Amy’s Story: Part 1

2-rusty-shackleAmy opened her eyes to nothing, and she was confused.  She tried to bring her hands to her eyes thinking she could rub away the dark, but her hands were bound behind her back.  A wave of panic surged through her body.  She tried to scream but  could only mew like a kitten.  Her mouth was sealed with a sticky substance she knew to be duct tape.   Her breathing came hard and ragged in and out of her nose.  The sudden loss of carbon dioxide brought her to the brink of hyperventilation.  

Cold fear tightened around her neck and suffocation like the grim reaper threatened her life.  Knowing death was eminent, she tried to concentrate on slowing her breathing.  Again she tried to move but to no avail except for a slight sway back and forth.  To Amy’s horror she realized she was hanging upside down.  Warm liquid ran down her legs from her shackled ankles.  The shackles that bit into her skin had been tightened by a man three times her size.  The pain was almost unbearable and Amy did the only thing she could. Silent tears dripped to mix with the blood and cold earth below.  

Amy hung helpless like a piece of meat waiting for the butcher’s saw.

******

He was confident she wouldn’t be able to escape.  The shackles he used were old but solid, and he had added a bit more force when clasping them to her ankles.  There was no way she could get out of them.  He hadn’t wanted to leave her but he had worked up an incredible appetite and he became grumpy when he was hungry.  He smiled at the thought, and looked at the spinach he sauteed and saw that it had reached perfection.   No, he didn’t like being grumpy; besides it was most important that he display his “good side” to his guest, hanging in the cellar.

Yes, he had already decided to play the perfect gentlemen.  He would be ever so kind and gentle as he cared for her wounds and afterward he would present a dinner cooked to perfection in honor of their first night together.   He reached for the steaks that had been marinating overnight.  The hot grill sizzled when both fillets kissed the iron.  God it smelled good.  He smiled knowing Amy would enjoy them.

He thought of Amy.  God she was beautiful.  Beautiful but not glamorous, and he liked it that way.  The first time he saw her in class he thought of Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island.  Her innocence had captivated him so much that he found it hard to concentrate on the lesson she taught.  After a while he got past her smile…she was always smiling, and settled in upon the content of her lesson.  Not only was she a “looker” but the lady could teach.  She taught through example, so the technique developed right before your eyes.  It was almost as if they were the only two in the room; he was oblivious to the other twenty-five who sat under her teaching.

******

Amy floated in and out of consciousness as she hung in an old root cellar. Exhaustion and pain, from gravity, and her own, body weight, made even shallow breathing near to impossible. The vessels in her brain bulged heavy with blood, so no matter how hard she willed herself to stay awake, she eventually could do nothing but surrender to the darkness.

In those short waking moments, she tried to remember what had happened to bring her to this place of hell. Memory came and went in flashes, and the very moment she thought she understood, darkness clouded her mind and once again she fell into unconsciousness.  At first this was frustrating, but then, in a sick sort of way, it became a game of cat and mouse.  Amy conditioned herself to capture, hold, and tuck away every memory from each awakening moment.

Conscious once again, Amy began to sort the snippets of memory she had collected…a cabin…a phone call…Rudy… barking and growling…utter fear and confusion…  Slowly, ever so slowly, the pieces fell into place and Amy was able to remember the sequence of events that had led her here…

******

to be continued…

(To continue visit Amy’s Story: Part 2)

Baby Monitor Madness

baby-monitor-02Hello Creepy Friends!

Has this ever happened to you?

There you are, in your bed, your head upon your pillow, you are warm, safe and are just about to fall into a sweet bliss, when a strange sound comes from the baby monitor, sitting beside you, on your night stand.

Is the baby awake?

Static?

Or…was it something malevolent…

a soft whisper…

the voice of a stranger?

I can’t imagine anything creepier; except for, perhaps…The scenario of coming to the realization…that the heavy breathing over the phone,  originates from someone hidden inside your house.

Yikes!

This year, we were shocked to discover, our Presidential Election had been compromised by Russian hackers; so I guess we shouldn’t be surprised to learn that our baby monitors can also be hacked.

However, put yourself in the shoes of these parents, and tell me how you would feel.

Read this: Sinister but True Baby Monitor Stories

Stay Creepy My Friends!

Daily Prompt:  Scent

Having a Creepy Kind of Day

Why so serious?

(You know it can’t be healthy)

12805884_1339873439363585_6968274713506900628_n
Borrowed from Spooky Southeast

“British X-files” soon to be released for public view!  Article later today!

Visit my other Blog Redhead Reflections

(Spooky Southeast podcast-well worth the listen!)

Angel of Death

angel-of-death-bw-david-dehner

Angel of Death Photo by David Dehner

 

She watched him from her place of containment.  Sure enough, he had “the mark” and so she fled her confines to mingle among the chaos of the crowd below.

She felt his stare.  Knowing this to be her cue, she covered the ten steps, separating them and asked with a timid voice, “Care to dance, handsome?”

As usual, the stranger’s eyes filled with suspicion, but once he saw her shy smile, he tossed doubt away, and  accepted her soft hand.  In an instant their bodies melded and he was consumed with unquenchable lust.  He wanted her, but the intense craving terrified him. Sensing his resolve, she crushed him closer and huskily growled, “My poor…poor beast..not use to being controlled…”

Slowly she pulled away…but only enough for him to look into her black eyes.  In them, he saw the innocents he had hurt screaming his name and coming for  him. Terror squeezed his heart until it burst and then the beast fell to the ground.

She let the corpse drop to the floor and then she faded into the picture hanging on the tavern’s wall.  The caption underneath read, “Angel of Death”

(Word count 175)

(originally posted as “Mark of the Beast”  in Redhead Reflections in the participation of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers)