🔴 HE WHISPERED “NO ONE WILL BELIEVE YOU” AS HE LOCKED THE DOOR
I choked on the stale air in the basement, unable to scream as he blocked my path. He just stood there, silhouetted against the weak bulb light, grinning.
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he hissed, his breath smelling like cheap whiskey and something metallic.
The old record player whirred in the corner, stuck on the same warped groove, a rhythmic scratch that clawed at my sanity. My fingers were numb from the cold concrete floor as I tried to scoot back away from him, away from the boxes, away from the photos.
The photos. Piles of them. Photos of me, taken without my knowledge, taken at different angles, different times.
“I just… I don’t understand,” I stammered, my voice cracking.
He leaned in close, his face contorted, and the smell became overwhelming.
“You understand perfectly,” he replied. “Now you’re just another one of my treasures.”
Then I heard a car pull up fast outside, screeching to a halt.
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He spun around towards the small, grime-caked window high up near the ceiling. His grin vanished, replaced by a flicker of alarm. “Who is that?” he muttered, more to himself than me. Another car door slammed, followed by heavy, urgent footsteps crunching on the gravel path outside.
He hesitated for just a second, looking from the window back to me, then towards the door behind him. The lock seemed too slow in his fumbling hands as he unlatched it, casting one last menacing look my way. “Stay put,” he growled, though his voice lacked its earlier confidence. “I’ll be right back.”
He slipped out of the basement door, pulling it shut but not re-locking it entirely. The moment I heard his steps pound up the wooden stairs, I scrambled. My numb fingers clawed at the cold concrete, ignoring the boxes and the terrifying photos. I reached the bottom of the stairs just as loud voices erupted from the floor above – shouts, a thud, the sound of something crashing.
Adrenaline coursed through me. This was my chance. Pushing the basement door open a crack, I peered up. I could hear the struggle continuing, muffled but violent. I couldn’t see anything clearly, but I recognized one of the voices – frantic, demanding, shouting my name. It was Mark, my brother.
Taking a deep breath, I burst out of the basement door, stumbling onto the main floor. The scene was chaos. Mark was grappling with the man who had trapped me, pushing him back towards the kitchen. Another person, a police officer in uniform, was shouting orders, trying to separate them.
“She’s down here!” Mark yelled, pointing towards me.
The man’s head snapped towards me, his eyes wide with surprise and fury. He shoved Mark away violently and lunged. But before he could reach me, the officer intercepted him, tackling him against the wall. A brief, fierce struggle ensued, ending with the officer subduing him, forcing his hands behind his back.
Mark rushed over to me, wrapping me in a tight hug. “Oh my god, you’re okay!” he choked out. “I knew something was wrong when you didn’t answer. I tracked your phone… I called the police.”
I clung to him, tears finally streaming down my face, the fear slowly starting to recede, replaced by overwhelming relief. The officer, after making sure the man was secured, came over.
“Are you alright, miss?” he asked gently. “We got him. He’s not going anywhere.”
I could only nod, burying my face in Mark’s shoulder. The basement, the photos, the chilling whispers – it all felt like a nightmare that was finally, mercifully, over. The stale air was gone, replaced by the scent of the outside world rushing in through the open front door, bringing with it the promise of safety and sunlight.