Luke Hellman Covers, 7

This time when she left her bathroom she went into her room just for the keys when she noticed a muddy stain on the floor. A footprint much bigger than her own.

On the wall the clock stopped.

It began to count backwards and her knees felt weak.

Her skin felt like it was on fire, burns and bruises in the shapes of handprints rose up like welts on her body.

Screams once caught in her throat echoed around the room and the stains on her cheeks came back with the rivulets of tears from eyes shut tight.

Teeth pulled at cuticles already bleeding again as she fell to her bruised knees just to curl in on herself.

One hour. Thirty seven minutes. Twenty five seconds.

The front door opened, the clock stopped. Her heart stopped. A man, with feet much bigger than her own, came in to lay his hand down on her shoulder. Beneath it her skin burned, and a welt began to raise.

“Are you going to be good today?” Her eye were stuck to the clock. How long? How long? No escape from time.