Gallows ✢ Stilinski | 3

EIGHTEEN

EIGHTEEN 

It was dark. One minute I was walking for some fresh air and the next minute I wake up in total darkness. I let out a whimper, realizing that my mouth was taped shut. I try to let out a scream for help, I could feel a sticky substance dripping slowly down on my face.

Yet, here again, I'm in an in a life and death situation. I thought the dead pool was over? I guess the dead pool is over, but the killings aren't. I then start to kick around in the bag I was in, feeling closed in. 

"Hey, hey! Relax!" An unfamiliar voice shouts at me, I continue to scream, I'm not taking orders from a stranger. "I'm going to open the bag!" I stopped moving, but I couldn't stop shaking from fear. "Hey, do you hear me? I'm going to open the bag."

I begin to cry, tears streaming down my face, it started to blur my vision. 'Scott!' I tried to scream out. Scott always saves me. Scott will save me. 

I suddenly felt fresh air hit my face as the bag was unzipped, I whimpered, and there was a man leaning over me. My arms were duct taped together, and it looked like I was in some sort of basement.

"It's Stacey, Stacey McCall, right?" The man said sickly, and I avoided eye contact with him. I just slowly nodded my head while whimpering. My eyes then traveled over to the set of knives that hung up and my eyes widen. "I guess you're coming to a certain conclusion." The man grinned.

The man suddenly pats my head, and I flinched. "You're not going to be leaving here." I cried some more. "It's okay that you're scared. See, contrary to traditional culinary practices, it actually tastes better for someone like me when the kills been frightened."

My body was shaking uncontrollably, Scott should be here any minute. That's when the man showed his fangs, and I looked away, crying. "Look at me, Stacey," I squeeze my eyes shut disobeying, trying to move my whole head away. "Open your eyes."

"Stacey." The man said in a more demon voice now, I screamed out, crying. Trying to get anyone's attention. Scott should hear. "Open your eyes." I turned my head slowly towards the man and the man showed his white eyes, and fangs. I gasp. 

My eyes then traveled over to someone who was standing behind the man, and it was Dr. Deaton. I felt less terrified knowing the man who was like a father to me was standing behind the man. Deaton had gotten out a stick, and the man stands back up. Deaton's going to win. 

The man went for the two metal hooks but Deaton had quickly whipped the man, making blood spurt out of his mouth, his head tossing to the left. The man had quickly started fighting, and Deaton defended. Dodging, punching, kicking.

One of the metal bars were soon hooked onto a bag that was hung in the air, and the man seemed to panic for a split second. Deaton then took the opportunity and whack the man's arm and the man had to let go in pain.

The man grabbed the other metal and tried swinging at Deaton who quickly dodged. Deaton had grabbed the arm and bashed down the metal in the man's arm, and dodged a punch the man had thrown.

Deaton had him on the ground now and was about to smash the man with the stick. "Okay, wait!" The man cried out. "The Deadpool's over. You're not gonna get paid." The man dropped the metal stick. "It's over."

"I'm not here to kill you, Patrick," Deaton said. "I'm taking you back to Eichen House. Where they all know about your culinary practices." And with that, Deaton whacks the stick across the monster's head, knocking him out.

Deaton walked back over to me. Deaton slowly rips off the tap, making me wince. "Deaton..." I trailed off, tears starting to swim in my eyes again. I quickly sit up and went to hug Deaton, wrapping my arms around him and he did the same for me. I let my shoulders relax. And for a moment, I felt safe in Deaton's arm.

✢

Scott wouldn't stop asking if I was fine on the way back from home. Deaton had dropped me off at the Clinic, where Scott was. Scott and I had our moment, where I was yelling at him, I'm fine now, but Scott wasn't having it. He somewhat blamed himself for not being there, but it wasn't his fault.