LatinosUSA

I try to scream, but no sound comes out. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just do it? I attempt to move my arms, but they won’t budge, and my left arm is completely numb. What is happening to me?

I try to remember what happened yesterday, but everything is blurry. I strain to piece the fragments together, forcing my mind to cooperate. I sit there for a while, frozen, when suddenly I hear footsteps approaching. Each step sounds like a death sentence—heavy, deliberate, echoing. Or is it just my imagination? What’s wrong with my brain? Why can’t I remember where I am or what happened?

The footsteps stop. A hand settles on my shoulder, steady and firm, helping me straighten up. Somehow, I manage to balance myself. Then the room floods with light, and I finally see the owner of those heavy steps.

He’s tall, with dark hair and a long beard. His eyes are dark too—almost black. He looks like a fighter. The closer he is, the stronger the shudder that runs through my body. I want to scream, but I still can’t. I’m terrified and alone, and this man looks like he could end my life without hesitation.

“Don’t be frightened,” he says calmly, holding my gaze. “I found you in the forest, tied up and freezing, so I brought you to my cabin.”

I glance around. A warm fire crackles in a stone fireplace. I’m lying on a comfortable sofa in front of it. The wooden walls are decorated with paintings of nature—mountains, rivers. There’s nothing threatening about this room. Nothing at all. Maybe this man really is trying to help me. Or maybe I just want to believe that.

“Perhaps you were celebrating New Year’s with your friends,” he continues. “I heard a lot of noise coming from a cabin about ten miles from here. Maybe things got out of hand, and you wandered outside. You were close to my place when I found you. Can you remember anything?”

I shake my head, and a sharp pain strikes my temples. I collapse back onto the sofa.

“You may have been drugged,” he says. “That would explain the pain and why you couldn’t speak. You need more rest.”

He stands and returns with a bottle of water, helping me sit up enough to drink. The cool liquid soothes my throat. Exhaustion pulls me under again, and I fall asleep.

When I wake up, my arms can move. The numbness is gone, and the headache has faded. I test my voice. It works. What kind of drug could have caused those symptoms?

I sit up and notice the cabin is silent. Too silent. I walk to the door and try the handle. Locked.

Where is my rescuer? Surely he’ll let me out.

I turn around—and he’s standing there.

Tall. Dark. Watching me.

There’s an axe in his hand.

“Let’s play a game,” he says, a diabolical smirk curling his lips. “You run. I catch you. If I win, you die.”

The words barely register before terror explodes inside me. I scream and run for my life.