She saw the footprints on the beach, and her eyes followed them until they disappeared into the forest. She was not alone. Keeping her eyes peeled, she followed the tracks as they led her to the tree line, and there she stopped, listening for any sounds of danger. Finally, with a deep breath, she tentatively stepped into the darkness of the giant green trees.
Monkeys clambered high above her head while tropical birds sang out, and the dappled afternoon sunlight made it difficult to follow the fading sandy footprints, but she pressed on, desperate to find the owner of the tracks.

The footprints had disappeared, but she pressed into the almost jungle-like forest with a beating heart. With a click of a catch, she released the clasp holding her machete and drew the sharpened blade slowly from its sheath. A wall of vines stood before her, and just one broken strand told her that someone or something had passed close by. She was still on track.

She pushed and hacked a narrow pathway through the vines and emerged safely on the other side, where she stopped, amazed by the sight in front of her.

It was a large clearing surrounded by deep jungle. The muddied earth flattened, and a large stone tower stood in the centre of the clearing.

Eli crouched down and just looked. Her thoughts ran wild as she tried to make sense of the structure before her. How was this possible? It’s a deserted island with only sand, trees, wildlife, and at least two people. Eli unzipped her bag and pulled out her last bottle of water. She took a large sip, replaced the cap and placed the bottle inside her purse. Refreshed and with a firm grip on the handle of the machete, she ran forward, crossing the clearing and stopped right next to the tower, bracing herself. The carved stone blocks felt cold and clammy, and Eli shivered at the thought of what evil might be inside.

The sun was behind the tree line, and Eli knew that dusk was approaching. She pressed on, following the contour of the circular structure until she found a large wooden door reinforced with steel bands and metal studs. She pushed, but the door didn’t open, so with all her weight, she tried again, and this time, the door swung open.

Inside, the grey walls were damp, condensation trickled over the cold stone, and a spiral staircase led upward into the darkness, cut from the same stone blocks. Eli adjusted her grip on the machete’s wooden handle, stepped onto the first damp stone, and climbed slowly upward. The sound of dripping water felt almost deafening to Eli, and she tried to listen, straining her senses to hear any signs of habitation, but there were none.

Eli moved further, taking each step slowly and carefully, just one at a time and stopping often to listen for a few seconds.

Onward, she climbed, ever upwards, never looking back, and the muscles in her legs screamed out in pain, but she climbed upward toward the top of the dark, dank stone tower.

Night had fallen outside, and the nocturnal creatures had started their song. And here, inside the tower, Eli could hear the scratching of animals, their claws scraping as they scurried about in the darkness.

Suddenly, there was movement ahead. Eli couldn’t see it, but a boot on a wet stone echoed through the building, almost as loud as the scurrying of the creatures below. Then, awful pain in her shoulder as a shadowy figure stabbed a thin blade into her. Instinctively, she released her grip on the wooden handle of the machete, and it fell, clattering loudly for what felt like an eternity, down, ever down, sliding on the stone steps until it came to a stop, the sound echoing upwards, reverberating on the stone walls.

Eli fell to her knees and clutched the wound in her shoulder, and she felt warm blood between her fingers. Then, the sole of a boot, dark and leather on her chest, and it pushed.

Eli fell backwards, sliding down the wet stairs, the figure kicking and pushing her violently until everything went black.

When Eli awoke, she found that she was chained. The shadowy figure had secured thick links around her wrists and ankles, and an iron collar held her head tight. She lay stretched atop a woodpile in a circular stone room, the walls blackened with soot, the smell of petrol in the stagnant air. The figure with the black boots stood at her feet, his red eyes shining in the candlelight, a cross hanging from his habit, his hood pulled up over his head, features hidden in shadow.

Eli screamed, but the monk just sneered, a row of yellow teeth showing beneath the red eyes, and he bent forward and picked up a candle. Eli screamed again, but it was in vain as the monk thrust the candle into the woodpile, where it burst into flames, the heat and smoke instantly filling the room.

With a swift turn and a cackle of laughter, the monk slipped through a dark opening in the black wall and disappeared, leaving a screaming Eli to burn in hell.

The End.

My first piece of flash fiction is the story of a girl on a deserted island, who believes that she is alone.

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