The hallway swallowed her scream before it could ever leave her throat.
Lilith's body was a fragile thing, limbs jerking against the brute force that yanked her into the shadows. The suddenness of it, the violence, struck her like a hammer, one moment she had been part of the crowd, the world alive with chatter and color, her friends' laughter fading behind her, and the next she was pulled into the cold, steel grip of a monster. Her feet barely touched the floor as the hand clamped over her face, the rough skin pressing her lips painfully against her teeth. His grip was iron, unyielding, smothering her breath in the small space between his palm and her mouth. The deserted hallway closed in around them, narrowing, oppressive. The fluorescent lights above flickered weakly, casting long shadows that trembled in time with their buzz. There were no sounds of footsteps here, no voices, no rustling of plastic bags or costumes. The convention, with all its life and noise, felt miles away, as if the crowd had drifted off into some distant reality, leaving her trapped in this abandoned stretch of nowhere. It was as if the world had shrunk down to this narrow, dim corridor. Just her and him. Her fingers clawed helplessly at the hand over her face, nails scraping against his skin, but it did not even make him flinch. Every inch of his body, so close to her now, felt solid and cold, as if life had been drained out of it long ago, leaving only this monstrous shell. She twisted, frantically trying to wrench herself free, but his strength was absolute, and every movement she made only seemed to press her closer against him, forcing her to feel the terrifying reality of his size, his weight. The sheer, unrelenting power behind his hold.
Her legs kicked against the ground, scraping for balance, but the smooth floor offered no reprieve. Her shoes slid uselessly, and her panicked breaths quickened, coming in shallow bursts against his palm. The mask loomed just over her shoulder, inches away, its hollow eyes staring into the void. That same void that had haunted her all day, lurking in the background of her awareness, had finally reached out and claimed her. Her throat clenched with fear, her heartbeat thundering in her ears so loud it drowned out everything else. But the man dragging her did not speak, there were no gruff words whispered into her ear. Just the dead, suffocating silence, broken only by the sound of his breathing.
The knife. The knife.
The steel came up to her throat to eliminate further struggle, a horrifying assertion of reality that threatened to strangle her with the awful realization of her plight. Her eyes darted around the empty hallway, searching desperately for a way out, a savior, anything. But there was nothing. The walls closed in, and the shadows seemed to thicken, pressing against her, whispering the same truth over and over. No escape. He moved her effortlessly, like she was nothing more than a doll in his hands, dragging her deeper into the hallway, away from the faint hum of life still echoing from the convention beyond. Finally, he stopped. His hand, still clamped over her mouth, held her suspended for a moment longer, as if he were savoring the silence, the isolation. Her breath, hot and frantic against his skin. Time stretched, each second a slow, torturous eternity as she waited for the inevitable. The cold steel that would slice through the flesh, the brutal end that awaited all victims in a horror movie. The knowledge that death was standing right behind her. Patient, and unhurried. The knife lowered to trace along the front of her costume, catching the fabric with its razor-sharp blade. Parting it like Moses parting the Red Sea. And she could feel him, pressing from behind, not just the weight of his body but the sickening recognition of the engorged erection flush against her ass. Yet he still took his time.
The Boogeyman had all the time in the world.
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