9 Minute Horror Stories: Molly


“You better run all day and run all night, and keep your dirty feelings deep inside.” ~ Pink Floyd, Run Like Hell

Based on a true story…

Two people were running in the dark woods away from the cabin. Molly, sweat pouring down her face mixed with tiny cuts of blood that burned like someone poking her with a heated needle.

Chasing after Molly was a large man named Darren Barkley. In his right hand he clutched a jagged knife.

Molly knew these woods well. She even walked a mile blindfolded from the cabin to the river just to make sure she could run quickly in the dark if the need should arise.

The moon, overcome with shadows and the grief-stricken cries of the night, engulfed the area in complete darkness. Each tree swatted branches in her face as if she were trespassing.

Dips and turns in the makeshift path she masterfully navigated while her thundering heart squeezed her breath away and panic swirled in her mind.

Molly glanced back for just a moment to see if she gained any distance from Darren Barkley.

Unfortunately he was within a few yards, gripping the knife.


That’s all Molly could think of at the moment. Keep running. Keep fighting to stay ahead of Darren Barkley. She didn’t have the strength to fight him off, especially with him wielding a knife.


A slope took her downward. She was still about two hundred yards from the river, but this was a significant landmark.


The river seemed miles away, yet, Molly wasn’t going to stop. Fear of dying tonight kept her legs moving.

Run, she told herself. You can get away from him.


Darren Barkley felt the sweat drizzle into his eyes, blurring his vision. He trudged forward, surprised at the speed of this woman and her strength to keep running through the dense woods. His lungs burned from exhaustion.


People always referred to him by his full name.

Darren Barkley.

They never said, ‘Darren,’ or ‘Mr. Barkley.’

Superstars and famous people are often referred to by their full names. However, so are notorious killers.


The knife slipped from his sweaty hand and bounced off a log, into a bed of wet leaves. He didn’t want to stop, but he had to retrieve the knife. He quickly reached his hands into the leaves, feeling for the handle.


How far could it have gone?

Frustrated, he began throwing wet leaves, now realizing what little strength he had left.

A sharp, fiery pain ripped into the web between the finger and thumb of his right hand. Thick, dark blood drained down his wrist and arm.

With his left hand, he scooped up the knife, sucked in a breath of cool air, which only made his lungs burn even more. He looked into the distance, not seeing her. His hand began throbbing like a heartbeat.

What choice did Darren Barkley have?


He tramped forward, increasing his speed like a racehorse on its last turn.


While running at full speed during a brief clearing, Molly turned to see how close Darren Barkley was to her.

It was a mistake.

She stepped on a stone, no bigger than a fist, twisted her ankle and felt it snap in half. She fell forward screaming while in the air, smacking against the hard ground. The air in her lungs expelled out her mouth and carried into the night with her scream.

Tears drained down her face, seeping into the cuts. The world was spinning as if she were floating helplessly in space.

Molly grabbed her ankle with both hands, opening her mouth to scream again, but nothing came out. It was like watching a horror movie with the volume on mute.

Seconds were slipping by. Darren Barkley must be close. She had to keep moving. The river was only fifty yards away.

“Standup,” she cried to herself. “Stand and run. If you don’t, you’ll die in this clearing.”

Molly pushed the ground with her hands, stood on one foot, then lumbered forward. The bones in her ankle shifted under the skin. Hot pain seared around the ankle and sparked to the foot and calf.




Darren Barkley heard the distant scream. He regained a firm grip on the knife with his left hand and ran forward, boots pounding on the ground in rhythm.

He approached a clearing and stopped for a brief moment, sweeping his eyes in every direction.


Molly couldn’t see the river, but she could smell the mixture of fresh water and fish. Her plan was to swim across the river. To the average person that would be difficult, if not impossible. The river was strong in this area and also wide.

Molly had done it before, practicing several times. She even swam across the river at record speed after running five miles in the woods.

Practice was over.

This was really happening.


Darren Barkley could see a glimpse of Molly on the shore of the river. She was taking off her shoes, seeming to favor one leg.

He had to kill her.


For revenge after Molly killed his wife just a few moments ago.

To stop Molly from killing ever again.

Molly had become famous. A woman serial killer. Throughout history, this was a rare breed.

The media reported on seventeen murders committed by Molly. Those were just the ones made public. Darren Barkley, CEO of a thriving gossip magazine, had information on several other murders that were done exactly how Molly liked to kill.

Molly chose women, married to successful men.

She would stab the women exactly nine times in the stomach with a jagged knife.


Over the last three months, Molly had been planning to kill Darren Barkley’s wife. The cabin was the perfect opportunity. She ran in the woods, familiarizing herself with the area and scheduled her escape at the river.

Tonight, Darren Barkley’s wife fought back with intensity like no other woman before, clawing at her face. Also Darren Barkley had made a surprise appearance. He was supposed to be away in Montreal on business.

Molly was still able to finish the job, stabbing Mrs. Barkley nine times in the stomach.

When Darren Barkley came through the door, he fought with Molly and grappled the knife away from her.

Molly ran, eventually arriving at the river. She could see Darren Barkley cutting through the darkness, face full of rage, moving with determination.

Molly forced herself into the icy water. All she had to do was swim to the other side. Darren Barkley wouldn’t be able to do the same.

The water numbed her body, except for her throbbing ankle. No longer was she running. Now she was swimming in the icy river, fighting the current. Her head bobbed in and out of the water.

She was losing strength.

A hand grabbed her broken ankle from behind.

The jagged knife plunged in her lower back.

She drifted, arms out, face in the water, floating along with the current.

Darren Barkley turned and began swimming back.

He drowned in the river just a few minutes later.

No more running tonight.

It was finished.

You have now completed this 9 minute story…

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