WARNING! THIS STORY CONTAINS DESCRIPTIVE SCENES OF BLOOD AND GORE AND CUSS WORDS. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 10 YEARS OF AGE. OR IF YOU DON'T LIKE HORROR. FIRST TO READ: @clueless_game (So, follow her pls.) “Pick him up! We gotta go!” Damian yelled over the screaming snow. Armi and Wade picked Allan up, and they took off. They made their way around mounds of snow and made it to the front of the building. Damian glanced down, seeing Allan’s blood still pouring out of him. “I’ll take him!” Claire yelled, jumping onto her bike. Wade and Armi hoisted him over her bike, and she took off. Claire dodged the fallen trees, and rode over the broken twigs. She reached the main road, and she headed towards her house. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you fixed up, Allan.” she whispered. Or at least, I think we will . . . When she reached her house, she jumped off and grabbed Allan, pulling him off her bike. “Come on, Allan. Work with me here!” she said. She hoisted one of his arms over his shoulder, then walked up the stairs. “Dad!” she yelled, knocking violently on the door. A minute later, a large man flung open the door. “What happened?” he asked sternly, taking Allan from Claire. “Long story. He needs help!” Her dad nodded, then picked Allan up. “I can help.” Her dad rushed him into the guest room, and laid him down carefully on the bed. Claire ran in the room and shut the door and locked it. “Thanks, Dad.” her dad waved her off. “It’s what I do.” Claire pushed the lounge chair over beside the bed. “How do you fix. . this?” He examined Allan. “Hm. He’s in pretty bad condition. He looks like he’s lost a lot of blood, but it doesn’t look like there’s any trauma. . . must be one strong willed boy. The gashes, I’ll have to sew up in the morning, when the hospital is open. But I think we can just straighten the nose up, put some packing in there, and give him some Ibuprofen. Then give him an ice pack for a few days. He’ll have to stay for two weeks, though. So that way I can realign it everyday. He might have to stay longer, depending on how the cuts heal up. And this,” he said, pointing towards the puncture wound. “This’ll have to heal on its own.” Claire nodded. “Okay. Do you need Ibuprofen now?” He nodded. “Yeah. You can go ahead and get it. You won’t want to be here for the next part anyways.” Claire shook her head and went to go get the medicine.
She knocked on the bedroom door. “Is it okay now?” “Yeah. Come on in.” Claire peeked into the room first. Her father had taken Allan’s torn shirt off, revealing the wounds in plain sight. The covers on the bed were now soaked with his blood. Her dad patched them up the best he could, but the wounds wouldn’t stop bleeding. He sighed. “And we don’t have any emergency hospitals? Ridiculous. . .”Claire almost didn’t enter the room. “Oh my god. . .” She shut the door then covered her mouth. She felt like she was about to puke. She saw how deep the gashes were, and how much blood he lost. Claire opened the door once more, and gasped when she saw her mother in the room as well. “You do know it’s three in the morning, right?” She asked. Claire flushed , and gave her dad the medicine. “Sorry, mom. This was an emergency.” Her mother sat on the end of the bed. “What happened?” Claire locked eyes with her. Claire started sobbing, slamming her head down on the bed. “Claire?” her dad asked, giving Allan the medicine. “Where were you? Where did you go?” Claire looked up, her eyes puffy and red. “We went to Freddy’s!” she screamed, wiping her eyes. Her mother jumped off the bed. “What. Did. You. Say?” She walked over to Claire. “You didn’t.” Claire lifted her head again. She sniffed. “We did. Me, Damian, Allan, Armi, Wade, and . . .” Claire pictured Jeremy, all broken and twisted. . . She was sure he was dead. Trapped in there with those things? He was surely dead. “And who?” her dad asked. Claire stared at Allan. “And Jeremy.” Her father stared at her, still packing Allan’s nose. “Are they all safe?” Claire locked eyes with him. “. . . No.” Her mother growled and stalked back and forth. Her dad stared at her, not menacingly, but with concern. “Who?” Claire caught his eye. “Jeremy.” He shook his head. "Damn it. . ."
