Blood was spreading across the floor, and I couldn't decide if I should worry about whether it was fresh or just go straight into full-blown panic mode. Humans really are fascinating. I stood there, frozen in shock, as Mr. Trust Issues decided it was time to empty his stomach all over the concrete. Perfect.

After a few seconds—or maybe it was minutes, time's hard to track when you're stuck in a nightmare—I finally snap out of my stupor. The dragging sound hits me first. Slow, deliberate, and coming from the direction we just came from. My pulse kicks into overdrive. I yank Mr. Trust Issues to his feet, dragging him with me, barely glancing back as we rush behind one of the massive pillars. There's no time to think. I just need to stay hidden in this hellhole. 

The dragging sound gets closer, each scrape of whatever it is sending a shiver down my spine. Mr. Trust Issues is still retching and wobbling like a newborn deer, and isn't exactly the most helpful partner right now. He's got the survival instincts of a rock. I'm starting to think maybe I should just leave him here—let him deal with whatever's about to walk in. But then again, I'm not exactly in a position to be picky about allies. 

I peek around the pillar, just enough to catch a glimpse of the source of the dragging noise. It's a person—or at least, I think it is. It's the kind of sight you'd expect in a horror movie, right before the creepy music kicks in. Only, I don't hear any music. Just the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. I try to make as little noise as possible, but it's hard when every creak of the floor and every gasp from Mr. Trust Issues sounds like a thunderclap in the silence. The shape is humanoid, but everything about it feels off. I see two ears, but the rest is a blur. A man? A woman? It's hard to tell. They're wearing a bunny costume, but not the cute, fluffy kind. No, this is something else—more like lingerie, skintight, the kind of outfit that makes you feel like you've crossed into a nightmare rather than a party. It's too much, too unsettling. 

I can barely hold back a sigh of frustration. Of course, it's a serial killer. Why wouldn't it be? No, not just any serial killer—this one's got to have a twisted sense of humor. Why settle for the usual menacing hoodie or mask when you can wear a creepy, perverted bunny costume like it's some kind of sick joke? I roll my eyes, cursing my luck. Why couldn't we get a normal killer? One who at least knows how to be frightening without looking like a bad costume idea gone horribly wrong. 

I noticed that he's holding something that was making a dragging noise. I can barely make it out, but I can see enough. It's hogtied—just praying it's a sheep or anything but I know what it really is. My stomach churns. It's a woman, eyes closed, probably dead, though I dare not hope for it. Maybe just fainted, maybe… but I know better than to hold onto that fragile hope for too long. The killer's grip tightens on the rope, and I can't look away.

Then, out of nowhere, his head jerks down to the spot where we were standing—oh, you know, the little bloodbath I casually left behind. Fantastic. It suddenly dawns on me that we are so screwed. The footprints on the floor? Real subtle. He whips his head toward us. Perfect, just what we needed. I'm really hoping he doesn't notice us, but considering how he's scanning the room like a hawk on a caffeine binge, I'm not holding my breath.

Oh, of course, betrayal at its finest. Why wouldn't my so-called ally be the first to stab me in the back? Mr. Trust Issues, in all his glory, shoves me—bam—and then sprints for the other side like he's got a gold medal to win. What was I expecting? A loyal teammate? Ha, silly me. Lesson learned: next time, it's just me, myself, and I. No more tag-team train wrecks. 

I'm dead. There's no other way to put it. I was seconds away from being hogtied like some sadistic prize, and then—oh, joy—I made eye contact with the bunny man. He looks at me, and for a split second, I think maybe, just maybe, he'll not notice me. Nope. Instead, he lets go of the rope and starts beelining towards me, like he's just realized he forgot to buy milk or something.

Maybe I should say something clever, like "You know, I expected better from a guy in a bunny costume," but nah, I'm not in the mood for one-liners. I'm just waiting for the inevitable.

But then, right when he's six inches away from me, the guy pulls off the most ridiculous move I've ever seen. Without warning, he does a full 90-degree turn, like he's in some kind of action movie, and sprints straight toward Mr. Trust Issues instead.

What. The. Hell.

For a moment, my brain just shuts down because, seriously, why? I mean, I was literally this close to becoming his next victim, and then—bam!—he decides my so-called ally is the better target. What kind of twisted plot twist is this? Am I on some hidden camera show? If there's a camera crew, I swear to God, I'm going to flip.

Anyway, there I am, standing like a fool, just watching Mr. Trust Issues book it like he's suddenly running a marathon for his life. Meanwhile, I'm left here completely dumbfounded, wondering what kind of sick joke this is. It's the kind of moment where you wish you'd put your phone on airplane mode, just so you could enjoy the sheer chaos without interruptions. 

I don't know what was more confusing—him sprinting like his life depended on it or the fact that Mr. Trust Issues was actually running faster than I've ever seen anyone run in my life. I mean, props to him. Guess all those years of being paranoid finally paid off.

And as if that wasn't enough to throw me into a mental breakdown, the hogtied girl, who I had hoped was either knocked out or too mentally checked out to care, suddenly decides that this is her time to shine and screams like a banshee on a Gatorade overdose. 

Ah, yes. Someone finally woke up from their beauty sleep. How nice.

So, naturally, I, being the upstanding citizen that I am (unlike someone), decide to make my way over to the girl. Now, I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I'm not exactly an expert in escape artistry. And freeing someone from ropes while they're screaming like they've been possessed by a circus clown is not exactly what I'd call an easy task. I'm trying to focus, but my brain? If I remember correctly, decided to take an impromptu vacation when I woke up. 

Thanks for that.

That's when I saw it. A nail. A huge one. Almost the size of my hand, sticking out of the pillar that was about to be my tomb a few seconds ago. I plucked it out like I was in some sick game of DIY survival and used it to slice through her ropes. . She immediately falls to the floor, legs like limp noodles, clearly broken. Great. Just what I needed. Because it's not enough that we're both about to die. Now, she's a screaming, broken noodle of a person who can't walk.

Out of nowhere, she blurts out something straight out of a two-bit psychic's script at a kids' carnival: "You're not supposed to be here," followed by a stream of nonsensical gibberish. Yeah, I think it's safe to say she's officially lost her marbles.

"Oh really, Sherlock? You think? I had no idea. Here I was, thinking this was a vacation destination." I tell her with a head shake, trying to process that my life is a dumpster fire, when she does the unthinkable. She starts dragging herself across the floor—not toward the exit, not toward safety, no. She starts dragging herself towards the disembodied sheep. Yeah, that sheep. The one whose body looked like it had been through a blender. She licks the blood. Yes, you read that right. She licks the blood. It's like I stumbled into the middle of a Twilight movie, where instead of vampires and werewolves, I've got deranged serial killers and insane women licking blood off the floor. At this point, the only thing I can think is, "How the hell did I get here, and why isn't anyone else around to witness this absolute dumpster fire?"

But of course, as they say when shit hits the fan, more shit will surely follow. Or maybe that's not how the saying goes, but it's how it feels. I'm just standing there, trying to stop the smell of blood, when suddenly—guess who comes running at me? Mr. Trust Issues comes sprinting straight at me, looking like he's in the middle of some kind of Olympic relay race.

Now, I knew this guy was being chased, but here's the weird part: I couldn't see Bunny Man anywhere behind him. It's like the guy just vanished into thin air or decided to take a coffee break in the shadows. The only light in this godforsaken shed is coming from some crappy little window that lets in just enough moonlight to make everything look like it's in a black-and-white film. Mr. Trust Issues, running for his life, looked less like a guy being chased and more like a schizophrenic sprinting from an imaginary dragon. If this were a movie, I'd be waiting for the credits to roll any second.

Naturally, I do the smart thing and start running in the opposite direction. Because why not? Who needs to get caught up in this hot mess? But nope, Mr. Trust Issues has legs that seem to be all muscle and no sense. It's like he's got a full-on head start in the genetic lottery, and here I am, sprinting like a caffeinated squirrel. Damn short people. It's like running after a wind-up toy, and guess who's losing the race?

So, he catches up to me, and now, we're both in the middle of a horror show that's spiraling out of control. I turn to him, trying to look like I've got my life together, even though my brain is still on vacation somewhere. I look him dead in the eye, and with all the sarcasm I can muster, I say, "Oh, look at you. Getting what you deserved. You must be the tall white guy who dies first in every horror movie, huh? Just living the dream."

But before I could even finish laughing at him, he drops a bombshell that completely throws me off track: "I'm sorry, I thought you were his ally."

Is he for real? Like, seriously? I mean, I knew this guy wasn't exactly winning any IQ contests, but this? This is next-level stupidity. Did he honestly think he could just pull an excuse out of his ass and I'd go, "Oh, okay, cool, no worries, bro"

I shoot him the most dramatic bombastic side-eye, like, "Did you really just say that?"

Even though I am running, I'm mentally frozen, trying to process what just spilled out of his mouth. "Oh, so you thought I was on his side, huh? Well, let me guess, next you're gonna tell me that the killer bunny was just an Easter mascot on a bender, right?"

Honestly, at this point, I can't even waste my breath responding to this nonsense. The guy's clearly lost more than a few brain cells somewhere between his first bad decision and this moment. Heck, at this rate, I'm starting to wonder if he's functioning on pure instinct at this point, or if his brain took an early retirement.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I've been running alongside him for what feels like an eternity, trying to figure out how big this damn shed really is. I swear, we've been running for at least a mile now. My legs are starting to feel like jelly, and this idiot next to me is still panting like he's about to keel over. And then, with zero self-awareness, he has the audacity to say— "I am really sorry, I did think you were on his side 'cause you seemed chill about this situation."

Chill??? Chill?? Bro, sarcasm is a coping mechanism, not a personality trait. Seriously, do I look like someone who's just casually vibing with a killer bunny and a hostage situation?

But before I could even respond with the scathing remark that was already bubbling up, Bunny Man decides that now is the perfect time to make his dramatic entrance. And not from behind, like any normal killer would do, but right in front of us. Because, of course, why not make things even more ridiculously impossible?

He came straight at us, and I spotted him before Mr. Trust Issues did—probably because Trust Issues was too busy side-eyeing me. Typical. Men will believe aliens built the pyramids before believing a woman who says she didn't kidnap them. Meanwhile, Bunny Guy, who started this twisted circus with nothing but a tied-up woman, had leveled up—now brandishing an electric saw like he'd just unlocked a new weapon in a slasher video game.

Guess his little break wasn't for coffee but a quick trip to his murder tool shed. As we sprinted right into him, he raised the saw dramatically, like he'd just been cast in a low-budget '90s ninja movie, ready to slice us in one swift motion. But, lucky for me, even if I don't remember if I'm clumsy by nature or if this was just fate, I slipped. If you guessed blood, ding-ding, you're right! My shoes were soaked, and apparently, now was the perfect moment for a blood-induced pratfall, which turned out to be the ultimate dodge move. The saw skimmed past me, taking a chunk of my hair with it—but hey, I'll trade a bad haircut for keeping my head attached. Mr. Trust Issues, on the other hand? Not so lucky. Yep, that's the end of our dear "ally." Although, considering he betrayed me earlier, "ally" might be a bit generous.

Did he get sliced in half by a saw? Yes. Did I watch it happen? Also yes—because apparently, when you're falling in slow motion, you get a front-row seat to everything.