly devoid of any ill intent; yet, somehow, I knew better. I continued my incessant thrashing, unheeding of the pain as my wrists were rubbed raw and bloodied.

“Damnit, if you don’t let me go right now, I swear to God I’ll-“

“You’ll do what?” she cut me off, her voice absolutely dripping with amusement. “The way I see it, you don’t have very many options.”

…Well, way to kill my hopes.

“As you are now, you’re hardly in a position to be making demands. So, perhaps it’s best if you simply do as I say, no?” I slumped in defeat. She was right. Now, cowed, I found that I could only accept the situation for what it was.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, dejectedly. A silhouette appeared in the corner of my vision, and I turned to face what I assumed to be my assailant. I was frustrated, however, when it became obvious that I would not be able to make out a clear image. Noticing my gaze, she waved, lazily.

“Oh, I’m going to kill you,” she said, sweetly. I did a double take at first, more from the tone than from the actual statement; nevertheless, it made sense. We certainly weren’t here for tea. I nodded, despondently.

“If that’s the case, then why am I still alive?” I questioned her. “Are you some kind of pervert who likes to strip and torment naked men before she kills them?” I mocked her. She only giggled cutely in response.

“I guess you could say that.” She was awfully pleasant, for a killer. Hell, I might have even been endeared to her in a different scenario, but I digress: I sighed as my mind snapped back to the present. “

So,” I started, awkwardly. “Where do we go from here?” She brandished some kind of object, which I could not make out in the dark.

“Here, catch!”

She slid it across the floor, stopping at my knees. Upon closer inspection I realized it was an old kitchen knife, and I couldn’t help but be confused. I looked over, dumbly. “What, do you want me to stab myself?” Somehow, I could tell that she was grinning, and it annoyed me.

“No, silly!” she chirped. “A game’s never as fun, played alone.” At that, she began to walk over to the door.

“You have half an hour to cut yourself free and hide from me.” She waved, before grasping the door knob and twisting it open. “Afterwards, you’re fair-game.” She opened the door, allowing streaks of moonlight to enter the room from the window across and illuminate her image, just enough for me to make out a single, amber eye. “If I find you, I kill you. So hide well, okay? If you manage to fend me off, you continue to live until I can find you and try again. If you kill me instead, well…” She left it at that, then snapped her fingers “Oh! You’re not allowed to leave this building. If you do, well you’ll be disqualified and then that thing on your neck will execute you.” For the first time since my awakening, I noticed the metal contraption that was wrapped around my neck and cursed. How could I have possibly missed something like that?

“Alright!” she exclaimed, bringing me back to reality. “We’ll begin on the count of three.” As she said this, she was exiting the room.

“1” I swallowed, preparing to grab the knife.

“2” I began inching towards the small blade.

“3!” She slammed the door shut, and I scrambled over to the pointy object.