"Doors Led To Your Nightmares" (Original Short Story)

Chapter six

Moaning from sudden tiredness, Alison woke up, eyes blurry and faded out. She must've been hit with something because her head hurt bad. Her head was pounding; a headache she had probably from the hit. Her eyes slowly opened, clearing up so she could see better, and found a familiar face peering right at her again.

Alison tried to move but she couldn't; suddenly realized she was tied to a chair; arms at the back of the chair and legs tied to the feet with tight slick rope. Her hair was draped over the wooden back. Her heart suddenly dropped, her frightened.

The man chuckled. "The girl's awake..." he taunted, stretching out the word "awake" far too long.

Alison saw Tiger being held by another man; the hatted man's assistant. He held a gun to their dark brown hair, also gripping Tiger's blue plain-with-nothing-on-it shirt, making it wrinkle with his hand.

Alison went wide-eyed. "Who are you? What happened? How—"

The man stuck a knife up to Alison's neck, holding the backrest of the chair in the other, getting close and personal to her face. "Shut up or I'll cut your throat right now. Oh, but you don't want that... do you?" The man smirked, again showing his white, shiny teeth; one tooth on the top, to the left of the person's perspective of him, had a light silver knob stuck to it that wasn't there when Alison saw him earlier. It looked rather cool.

He stared tensely, like his voice was, with his pretty blue eyes at the girl's similar-colored ones behind her black glasses.

Alison looked at his velvet-colored-streaked hat, the same black clothes on that he was wearing earlier still. She swallowed backed-up fear that she was still holding down from today. She also didn't realize that she was holding her breath all this time.

The man backed up. He sighed and chuckled. "You look a little woozy, don't you, eh?" He put his hands on his hips, the way superheros do; although he was not a hero right now.

Alison looked awful, her eyes tired, her lips slightly purple. The effect had now washed over her now, making her weaker.

"Tiger..." Even her voice was weak. It came out in a whisper. She looked around wearily, like she'd been having one too many wines, which she didn't. And never will. She was fifteen; and her friend Tiger newly-turned twelve.

"Don't talk to them!" the man growled, adjusting his brown scarf. Alison snapped her head around and looked at the man.

Ali..., she's been drugged, Tiger thought. "You drugged her, didn't you?" they yelled, "That's why she looks like this!"

The man smirked and faced the man behind Tiger and Tiger themselves. "Correct,"

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" Tiger asked the questions Alison couldn't anymore because Alison couldn't speak because she was so drugged-up.

The man with the light gray hat, a velvet color going around the middle, laughed, but no answer came.

"Give me the gun." he said, dropping the sharp silver cut-clean knife to the floor from the fearful girl's neck of the second-story black-walled room, making a clanging noise against the hard metal flooring. It was an obvious two-story building—or more—because there was a staircase, decorated with an orange color, rusted off, going down to the first floor; or how many stories there were.

The assistant hesitated.

"Bruce, my companion, give me my damn gun!" the man screamed. "Now!"

The assistant gave the gun to his lead.

The mysterious man smiled as he held it; the same silver weapon he had when he was with Alison alone on that sidewalk, surrounded by bushes. He put it up to her head again, pressing it hard against her straight blonde hair and head. His eyes glimmered with evil taste, and his short-but-medium length brown hair was swaying like a faded feather in the wind, it straight like a stick. The gun for sure will make an indent in her forehead the way he was pressing hard.

Alison's eyes grew wide. "Let me go—"

"Wanna know who I am?" the man suddenly interrupted, "Bullet's my name. And I'm gonna have a little fun playing with you, little girl," He grinned a little too wide. Now he chuckled with a new hint of sarcasm. "You know, I want to see how you guys survive down here. Ha! You won't even last a second because you're all just big, whiny idiots who don't know how to take care of yourselves. Probably gonna cry and whine for your stupid mommy's comfort when I beat you up. Well, get this"—Bullet stood up from hanging on to the chair, his voice tense as it's been; taking the gun off the girl's head—"you won't freaking see them!" He laughed, more devilish. A typical villain laugh.

Everyone went silent for minutes.

Tiger yelled, "Oh, let us go! We don't deserve this! Please!"

Bullet interrupted again, not caring whatsoever. "Take 'er to the Cased. I'll handle this one just fine." He smirked.

Bruce took Tiger, with Tiger struggling, screaming also for their friend, to the Cased Room, where the victims get locked in.

Bullet sighed as he unbounded Alison from the chair, letting the rope fall, and with her, dragged her to the so-called Examination room.

Alison slightly struggled—but weakly—to get out of the grasp.

"It's time for you to begin your fears, Alison... And for me, to have a little fun also," He still had that satisfying tone at his voice, which still could steal any woman's heart if he could. But he wasn't up for dating right now.

With Alison restraint to a stretcher-like bed—in a different room—she was unable to move while her hands were buckled down—her legs too. She had no idea what was going to happen next as she looked up at the cement ceiling, eyes sleepy all of a sudden. The drugged feeling she had hasn't worn off yet, but soon it will; making her realize she was in the worst possible state of her life this very moment, and it won't be very pretty.

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