Plagued

The door slammed shut with so much force that the hinges rattled, threatening to snap. There was a slight creak as the man who had just walked in adjusted his weight onto his other leg. He had heavy black boots on, black jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, all accentuating the fact that he was very slender, with long, disproportionate limbs. He had a plague doctor mask on, a large bird-beaked mask with glass plates over the eyes. His footsteps woke the girl hanging on the wall up. She yawned a little, blurry vision focusing once more. She looked up, almost not recognizing the figure. It was the spiky silver hair poking out from the top of the mask that gave it away.

 

“Morning.” She greeted, smiling a little. He didn’t reply, only stalking over into the next room as if she didn’t exist. She sighed, pulling against the restraints a little. She knew there was no hope. She shut her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but the sudden shrill whine of an electric drill coupled with a few blood-curdling screams forced them back open again. She sighed again; although this time she couldn’t even hear herself. Her stomach growled, and she could feel her body yelling at her for lack of food in her system. The noise from the other room stopped with a sickening crunch. She didn’t react to it, but instead waited anxiously for the man to return.

 

His mask was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes. She cursed mentally; she must have fallen asleep again. He was watching her though, from the other side of the room. Neither of them spoke. Finally he reached behind him and unclasped his mask, letting it fall off into his lap. His silver hair jutted out in random places, black roots beginning to grow back in. As he turned to her the other side of his face became visible, a large mass of scar tissue stretching up from the corner of his mouth to his ear like some sort of demented curling smile. He was crying, but not showing any emotion otherwise. Her heart skipped a beat. She was utterly, madly in love with this man- this man she didn’t even know, who had her strapped to a wall in his basement, who wore a weird mask, who was everything she should be afraid of… and wasn’t. And she didn’t want to admit it, but he was probably going to kill her soon.

 

“Darlin’,” he said, his voice raspy with underuse, a slight southern accent clouding his voice, “I don’t have much time left. They’re goin’ to be comin’ for me soon, and I guess that means I have to either kill ya, or let ya go.” Suddenly there was a noticeable change, his eyes going from a soft green to a stormy gray. He opened his mouth again, but there was no more accent audible in his voice. “Who am I kidding? I could never kill you. I love you.” He crossed the room, fumbling with the chains that held her in place. One let go, and she dangled by her left arm from the wall. A searing pain ran through her arm. His eyes changed again, this time a dark blue. His accent changed, British this time. “What am I doing?! I want you to die, you worthless piece of scum!” He grabbed her throat tightly, squeezing harder and cutting off her air supply. She smiled. Using her free arm, she pushed herself forwards enough so that her lips just barely brushed his. She was beginning to feel lightheaded. His eyes changed again, back to gray. Her let go of her throat, supporting her by her waist and crashing his lips against hers.

 

The footsteps were crashing down the stairs, and he fumbled with his long fingers for a knife. His eyes began flashing wildly as the knife came down. And as the door flew open, the knife landed in his chest. His eyes, still changing colors, were wide open. The police would later report that he was alone, and that there was no girl with him. That he had already raped her and killed her, and that they were only being professionals when they took photos of the body. Humans… worthless pigs.