Chapter 6: The Scream in the Night

**Andrew**

Five weeks had passed since the blackout, and the world outside had settled into a grim routine of silence and uncertainty. The once-bustling streets of the town were now eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that seemed to press against your eardrums and make your skin crawl. I had taken to going for late-night walks, hoping to find some semblance of normalcy or perhaps just to clear my head from the constant hum of survival.

On this particular night, the darkness felt heavier than usual. I walked past the old houses on the edge of town, their silhouettes dark and foreboding against the starless sky. The moon was a thin crescent, barely illuminating the path ahead. I was lost in my thoughts when I heard it—a scream, muffled but unmistakably desperate. It pierced the stillness of the night, a chilling sound that seemed to resonate through the very air.

My heart skipped a beat, and I stopped dead in my tracks. The scream was followed by a second, more urgent cry for help. The sound seemed to come from an old, decrepit house nearby. My instincts screamed at me to investigate, but the logical part of my mind hesitated, weighing the risks of venturing into the unknown.

But the screams continued, growing more frantic. The terror in those cries was palpable, and I couldn’t ignore it. I approached the house cautiously, my breath visible in the cold night air. The structure was in disrepair, with boarded-up windows and a sagging roof. The yard was overgrown, a wild tangle of weeds and debris that added to the sense of abandonment.

I tried the front door, but it was locked tight. The house seemed deserted, and I couldn’t hear anything but the distant echo of the screams. I knew I couldn’t give up now. With a deep breath, I backed up a few steps and kicked the door with all my strength. It splintered and gave way with a loud crack, and I stumbled inside, the darkness swallowing me.

The interior was a chaotic mess of overturned furniture and dusty drapes. The air was stale and carried a musty odor, a sign that the house had been neglected for some time. I navigated through the dimly lit hallway, my flashlight casting eerie shadows on the walls. The screaming grew louder as I descended into the basement.

The basement door was heavy, and it took a few attempts to force it open. When I finally managed, the smell of dampness and mildew hit me like a wall. The basement was a stark contrast to the relative livability of the rest of the house. It was cold, dark, and filled with the oppressive scent of decay.

As my eyes adjusted to the low light, I saw her. She was huddled in the far corner, her blonde hair tangled and her clothes ragged. The sight of her—small, trembling, and clearly terrified—sent a surge of adrenaline through me. She looked like a frightened animal, her wide blue eyes reflecting the flickering light of my flashlight.

I approached slowly, trying to keep my movements calm and non-threatening. “Hey, it’s okay,” I said softly, though my voice was unsteady with emotion. “I’m here to help.”

The girl flinched, pulling her knees closer to her chest. She looked up at me, her expression a mixture of fear and confusion. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. I could see the exhaustion etched into her face, the physical and emotional toll of her ordeal.

I knelt down a few feet away from her, trying to make myself less intimidating. “I’m Andrew,” I said gently. “Can you tell me your name?”

She hesitated, but eventually, she whispered, “Gabriella.”

The name was a small relief, a sign that she was still in there, still connected to the world outside this hellish basement. I extended my hand towards her, hoping she would take it. “Gabriella, I’m going to get you out of here. Can you stand?”

Gabriella looked at my hand with distrust but eventually took it. Her grip was weak, and she needed my support to stand. I helped her up the stairs, her movements slow and unsteady. Each step seemed like a monumental effort for her, and I could see the weariness in every motion.

The journey back to my house was filled with a tense silence. Gabriella leaned heavily on me, her breathing labored. I tried to offer her comforting words, but I could see how deeply her ordeal had affected her. When we finally reached my place, I guided her inside and sat her down in the living room.

I quickly prepared some food and water, trying to give her a semblance of normalcy. She ate slowly, her hands trembling as she took each bite. After she finished, I showed her to the bathroom, allowing her to take a much-needed shower. The sound of running water was a soothing contrast to the bleakness she had just escaped.

Once she was clean and settled, we sat together in the living room, the flickering light from the oil lamps casting a soft glow around us. There was a heavy silence between us, one filled with unspoken questions and the weight of her recent trauma. I knew it would take more than just a meal and a shower to help her heal, but for now, I wanted her to feel safe and cared for.