An empty house is an empty house. Why it’s vacant may be a fantastic story or a boring one. The previous owners could have simply moved, unable to sell the dwelling. Perhaps they were all brutally murdered while they slept. An empty house is still an empty house.

Even though it may seem that way, the house we visit now is not empty.

Not now, at least.

A girl wakes with a start. She yelps as her eyes open. Terror increases the beat of her heart. The pores of her skin open as trembling sweat falls from them, making her body sticky.

The world around her is dark. It renders her no comfort, only despair. She struggles to move to no avail. Ropes bind her arms and legs against a worn wooden chair. Any attempt at screaming is cut off instantly by the moistened rag bawled and stuffed inside her mouth.

“Hrraaaaa!” the woman screams anyways. The gag muffles the noise. She knows it’s helpless, yet she still tries. This is a visage of hope, a determination to scream. Not screaming at all symbolizes an acceptance of death. The girl has not reached that point.

Not yet.

Moving makes the girl’s body hurt. Every inch distorts the world red and yellow with agony. And yet, the girl moves. She must. She needs to. There is no other choice for salvation.

Dried blood sticks to the woman’s skin like a morbid coat of paint. It darkens every inch of her body from her toes up to her chest. The color barely stops before her neck. It and her face are saved from the torment that released this blood. Cuts of different shapes, depths, and sizes line the poor girl’s flesh, marring it for life.

The girl can feel it. Her bare body is weak and cold. Death awaits her, though she does not know when.

The girl is fed and given water. A bucket sits beneath her seat. The stench of the container and her body stings her eyes, but she’s glad it does. It means she’s alive and her captor hasn’t come in many hours.

Though she’s tired, the girl has barely slept in days. Though she is hungry, it is hard to keep food down without vomiting. Even still, she is forced to eat by her captor. Otherwise, she won’t have the energy to survive.

All she can feel is pain and fear. Time does not exist in this darkened room. Only a period, an ending to a sentence. The final punctuation in the book that is her life.

Even though she feels this in her soul, the girl keeps writing, hoping her story won’t end. When she screams for help. When she tries to pull apart her restraints. When she makes her chair shake, hoping it’ll fall. Every action screams “not yet.”

“HRAAAAAGH!” the girl riots through her gag. It’s a weak noise, but still a noise.

Footsteps signal overhead as a door shuts causing the floorboards to creak.

The blood in the woman’s body runs cold. Sobs leave her as her hope begins to falter. She recognizes the cadence of those feet. All they bring is pain. Her composure completely disappears as she thrashes about in her seat.

“No more cutting! I can’t take it anymore! No more slicing me! Stopitstopitstopitstopitstopitstopit!” she screams into her rag. The words come out as a gargled waste.

The poor girl can feel her flesh being cut even though no one is with her. It’s a sensation her body is prepared for. She’s gotten so used to the feeling, she can imitate it neurologically without any external act.

The steps move to the staircase leading to the basement where the girl resides. Her thrashing continues. Even though it tires her. Even though it’s pointless. She wants to leave. She has to. Otherwise, the pain will not end. Not until she dies.

“I don’t want to die!” That gasp for life burns within her brain.

The feet hit the steps. Each one creaks. The sound is unnerving.

The girl can barely see her tormentor’s outline in the shadows. He’s a tall man. Based on how he touches her, she can tell he’s some sort of craftsman. His hands are calloused. Hard. Like a blacksmith or a farmer. His demeanor is dark. It only excites when he’s cutting into her flesh, listening to her screams. The girl has never seen his face save for the morbid mask he wears.

The man walks towards her. Slowly. He takes his time. Time is his in abundance. For the girl, she has no such privilege.

All she can see of him is the mask that haunts her dreams. It’s completely white. Dark smudges around the eyes and mouth give it a sinister, child-like appeal. His eyes seemingly glow within the mask sending shivers down the young girl’s spine.

Still, she wishes to live.

Even with this fear.

This torment.

Hope.

She still has hope.

The girl continues to protest, screaming into the rag.

“Did you sleep well?” the man asks.

Screaming remains his answer.

“Some of your wounds are beginning to infect.” The man kneels before her. His body is embroiled in black clothing. “Can you feel your legs?”

The girl tries to kick at him but said legs are bound.

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“You have a lot of spirit left in you,” summarizes the man after a moment. “Hmmm? Shall we get started?”

The girl feels a smooth steel caress her inner thigh.

Tears fall down her cheeks as she readies herself for the pain.

It never comes.

The ropes around her feet slacken.

Blood rushes to the girl’s forehead as her brain works overtime to comprehend what is happening. She still cannot recognize anything as her hands are released from their burden as well.

Her body falls forward to the floor as reality finally hits her: she’s been released.

Painfully, the girl claws her fingers into the dirty basement. She feels her nails break off as they grind into the surface. Her feet push her forward until she’s crawling away towards the stairs. She knows not why she has been released, but she will not let this moment go to waste. Finally, she is free.

“Be safe heading home!” chides her tormentor as the girl claws herself forward.

The girl hears these words. They’re confirmation. She’s been released. The girl removes the gag from her mouth to improve airflow. She chokes as it pulls out. A cough leaves her. She has no words to say as gasps violate her throat.

Painfully, she rises to her feet. It stings, for there are cuts on the bottom of each foot. The infection her tormentor mentioned makes her body feel raw. Only when she’s standing does she realize how weak she truly is. Her body feels twenty pounds lighter. Quarts of blood were steadily dredged from her over many days. Everything feels like a hazy dream.

It takes every ounce of her remaining strength to climb those stairs.

At the top, she falls forward

“Is that it?” a voice sounds behind her.

Terrified, the girl looks to the source. The masked man stands over her. His body is still shadowed in darkness. Only the white of his mask seem to illuminate in the darkness. Even though he stands a few steps below her, his gaze burrows into her soul.

Grunting, the girl continues to crawl.

“Atta girl,” says the man. “You can’t give up when freedom is within your grasp.”

Ignoring him out of fear, the girl tries to stand. Her body is too weak. She crawls across the floor until she reaches one of the only pieces of furniture in the room, a dusty couch, and pulls her weight onto it. Sweat floods from her brow at the tremendous effort she puts in. It is not in vain. She makes it to her feet. Her entire body is shaking.

Pain is the only thing she can feel.

Beneath it, hope. Pure hope.

The door calls to her. The woman crashes into the wall beside it, leaning for support. Her fingers, stained with her own blood, desperately pull at the nob. They slip, causing her grief. She fully grasps it on a fifth attempt. Pulling that simple door open takes all her power.

Cool air rushes against her tattered flesh as she makes it outside for the first time in days.

The man claps behind her. “Bravo!”

Crying, the girl tries to run. At first, it’s a painful motion, but adrenaline slowly strengthens her frame. If she were in top shape, she might be able to run normally. Even with new energy flooding her body, all she can really do is stumble quickly on two feet.

There’s no sign of civilization in sight. The girl does not care. She charges forth into the forest. Brush and tree limbs slap against her skin. They aggravate her wounds, but she presses onward.

Hope.

She still has hope.

Pinecones cut at the bottom of her feet. The moons are non-existent on this night. Their glow does not provide any guidance, nor do the stars in the sky through the covering of the leaves above.

The girl crashes into trees, stumbles over logs, and is swarmed by bugs.

Hope.

She still has hope.

Time has forgotten the girl. She knows not how long she’s been running nor if she’ll ever reach salvation. At any moment, an animal could attack her. She could fall down a ravine. She might stumble onto a bandit camp. Anything and everything could go wrong.

Hope.

She still has hope.

Lights flare in the distance. What looks like a castle breaks into view.

The girl begins to cry.

Weakness takes over her body.

Only a few more steps.

She knew it. If only she kept trying, kept fighting, she’d make it out alive.

Hope.

She still ha—

Her body finally collapses.

The girl is surprised by this outcome as her face bashes against the ground. Twigs and leaves scratch up her body. She offers no resistance to the action. Try as she might, her limbs will not move. Her stamina is gone.

Once again, tears leave her face.

“This is as far as you could go?” a voice sounds in the darkness. “You almost made it.”

The girl continues to cry.

“You’ve made it the farthest out of anyone. I want you to know that,” the man says in a sly voice. “Castle Grey. Ironic. I work here, you know. You really did run far.”

The girl cannot hear him. Her heartbeat is so loud in her chest. It’s the only thing she can fixate on. Nothing else. It proves she’s alive. It’s all that matters. It’s everything.

“If you have anything left in you, I’ll give you a chance. You’re only a few feet away from salvation. No tricks. No lies. It’s why I’ve never shown you my face. It’s why I have the mask. My word is my bond. If you can make it to freedom, it’s all yours. Or has your body finally given up? Ah, what am I saying? I already know the answer.”

Hope.

Where did you go?

The girl does not move.

“A pity,” the man coos.

The girl feels her head being pulled as fingers grapple within her hair. It rises off the ground until her neck is thrust out before the world.

The cold kiss of steel gently glides across her neck.

The colors around blend from red to gray as the life leaves her. Soon, the world at the corners of her eyes begins to envelop in a slowly encroaching darkness.

Her body is flipped over.

The man slides his mask off his face.

For the first time, she can see him, the face of the man that ended her life, as he looks down at her with an expression mixed with ecstasy and black, bottomless sorrow.