She tries to fight

Savannah backed away from the costumed creep with the machete. She could feel the door against her back. She ducked as her attacker swung the machete.

Her butt slammed into the door. She threw out her arms. Her left arm brushed against the curtain, and she clutched it without thinking. She ducked again as the machete arced toward her head. She tore the curtain loose, and swung it toward her attacker.

The curtain brushed against the face of the creep in the Stabbear costume. It didn't hurt him, but it did throw off his aim; the machete slammed into the door beside her. Savannah was still trying to back up, and the pressure against the door caused it to fly open, the latch giving way with a snap. Savannah backed onto the lawn, still holding the curtain that was her only, inadequate, defense against her attacker's huge machete.

Savannah held the curtain in front of her, grasping it in both hands, hoping it would at least block his view. She kicked at him, hoping to hit something vital. She could feel her foot connect, but it didn't seem to bother her attacker. He swung the machete; Savannah screamed as she felt the tip of the machete brush against her arm.

Then she was on the ground, and he was on top of her, sitting across her waist. Her arms were free, and she still held the piece of curtain. He raised the machete high.

The creep held the machete in his right hand. Savannah grabbed his wrist with her left hand and squeezed hard. She pushed his arm away from her, holding it with all her strength. She was safe for now, but she knew she couldn't hold his arm this way forever. She hit him with her right hand, aiming for his body, which was all she could reach in her awkward position. The thick velvet suit cushioned the impact of her punches, and he didn't seem to be affected. But she kept punching. She had to do something, and if she was going to die, she would at least die fighting for her life.

While Savannah continued to desperately punch her attacker, he wrapped his left hand around her throat and started squeezing. Savannah stopped hitting her attacker and put her right hand on his. She strained, trying to pull his arm off her throat. He paid no attention to her effort to stop him from **** her; he kept squeezing. Red and blue spots swam and danced in her vision, her breath gasped through her throat, and her lungs felt like they were on fire. She dug her thumb into her attacker's wrist and squeezed. Her only hope was to loosen her attacker's grip enough that she could pry his hand off her throat.