Imagine your car breaking down on a quiet road in the middle of a damp forest. You find a shabby house and possible respite. Inside, a tiny and frail-looking grandma. You shrug and smile politely as she offers you tea and points to her small dining table. As you sit in the scruffy but clean kitchen, you suddenly realize you are alone. You hear the shuffling of slippers and the slight rattle of a teacup as the old woman, named Hazel, approaches from behind. She smiles while you drink the bitter tea. You are nodding along to her stories and slyly checking your watch, hoping the tow truck arrives soon. Your focus lifts as you begin to feel lightheaded. Then dizzy. Darkness surrounds your vision and you are rendered unconscious.
You slowly open your eyes. Then quickly. Your body is sore. You’re on a tarp, on the floor. Completely tied up. You hear the shuffling slippers and a new metallic rattle. Hazel arrives, still smiling. Dragging a well-worn chainsaw.
“Well good morning, deary.”
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