Missing, Adam Nicholls [book recommendations website txt] 📗

Little Missy Daniels stumbled through the dark woods, the killer chasing close behind.

While trying not to think about the things he’d done to her, she spent the last of her depleted energy desperately picking up her pace. Uncaring branches snapped at her bare legs, and sharp twigs crunched painfully underfoot. Her frightened panting escalated.

“I’m going to get you!” the man bellowed, thick anger resonating in his booming voice. “You’re mine, Missy!”

But Missy didn’t want to believe it. For days he’d kept her imprisoned, locking her in the corner of that dark room with no food or water, only acknowledging her existence to threaten her with whatever new surgical tool he’d procured. The fear of those horrendous tools drove her to run faster, faster… until she tripped.

Missy fell flat, planting her face in the rotting mulch leaves of the forest, their sickly sweet stench making her gag. At only eight years old, barely able to take care of herself, she didn’t believe she could make it out of there alive. Yet, she’d outrun him this far…

“I hear you, little girl!” he screamed after her, his voice menacing.

Up you get, she told herself. Mommy is waiting for you to come home.

Shoving her palms deep into the oozing mud, she pushed herself up and half crawled, half dragged herself to a nearby bush, praying its darkness would conceal her. Hidden amongst the dense thicket, tiny thorns stabbing at her soft skin, she waited, slowly expelling desperate breaths into cupped hands in an effort to keep silent.

Through the downpour, she could hear him slipping and sliding in the filth, and for a moment she thought he might actually walk on by without noticing her. But then he stopped suddenly, his looming figure standing just a few feet from her dark hiding place.

Missy felt her pulse quicken and her stomach muscles tense. Her breaths became raspy, more rapid, while a high-pitched whine crept through her pursed lips. She pulled her little hands closer, silencing herself as best she could.

But it was too late.

The man stepped toward her, glancing over his shoulder as if about to reveal a big secret. Had he seen her? If he hadn’t, he surely would soon.

Missy clutched herself tighter, shivering in the wet undergrowth. She’d never really believed in God—she was too young for such nonsense—but was now silently praying that, if she made it out of there alive, she would—

The hand rocketed toward her, groping at her torn dress.

“Get over here,” the man spat, dragging her out of the tangled bush with a strong, unyielding hand, angrier now than he had ever been.

Desperate to break free, Missy kicked and screamed, struggling in vain as mud and leaves shot out from under her flailing feet. But it was no use. No matter what she did, she couldn’t escape his deadly clutches.

She had tried to run, had failed, and was now being dragged toward her inevitable gruesome end.