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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Mystery
- Subject: Horror / Scary
- Published: 11/04/2014
In The Basement
Born 1999, F, from Evansville, Indiana, United StatesI wake up greeted by the smell I always am. Mold, urine, irony blood. Tears. Sitting up I have to tear my cheek from the floor where it was cemented. My eyes take no time to remember where I am, there is no sweet trick that I may be laying in my soft bed, covered with a green comforter, smelling the beginnings of a waffle breakfast coming from the kitchen. I haven’t been there for over two years.
Instead I’m laying on a cement floor, naked and covered in bruises, scratches and every other topical scars that can ‘grace’ a body. The room’s walls are covered in an ironically happy, faded 80’s wallpaper. In the very center is a metal picnic table, covered in blood. To the left of it is a small end table with saws, scalpels, scissors, basically anything with a blade. These are also covered in blood, some long dried, others freshly painted. There are no beds, no sofas, nothing. Just a staircase on the far wall, whose thumping alarm means danger.
Nested under the stairs is a small door that He keeps locked. A terrible odor comes from here and I know why. I’ve seen him open it sometimes when he’s finished an “operation”. In that closet sized space are stacks upon stacks of organs, human meat dangling from hangers. And in the very corner, slumped against the wall and crawling with maggots, is the girl who was here when I first arrived. Her name was... Kate? Maybe Kat. One of those ever so popular ‘K’ names. She was very pretty when I first saw her, even though she was close to malnourished and hadn’t seen a mirror or a shower in what was probably a very long time. Then, a week after I was pushed down the stairs into the basement naked and screaming, He took her. He killed Kat or Kate or whatever her name was. He jerked her madly to the blood coated picnic table and then restrained her with nylon ropes crossing her breasts, hips, knees, ankles, and wrists. She tried to scream but all that came out was a high pitched gasp for breath as He shoved a pair of scissors into her abdomen, his eyes glinting with glee. Tears rolled down K’s cheeks and blood began to gargle in her mouth. I covered my eyes with my hands, but it was like watching a horror movie, you could shield your eyes from the oncoming horror all you want but there’s always that temptation to peek through your fingers, to know what was happening. When I peeked, the screaming was long over but I didn’t hear Him leave up the stairs. I looked through my fingers and was paralyzed in fear and disgust by what I saw. K was not able to be recognized, her body was destroyed and her face was a mask of blood. He, the man who had done this, was now on top of her ruined body, defiling it further, muttering words of pleasure as he pushed himself further into the monster he created. All of this, this terrible scene of death and sick pleasuring, atop the table seemed to me as a grotesque family picnic or the anti-Last Supper. There are times when He disappears into the door for hours on end, screaming a solitary name. “Merissa!” he’d scream. Scream on and on and on.
In the other corner of this dastardly room is Joel. He was forced here about a month before I was so, naturally, I clung to him. He was also here for K’s death but we never talk about it. His back arches against the cold draft. He writhes and mumbles words that only he could understand. Another nightmare. I look around the basement cloaked in harsh fluorescents, He isn’t here yet. I dash to the other corner of the room, hand plastered to my damaged ribs.
“Wake up! Joel, wake up! You need to wake up!” I hiss between my teeth.
Joel calms then his eyes flutter open to reveal the gray eyes I’ve become used to. When I first met him they were a clear blue, but since then they’ve dulled. He’s lost a part of himself. Of course I didn’t say anything when it first happened, not only was it a gradual thing but we never talk about feelings. Feelings are a hopeless thing to have here, all that matters in this basement, within these walls, is survival.
“I was having another nightmare, wasn’t I?” He asks, keeping eye contact as always.
“Yeah, but I don’t think he heard you,” I whisper, losing eye contact only to look to the ceiling, “Or at least he’s not moving.”
“I’m sorry Izzy. It was horrible, so much blood.” He was on the verge of tears.
Gripping onto his biceps I shook him, “No! You can’t cry! He might take you!”
I was sorry for shaking him so hard but my guilt of that was easier than losing him altogether. I know I couldn’t manage to live here alone. `We lean on each other for support in moments like this, when one of us could be taken.
He ripped himself from my grasp, “I know, I know. Thanks.”
The tears disappear and Joel’s face hardens. His eyes lose a slight amount of color. Another little piece gone.
Suddenly, there is thumping above us. Joel quickly lays back down and I sprint back to my corner, no longer worrying about my ribs. Throwing myself to the ground, I feel my head smack the cement then bounce but I can’t think about that. Right now I just have to lie as still as humanly possible. The door opens, a thin shadow snakes its way to the bottom of the steps as the wolf enters its den. The door is then slammed shut and I hear the thumping steps made by feet cloaked in workboots. One, two, three, four... all the way to thirty. There. He has made it to the bottom, to his “workspace”.
In The Basement(Sadie)
I wake up greeted by the smell I always am. Mold, urine, irony blood. Tears. Sitting up I have to tear my cheek from the floor where it was cemented. My eyes take no time to remember where I am, there is no sweet trick that I may be laying in my soft bed, covered with a green comforter, smelling the beginnings of a waffle breakfast coming from the kitchen. I haven’t been there for over two years.
Instead I’m laying on a cement floor, naked and covered in bruises, scratches and every other topical scars that can ‘grace’ a body. The room’s walls are covered in an ironically happy, faded 80’s wallpaper. In the very center is a metal picnic table, covered in blood. To the left of it is a small end table with saws, scalpels, scissors, basically anything with a blade. These are also covered in blood, some long dried, others freshly painted. There are no beds, no sofas, nothing. Just a staircase on the far wall, whose thumping alarm means danger.
Nested under the stairs is a small door that He keeps locked. A terrible odor comes from here and I know why. I’ve seen him open it sometimes when he’s finished an “operation”. In that closet sized space are stacks upon stacks of organs, human meat dangling from hangers. And in the very corner, slumped against the wall and crawling with maggots, is the girl who was here when I first arrived. Her name was... Kate? Maybe Kat. One of those ever so popular ‘K’ names. She was very pretty when I first saw her, even though she was close to malnourished and hadn’t seen a mirror or a shower in what was probably a very long time. Then, a week after I was pushed down the stairs into the basement naked and screaming, He took her. He killed Kat or Kate or whatever her name was. He jerked her madly to the blood coated picnic table and then restrained her with nylon ropes crossing her breasts, hips, knees, ankles, and wrists. She tried to scream but all that came out was a high pitched gasp for breath as He shoved a pair of scissors into her abdomen, his eyes glinting with glee. Tears rolled down K’s cheeks and blood began to gargle in her mouth. I covered my eyes with my hands, but it was like watching a horror movie, you could shield your eyes from the oncoming horror all you want but there’s always that temptation to peek through your fingers, to know what was happening. When I peeked, the screaming was long over but I didn’t hear Him leave up the stairs. I looked through my fingers and was paralyzed in fear and disgust by what I saw. K was not able to be recognized, her body was destroyed and her face was a mask of blood. He, the man who had done this, was now on top of her ruined body, defiling it further, muttering words of pleasure as he pushed himself further into the monster he created. All of this, this terrible scene of death and sick pleasuring, atop the table seemed to me as a grotesque family picnic or the anti-Last Supper. There are times when He disappears into the door for hours on end, screaming a solitary name. “Merissa!” he’d scream. Scream on and on and on.
In the other corner of this dastardly room is Joel. He was forced here about a month before I was so, naturally, I clung to him. He was also here for K’s death but we never talk about it. His back arches against the cold draft. He writhes and mumbles words that only he could understand. Another nightmare. I look around the basement cloaked in harsh fluorescents, He isn’t here yet. I dash to the other corner of the room, hand plastered to my damaged ribs.
“Wake up! Joel, wake up! You need to wake up!” I hiss between my teeth.
Joel calms then his eyes flutter open to reveal the gray eyes I’ve become used to. When I first met him they were a clear blue, but since then they’ve dulled. He’s lost a part of himself. Of course I didn’t say anything when it first happened, not only was it a gradual thing but we never talk about feelings. Feelings are a hopeless thing to have here, all that matters in this basement, within these walls, is survival.
“I was having another nightmare, wasn’t I?” He asks, keeping eye contact as always.
“Yeah, but I don’t think he heard you,” I whisper, losing eye contact only to look to the ceiling, “Or at least he’s not moving.”
“I’m sorry Izzy. It was horrible, so much blood.” He was on the verge of tears.
Gripping onto his biceps I shook him, “No! You can’t cry! He might take you!”
I was sorry for shaking him so hard but my guilt of that was easier than losing him altogether. I know I couldn’t manage to live here alone. `We lean on each other for support in moments like this, when one of us could be taken.
He ripped himself from my grasp, “I know, I know. Thanks.”
The tears disappear and Joel’s face hardens. His eyes lose a slight amount of color. Another little piece gone.
Suddenly, there is thumping above us. Joel quickly lays back down and I sprint back to my corner, no longer worrying about my ribs. Throwing myself to the ground, I feel my head smack the cement then bounce but I can’t think about that. Right now I just have to lie as still as humanly possible. The door opens, a thin shadow snakes its way to the bottom of the steps as the wolf enters its den. The door is then slammed shut and I hear the thumping steps made by feet cloaked in workboots. One, two, three, four... all the way to thirty. There. He has made it to the bottom, to his “workspace”.
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