Melly's eyes drifted to her left. The blade of a rusted fire axe, crusted with old blood stains, jutted out from the bleachers only a few inches away. Her breaths came out short and ragged, panic prickling at the edges of her chest. She couldn't even begin to process what she was seeing.
Behind the axe, the man grumbled, each exhale a wheezed hiss.
Then it came. A girl's sob, disturbingly human, yet wrong. It wavered in pitch, rising too high before cracking into a guttural croak that echoed through the school's hollow halls.
He turned at the sound. Without hesitation, he hurried towards it, chains clattering across the gym floor, each metallic drag jerking Melly's nerves tighter.
"I hear you! Dead. Dead. DEAD!"
Melly risked a glance over the bleachers. Mr. Rivenhall's back quickly receded into the haze, but the sight of him rooted her with horror. His clothes were soaked in blood. His skin, now tinted gray, sagged and shifted unnaturally as if it had been peeled away and forced back on wrong. The salt path leading from the closet now smeared across the floor in his haste.
The gym doors slammed open under his hand. His incoherent babble carried down the hall, each syllable unraveling into the distance until the sound finally dissolved.
Melly sat frozen, spine pressed hard against the bleachers for god knows how long.
What was that? That was Mr. Rivenhall... wasn't it?
She curled her knees tight against her chest, her hand still clamped over her mouth to smother her ragged breaths. She waited. Waited to wake. Waited for something or someone to pull her away from this nightmare. Sweat pooled in her palms until they slicked against her skin. No waking. No relief. Her eyes darted across the gym, restless with panic. The exit loomed only meters away.
She glanced back over her shoulder. The gym stood empty. Mr. Rivenhall didn't return.
Her hands shook as she pulled off her shoes and clutched them in one fist. Rising slowly, silently, she tiptoed to the exit. The handle was cold beneath her damp fingers. She eased it down, the latch groaning faintly, and inched the door open.
She slipped through and paused, inspecting the world beyond.
At her feet, the salt path continued through the grass. But beyond that, nothing. The thick fog smothered it all, her visibility fading after only twenty meters. Overhead, a blue haze spread like poisoned miasma across the sky.
Her hand lingered too long on the door, as though she couldn't bear to let it close. Carefully, she eased it shut while holding her breath, refusing to let it click.
Once shut, she turned back to the outside with a shaky breath. She put her shoes back on and followed the white lines guiding her. With each step she inspected her surroundings until she finally reached the front gate of the school. The path stretched onward, winding down the middle of the road towards the residential homes.
Melly pressed forward, careful to stay within the borders of the salt path, silently praying that it might guide her back home and not splattered across the pavement. But as she continued down the road, the silence didn't last. Faint, scattered whispers threaded through the fog like its own living entity. They were barely audible, yet unmistakably directed at her. She couldn't catch the voices, too soft and broken, but she felt them pricking at the edges of her mind. Prodding. Picking.
Always just beyond reach, as though they couldn't breach the thin barrier of salt around her.
Her eyes searched through the fog, but the voices had no shape. Luckily for her, it didn't take long for them to leave. That's when she saw him.
In the distance, a figure stood by the sidewalk. She strained her eyes, making out a stiff man with a worn, thick coat staring right back at her. She halted, wondering if this was the person Kaines wrote would pick her up.
"Sir...?"
Her voice barely came out as a whisper.
...
The man suddenly lurched forward then broke into a sprint. His fist tightly held an empty beer bottle by the neck as his arms flailed wildly, desperate to grab onto any part of her. Angry grunts tore from his throat, growing louder and harsher with every pounding step. His skin was gray, warped and molded wrong just like Mr. Rivenhall's.
Melly froze, shock locking her in place until his boot came down inside the salt path, scattering pale grains across the pavement.
The sight knocked Melly to her senses. A raw, piercing shriek ripped from her chest, louder than she had ever thought she was capable of. Instinct seized her. The world seemed to slow just for her. She spun the opposite way and ran for her life.
But she didn't get far.
Pain seared through her scalp as the man's fist clamped onto a handful of her hair, yanking hard enough to drag her off balance. She hit the ground with a cry, the pavement tearing her palms raw, blood smearing across the concrete.
Dazed, she blinked up, only to find him looming over her with an iron tight grip on her hair. His eyes bulged, bloodshot and frantic, jittering in every direction as if he couldn't keep still. Melly's face morphed into one of utter terror.
"Why are you looking at me like that? It's just one drink."
The words crawled out of his throat in a guttural groan, twisting into a wet rasp as he lifted the bottom of the bottle to his mouth. His jaw creaked wide, and he bit down on the glass itself. His yellowed, rotten teeth scraped across the rim, scratching against the glass with a sickening grind.
Melly clawed at his hand, desperate to pry herself away, but his grip only tightened. He removed the bottle from between his jaws, raising it high above his head.
Melly's eyes widened.
Then it came crashing down.
Pain erupted through her skull for a split second, then darkness.
…
Melly's eyes fluttered open. A crushing throb pulsed in her head. Her face stung where shards of glass still clung to her skin, while her vision swam red from blood trickling down the gash in her forehead and into her eyes.
But the worst pain tore at her wrists.
She lifted her gaze and froze in horror. Her arms were crossed, wrists nailed into a lamppost, pinning her flesh to metal. Blood streamed down her arms in hot rivulets, dripping across her legs and spattering to the ground below. A strangled scream crawled up her throat only to die when she felt cold, calloused hands seize her left leg.
A rough, wet tongue dragged across her calf.
Her head snapped down. The man from before knelt at her feet, his face smeared red, lapping at the blood running down her legs like a starving animal.
Melly shrieked, instinctively jerking her leg back in disgust, but his hand clamped down with bruising force. He slammed her leg against the lamppost, bone smacking against metal with a loud crack. She screamed, tears spilling hot down her cheeks.
"Quit it, you bitch! I just need a drink! Just one more..."
The man's voice broke into a feverish ramble as he dragged his tongue lower, licking at her shoes before bending to slurp the blood pooling at her feet.
Melly saved herself from the uncomfortable sight. She choked on her sobs, her body wracked with pain. Every shift of her weight tore fire through her wrists. Her strength was slipping fast.
The man smacked his lips at the taste, staring in awe at the blood trickling into the pavement. Then, slowly, he crawled back into the fog with an expression twisted in shame.
"A drink never hurt nobody… What right do you all have to judge me?"
His muttering faded into quiet sobs, leaving her nailed and bleeding, body sagging under its own weight. She pushed feebly against her toes, desperate to ease the tearing agony at her wrists. Her lungs rattled with shallow, broken breaths. Her eyelids sank heavy, consciousness slipping in and out in fragments. She didn't know how long she hung there in the silence.
…
Then—
A low voice stirred her back awake.
"You poor thing."
Standing before her was a man who looked to be in his late twenties. Wispy brunette hair fell to his jaw, curling at the ends. He wore a full suit, complete with a vest, all in a muted shade of brown. His eyes, grey and heavy with pity, stood out against the smooth tawny warmth of his skin which dulled only by the unnatural blue tint of the world around them.
In his right hand, he carried a hammer. Cradled in his left arm was a paper bag full of salt, which he frugally sprinkled in a circle around them.
Melly had half a mind to resist, to thrash herself free before he could come any closer. She twisted against the nail, animalistic grunts escaping with each desperate movement. But the attempt only sent sharp, searing pain shooting down her arms, the wounds bleeding more with every pull.
The man's eyes widened. He raised his hands in front of her, voice low and urgent.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa… don't do that! You're making it worse."
Her strength faltered. Too exhausted, too battered. She slumped back against the post, her body trembling. She had lost so much blood she couldn't fathom why she was still awake. Why she wasn't dead.
The man stepped closer, picking shards of glass from her face before flipping the hammer in his grip. He angled the claw toward the nail piercing her wrists.
"Don't scream," he murmured.
He wedged the prongs beneath the nail and pried. Flesh tore as the nail shifted, hot pain flaring down her arms. Melly lowered her head, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched, forcing herself to only let out a hiss of agony through her teeth.
At last the nail came free, clattering onto the ground beside her. Her arms dropped limply to her sides and she slid down the lamppost, the metal still slick with her blood. Her fingers refused to move, her wrists burned, her leg swollen and useless.
The man crouched in front of her, meeting her gaze without wavering. His eyes brimmed with conviction.
"Can you walk?"
With his help, Melly forced herself upright, taking a single step before her leg gave way. She stumbled forward but he was already there, sliding an arm under her, steadying her weight before lowering her gently back down.
"Alright. I've got you. Just hold onto me."
He stashed his hammer in his belt, lifted her into his arms, and pressed her against his chest. With one hand he held the bag of salt, and with the other he scattered steady lines before them, laying a path as he walked.
"Don't let go. And don't fall asleep."
His voice carried calm authority. She clung tighter to him, resting her chin against his shoulder. The lamppost where she had hung faded away into the fog, disappearing with each careful step.
Only the faint rustle of salt and its patter on pavement filled the silence, while Melly bit back the tremor in her lips.
"What's your name?" the man asked gently.
She drew in a dry breath.
"...Melly," she rasped.
"Melly," he repeated softly, as if committing it to memory. "My name is Austen Evander. I'm not like them. I'm human... like you. You're safe with me."
Her arms tightened around him, desperate to believe his words, though doubt continued to gnaw at her. She remained silent, eyes scanning the fog, but saw nothing beyond the faint trail of salt they left behind.
Then, off to the left, another salt path intersected with theirs.
"Here we are…" Austen said, sprinkling to connect the two trails. He turned down the left path, his pace quickening now that he no longer had to lay the salt himself.
He walked with her cradled to his chest, the steady thud of his shoes marking time. Twenty minutes passed, yet it dragged like hours in the suffocating fog. The silence stretched between them until Austen abruptly slowed... then pressed forward again.
As he continued, Melly saw them next to her.
Two girls lay sprawled across the pavement, their bodies desecrated beyond recognition. One was severed at the waist, her lower half gone entirely. Meanwhile, The other's head was pulverized into a grotesque pink and red mash. Both wore the same school uniform as her. Fresh blood still seeped from shredded flesh, dripping sluggishly from their orifices.
Melly's breath hitched. Her eyes widened and she quickly tore her gaze away. Her stomach twisted. She gagged, bile threatened to climb up from her throat.
Behind her, Austen let out a shaky exhale. His earlier confidence vanished at a problem far worse than he was prepared for.