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Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run.

Chapter 38

Fucked In The Woods

Starla

Bony, hollowed sockets stared at me through the fog.

I wondered if anybody else saw this figure, or was it just me? I was starting to believe that I lost it, until someone poked at the deer creature and took a selfie with it.

Then, the deer man started to walk towards me in a slow manner.

Oh fuck no.

I realized that I was about to easily corner myself as I was backing into a wall. So I dove around the skull figure and ran like hell. It was so fucking foggy and dark, I couldn’t navigate my way through the house easily.

Every time I thought I had success, I came across another dead end. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck my life.

I was going to die in some fucking haunted house, killed by some psycho deer man with sexy arms wearing dirty and torn clothes of a dead miner. After everything that I survived, this would be what killed me.

The deer skull followed me through the dark. The figure never ran, they only walked, like some fucked up version of Michael Myers. Always catching up to me.

I clawed through fog, through webs, through pulsing red lights that made the walls warp and ripple like meat. My feet slipped on fake blood, my body crashing from one plywood corridor to another. Everything bled color. Everything screamed at me to run.

Somewhere behind me, the heavy boots never picked up speed. They didn’t need to. Every time I turned, the deer skull was there. Waiting. Watching. Patient, a predator that knew exactly how this would end.

He had a pickaxe in his hand. The blade caught the strobe lights. His shoulders were huge, stretching the miner’s shirt until it looked like it would rip. He filled the hallway with his bulk, forcing me to squeeze through fake doors, trip over fog machines, crash into terrified groups of teenagers shrieking about nothing.

I shoved past a plastic skeleton, plastered against a spinning wall, nearly vomited from the dizziness. Hands gripped my arm, claws or gloves, I wasn’t sure. I ripped away.

Run. Run. Run. Get out.

I turned a corner, slammed my hip into something solid. Pain flashed hot and cold under my skin. I didn’t stop.

I could feel him behind me. The skull watched, eyes too empty, bottomless. The way he tilted his head—I knew that gesture. The way his arms flexed, the way he filled the space. I recognized his body, even under layers of filth.

I smashed through the last part of the haunted house—a tunnel splattered with red paint and twitching severed limbs, some actor in a clown mask grabbing at my sleeve. I screamed at him to let go. He flinched, but the deer skull didn’t.

I burst through the exit, stumbled into the cold night, almost fell on my face. People were everywhere, laughing, shaking, hands over their mouths, breath making ghosts in the air. I bent over, gasping, like I’d just escaped something real. I had.

He was there. The deer skull. Hulking, mud-stained, so solid it made the shadows move backward. The pickaxe in his hand, the bones of the mask staring down at me. The black, empty sockets. The jaw stretched too wide.

It didn’t move. It just watched.

People walked right past it, barely glancing. Just another actor, a funny guy in a mask. They thought it was part of the game.

It wasn’t.

The deer skull took a step toward me. I backed up, boots slipping on dry leaves, shoes skidding through the thin strip of grass behind the haunted house. My legs barely worked right, shaking and numb. Every cell in my body screamed. My pussy clenched, aching with horror and wanting.

Not safe. Not safe. But the way he stared at me made the space between my legs ache.

He followed.

I bolted for the edge of the clearing, the line of trees outside of the maze. Laughter faded behind me. The dappled moon hung between the trees, a menacing orb in the dark. It was my only source of light.

I couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead. Every sound was magnified, snapped and echoed off cracked branches.