A Walk down the Wrong Path

It’s not the street I usually go down, but for some reason that day I turned down a different road.  It was 1:00 in the morning and I had just left the movie theater about an hour ago in Malconville. I did not have a specific destination, but home was the last place I wanted to spend my night. My parents were out of town, so of course I refused to obey my curfew.
After driving for over an hour down several unfamiliar roads, I came to the realization that I was lost and decided to turn around and retrace my tracks.  Before I arrived to the end of the road, my car began to make a loud clicking noise and slow down.  The harder I pressed on the accelerator, the more my car slowed down.  I glanced down at my car gauges and noticed my gas hand was below empty.  I turned my light on and rambled through my purse in search of my cell phone, only to discover the battery was completely dead. I sat there for a moment, attempting to gather my thoughts and calculate my next move.  I had not prepared an emergency kit for my car for crises as this, so I had no flashlight or flares to increase visibility.  I looked around to see if I noticed any familiar signs or landmarks.  There were no street lights, and all I could see was trees and darkness.  Through the trees, I spotted a dark, narrow path.  Desperate for help, I deserted my vehicle, and began to walk that direction.
While walking down the path, rain began to fall, and roaring thunder and blinding lightning followed.  The night was dark, and I managed to stay in the road only by putting one foot in front of the other.  Finally, after walking for approximately thirty minutes, I spotted a dim light ahead. 
I approached a huge two -story framed house, one likely built over a hundred years ago, with a metal fence surrounding the property.  It was thundering and lightning and I definitely needed to seek shelter from the weather.  As I moved towards the house, I heard the bark and saw the silhouette of an enormous dog.  Despite his vicious bark, he did not chase me.  I suppose he was tied.  I knocked on the door several times before a tall, frail older gentleman answered.  He looked startled and asked, “What are you doing out here this time of morning?”  After explaining my unfortunate scenario, he welcomed me into his home. 
He offered me a bottle of grape juice and told me to have a seat on the couch.  Since I had been walking through the woods for nearly an hour, resting for a couple minutes did not seem like a bad idea.  After taking a couple sips of juice, I blacked out.
When I finally gained consciousness, I could barely see; everything was a blur. I looked around and realized that I was no longer in the same room. Instead, I was laying on a cold, steel table with my limbs, neck, and abdominal area chained to it.  The room smelled awful.  As I scoped the room, I saw dead female bodies and sloths, scattered on the floor and human heads arranged on a shelf along the side of the walls as if they were some kind of trophy from a murder.  Initially, screaming and hollering; then tugging at the restraints, I gave a strong effort to break free, trying not to become the next person to meet such a fate. 
I suppose hearing my screams caused the supposedly nice man who had opened the door for me earlier to enter the room.  He looked down on me with a wicked smile on his face, seemingly rejoicing in the reality of my being at his mercy.  The man was wearing a long white jacket and a mint green mask that covered his face.  “How did you sleep?” he asked sarcastically.  I gave no response, but focused on a machete in his right hand and a thick book he had under his arm entitled, The Art of Torturing. I must have crossed paths with a psychopath who had some sick obsession to torture and annihilate women.  I was determined not to be this man’s next victim.  I had to find a way to engage him and win his trust.  There was no other way I would survive this ordeal.  
   I needed to get him to talk to me, so I had to talk to him, but I had to find my approach.  I had to make him feel as though I was not going to struggle and let him know he was in control.  I asked, “Why do you want to hurt me? I am no threat to you.”  He responded, “Because I can and I want to kill you,” as he placed the machete on the table beside him. After several hours of dialogue, the man stated that he had a daughter who was kidnapped and tortured to death when she was about my age.  He stated that since that time he has had malice in his heart and has felt a need to get revenge.  He wanted other fathers and mothers to feel the pain he has felt for many years. He wanted them to experience the emptiness that he feels every wakened moment since the day his daughter was swept away from him.  Tears flowed down the man’s cheeks, as he appeared to cover his face in shame.  He walked over to the table where I was laying and began to unchain me.   He looked me in the face and said, “You are free to go.”  I got up from the table to console him. When he leaned to hug me, I grabbed the machete he place on the table a few moments earlier, and slashed off his head.  Before leaving, I placed his head on the wall next to the other unfortunate victims, grabbed my possessions, and walked outside to a bright and early morning.