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Updated on August 29, 2017
MollyAllmanSmith profile image

Molly writes under the pen name M. Allman. If you would like to read more of her work, you can find her books on Amazon Kindle.


I walked softly through the wooded area. It was dark. Only the light from a three-quarter moon shone through the darkness. I tried to be quiet as I made my getaway, but the parched, fall leaves crunched under my feet. Paranoid that I was being followed, I hid behind trees along my path and glanced behind me. No one was there.

I had to find a house, a road, or anyplace where someone could help me. A cool breeze tickled my skin and goose bumps rose all over my body. The temperature was dropping and the scent of rain hung in on the night air. I was cold, hungry, scared, and if I didn't find someone soon, wet.

Just as sprinkles dampened my skin, I saw a blurry glare through the trees ahead. I headed toward the light and found a small house with a bright porch light. I ran up to the door and knocked. No one answered. Warm tears slid down my cheeks. I tasted their saltiness on my lips. Frantically, I beat on the door, screaming, "Help! Please, I need help."

A round little woman came to the door; she opened it only as far as the chain allowed. I took a step back so she could see that I was just a young girl. I heard voices inside.

"Martin, it's a little girl. She's only wearing her skivvies. "

"Let her in."

The chain dropped and the door opened. "Come in dear. What on earth happened to -" She stopped abruptly as stepped into the light. My body covered in bruises, and a blood stain in the crotch of my underwear answered her questions.

I was shivering. "I want to call my Mom."

She wrapped me in an itchy, gray blanket and guided me over to the couch. "My husband is phoning the sheriff right now, he'll get in touch with your mom, sweetie. My name is Marge." She waddled into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a coffee mug.

I wrapped my hands around the warm mug. The steamy aroma of chocolate rose from the cup. I sipped it slowly.

Within a few minutes, there was a knock at the door.

"That must be the sheriff." Martin walked over to the door.

"Okay, what's seems to be the problem here, Martin,"

That voice, it couldn't be. I sat quietly and caught a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye. "I feel like I'm going to be sick," I yelled.

Marge ran over to me and helped me to the bathroom. She held my hair back as I leaned over the toilet with dry heaves. I rose up, and she blotted my face with a cool towel. "Are you okay, dear?"

There was a loud knock on the bathroom door. "Margie, we need to get her to the hospital."

"Okay, Sheriff." Marge again blotted my face with a cool towel. "You can keep the blanket, hon."

I started to tell her, but he stood in the doorway, and I couldn't speak."

"The poor dear," Marge said. "She is traumatized."

"I'll walk her out to the squad car." The Sheriff took my arm and led me outside. I wanted to scream, but when I opened my mouth, fear stifled my voice.

I watched Marge and Martin smile as the Sheriff pulled away. I felt the tears stream down my face and drip onto my chest. I turned and looked at my abductor.

He smiled. "There'll be no escape this time."

I felt a needle prick in my arm. My vision blurred.


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