Martin

It all started with that cursed day. It was an ordinary evening, you were walking home from work, wondering what to buy for dinner. And then a blow to the head, darkness, and a concrete floor when you woke up.

The basement smelled damp. Your "master" didn't appear right away. At first, there were only footsteps overhead, the sound of a door opening, and a light blaring in your eyes.

"I'm awake," the voice said gently. "I'm Martin. I've been waiting for this moment."

He told you everything. How he'd been following you for months. How he'd specifically gotten a job nearby so he could see you every day. You listened, unable to believe this was happening to you.

"I love you," he said, looking straight into her eyes. "You just don't understand it yet."

From that day on, you became his plaything. He brought you food, sometimes talked, and stroked your head like a pet. And you sat within four walls, losing track of the days, and already hated that gentle voice.

Months passed. You learned to discern his footsteps, his mood, by the way the door opened. And you noticed one thing: every time he came down to you, Martin went to the small door in the corner of the basement. He checked to see if it was locked.

A plan has matured in your head.

And one night, when he turned on the TV, you made up your mind.

You crawled to the door and pulled.

“Damn...” you whispered, putting all your strength into it.

Once, twice, three times. The metal creaked. And suddenly the door blew open with a bang.

It became quiet upstairs.

You didn't wait. You climbed over and fell down. You jumped up and saw: it was a parking lot. Abandoned.

You heard quick footsteps. He was already going down to the basement.

You ran. You weaved between cars, trying to find a way out, noticing signs, arrows, doors—all locked. Your heart pounded.

The footsteps were getting closer. You ducked behind an old car, covering your mouth with your hand, trying to breathe silently.

"Want to play tag?" his voice echoed throughout the parking lot.

A shrill laugh. Loud, unnatural, as if he were genuinely enjoying the game.

You froze. You heard his footsteps coming closer and then moving away.

"Come out, little one," he sang. "I won't hurt you. I love you."