My name is Brett. I am seventeen years old and I fear many things. Things most other people would fear. It’s normal. My biggest fear is getting taken. Kidnapped. My second biggest fear is torture. Those two combined would make a living hell for me.

I stood from my desk in my room and walked out the doorway. School was out for the summer and I had a lot to do. I ran outside and immediately saw a man in a black ski mask. He had a gun and he was holding my brother hostage. I ran for him and he pulled the trigger. My eyes widened as I watched my brother’s body slump.

The man aimed the gun at me and told me to get in the car. I tried to run and he shot me in the leg. He then picked me up and put me in the car. I was being taken. It was my biggest fear. The man gagged me and knocked me out. About an hour later, he got out and carried me into an abandoned lake house and tied me to a chair. The man informed me his name was Stone and he was not going to let me go.

Stone picked up a large knife and made a small cut on my arm. I clenched my teeth and he stood. I saw him grab a salt shaker and fill it with salt. Stone returned and shook the salt shaker once above my arm. The salt particles fell onto my fresh cut and I screamed in agony. It hurt, a lot.

Next, Stone lifted my shirt and drew a knife up along my chest. A thin trail of blood seeped from the cut. I closed my eyes as he dumped a cup of salt into his hand. Stone threw the salt at my chest and I braced myself. Nothing I did could have prepared me for the pain I felt in that moment.

Tears started streaming down my face as I felt the salt sizzle and crackle in the wound. This “Stone” character was one sick and demented man. I warily watched as Stone picked up a sledgehammer and stood in front of me. The moment he raised it I knew my life was over. I braced myself one last time as he hit my head dead on with the hammer. My world faded to black. I was dead.