"Shh! Shh! Shh!" the hushing came laughingly, nothing tender about his smashing her into his eagerness was present, nor was there any excuses left in the way he took hold of the point of her chin, to tear her attention away from anything aside from his amusement with her. "Shut the fuck up. You say one more fucking word? And I'll fucking kill you." fingers flattened on one side of her head, so that he could wrenched her neck off at an odd right angle and expose the clear line of her swans neck. Wanting to hunt for feeble bones.
Start running? She thought, as she absent-mindedly combed her sprawled fingers through her rearranged hair. Now? That she was within arms reach of the empty beer bottle? ... the spook began laughing. Fine day for a burial. The service was about to begin, the reading of the weeping reminiscence. Run she did and straight, surely, right to the empty bottle so closely perched near the swine he'd rode in with. The neck of the bottle was strangled in her shaking, adrenaline drunk fingers, but it was brought up enthusiastically, and just as thoughtlessly smashed onto the back of the head of the bear holding onto her Goldie Locks.
Unlike in the movies, bottles do not shatter on impact.
She hoped Emmy writhed free in time for her to grab her hand and start running...