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Sir Duran Foster Part 3 – Henry Frittle

Click here to read part two or start from the first in the series

Henry Frittle reached in and grabbed Elaine. She screamed and fought, scratching, digging into his skin with her nails, kicking him with all the power she had.

Henry laughed, “we’ve got ourselves another fighter,” he said seemingly amused. He was pretty strong and in one pull, he lifted Elaine and threw her on the floor. Elaine jumped to her feet and made for the door but wasn’t quick enough. Henry had also made a dash for the entrance swinging the hammer as he reached there. It didn’t look like he wanted to hit Elaine, well, not yet, but he seemed to be enjoying the chase.

He blocked the door laughing hysterically in between breaths. Elaine darted the opposite way, opening the door she had just recently discovered its existence.

“Run little princess, run!” Henry had called out laughing.

Elaine was running into pitch darkness, not knowing what to expect. She slowed down feeling the walls to know where she was going.

“Little princess?” Elaine heard him call out. She frantically tried to find her way out. This tunnel had to lead somewhere.

“I can’t die like this, dear God.” She silently prayed, still feeling the walls. Like an answer to her prayer, her finger touched what felt like a door frame. She felt quickly around the door looking for the knob. She found it and tried to open it but it was locked. Henry was getting closer as his calls were getting louder.

“Come on, little princess. I promise to be gentle.” He called out.

She turned the door knob more urgently, starting to cry, she felt helpless.

“No, no, no, please please please”, she begged the door. It just wouldn’t budge. Just then, her survival instinct kicked in. Back in school, she had attended a workshop by the firemen who had come to give general knowledge about how to escape a house in case of a fire. She attended, well, because the firemen were cute and her friend Judy had made her tag along. She had learned a thing or two from the firemen and this was one time she agrees with the cheesy school motto; “knowledge is power”.

Elaine felt the edges of the door, looking for the hinge. She had found none, meaning the door opened away from her. She took the stance as she was taught, and kicked her heel against the door just beside the door knob. Three kicks and the wood split it half. Not exactly what she was expecting, but she quickly jumped through, wondering what really was on the other side of the door.

It was also dark in the room she just entered, and she began to feel the walls to get by. She touched a switch and flipped it. The bulb came on and she looked around, trying to find the way out. She quickly spotted a door and turned the knob. This door was locked too. She took her stance ready to kick it down like the last one.

If only Paul could see her now. He had teased her about kicking down doors when they practised in school. He would always make snide remarks when she took the stance…

“Don’t let the door kick you back Elaine.”

“Don’t break your leg kicking the door, Elaine. You could always sit and scream during a real fire.”

Well, she was kicking down doors like her life depended on it. Actually, it did, and this was one more door to get through. She didn’t know how many more before she was free. She kicked it the first time, but the door wouldn’t budge. She took the stance again, and just as she was about to kick it again, she heard a cough.

She spun around. It wasn’t Henry. There was definitely someone else here. Elaine started to look around the room carefully, noticing all the tarps.

One by one, she pulled them off. Each tarp covered a hospital bed. Beds that could only have been used in the psych ward because of the sturdy restraints. She pulled the tarp off one table and suddenly gasped for air. She suddenly couldn’t breathe. She had covered her mouth to muffle a cry as she could no longer hold back the tears.

The battered shape of what used to be a young girl lay on the table. Her hair was gone, seemed to have been plucked out leaving bad bruises on her scalp. She was missing a wrist on one hand and fingers on the other. Her legs had been replaced by the popular pirate’s pig foot. She turned her head, lifeless, as she managed to mutter

“Help me”.

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