FicWad

You're here.

You're in this house.

You're heading towards my room.

Your footsteps echo like gunfire as you stomp on the wooden floorboards.

"Run, Frank." you hiss. "Run. I want to see you try."

I'm trapped.

Your clawlike hands have reached the door handle. My brain erupts into a serious of panicked thoughts and ridiculous escape plans. I smash the only window in the room, and glass flies everywhere. You fling the door open with a loud bang, and you march inside, a sick, twisted smile on your pale, pointed face. Before you can catch me, before you can drag me down to hell with you, I ram myself through the window and land on the soft grass near the vegetable garden.

The air is knocked out of my lungs, and for ten seconds I lie there, breathless, wheezing and afraid.

So fucking afraid.

I hear you charge down the stairs, cackling as you do so.

"Frankie! Frankie! Come out and play!"

You're crazy.

You're mad.

With a gasp, I get back on my feet and hurl myself over a fence. I run blindly down the road, my heart about ready to explode in my chest. A burlger alarm goes off somewhere, and I hear you angrily screaming my name, howling into the night, like an angry werewolf. Across the road, the bedroom lights come on in Mr Philips's house. I know what's going to happen.

He'll walk out of his home, and investigate the cause of all the yelling. He's a busybody like that. But you'll find him first, and when you do, you'll kill him. Slowly and savagely.

I stop dead in my tracks, my conscience getting the better of me.

I want to help him, I want to go back.

But then, like a tidal wave, the words of my murdered father creep back into my head.

"Frank, If they comes here, we'll both run. If one of them kills me, don't stop and don't look back. Just run."

Just run.

So I close my eyes, bite my lip, and continue to dash down the road. Try as I might, I fail to block out the loud, hoarse, drawn out scream of an old man as he gets sliced to death by a butcher's knife, followed by the maniacal, insane laughter of a psychopathic killer as he empties another living thing of its blood.

[A/N: I'm sorry I'm such a psycho. I just like writing stuff like this. Idk if I'll continue this. It depends on the feedback I get. But if I do keep this up, there will be frerard. I promise, ok? Title comes from Asking Alexandria.]