Escape

A scream tore at my throat as claws ripped at my heels.

As the echo faded, I heard a whisper in the darkness of the cell.

"Where you gonna go, where you gonna run?"

The voice was harsh, and it grated on my ears. It was just a whisper, only a suggestion of a sound, but it echoed in my skull, thrashing inside my brain.

Another scream. It must've come from me.

Claws clicked on the steel floor, like nails on a chalkboard. They clicked like a maniacal drumming of fingers, impatient, waiting.

Waiting for me.

I couldn't run. I couldn't say that I tried to save myself, because the cell was much too small. There were no doors. The only opening was a vent in the ceiling, where I had first been dropped into the cell. If only I could reach. It was impossibly high, more than twelve feet above me. I wish I could reach.

The thing hasn't killed me yet. Not yet. Four days, I have been locked, imprisoned in this cell. It watches me, breathes on my neck. Traces its claws along my arms.

Scares me.

My throat was raw with four days' worth of screaming, begging for it to stop. Please.

The thing clicked its claws on my arm, and I sobbed and tried to flee from the thing in the too-small room, tripping into the corner. My elbows were already purple, but now they were black.

As I fell, it jumped onto me. Dug its claws into my back, drew blood. Leaned its head down as I whimpered. Whispered with that voice, that awful voice.

"Where you gonna go, where you gonna run?"

I begged and cried as it held me down, cried with red and swollen eyes.

And then it jumped. Jumped to somewhere. I never knew where. This time, I felt it leave, somehow. But it would come back.

It always came back.

I pulled myself across the cell, hugged my knees in the corner. The room was empty, save for a bucket. I hadn't used the bucket yesterday. It has been four days.

Four days without water, without food.

I sobbed, there in the corner. Sobbed. I didn't know how this was happening. I didn't know, didn't know anything.

But I did know that I was going insane.

That was the goal, I think. To break me. To make me split at the seams, fray at the corners.

It was working.

In the short periods when the thing left, I pulled at my hair. It covered the steel floor, now, instead of my head. I scratched my legs with my nails, and left raw streaks in my skin. I muttered to myself, sang lullabies to make myself sleep.

But the thing always came before I could rest.

I heard a shuffling, a disturbing of dust as the thing returned. No.

No no no no no no no no no no.

Not again.

I struggled to my feet with the little strength I had, and heaved myself to the opposite corner, where I hoped the thing was not. I could never tell, though, as the cell was completely dark.

It grazed my cheek with a rough, matted tail, and leaped away.

It left again.

The movement of walking re-opened up a cut on my arm, a cut that the thing had opened yesterday, with razor-like claws.

I didn't know what the thing looked like. It was too dark for that. But I have felt the claws, and the disgusting, slimy shell. I don't want to know what it looks like.

I tried to fight it at the beginning. Pushed it away, struggled. I punched it once, but it hurt my hand more than it hurt it. I had gotten hurt the worst when I struggled. It didn't work.

I even called for help in the beginning. Banged on the cold walls, screamed towards the vent above me. I prayed, prayed so hard that I would be saved from this.

But I was fading. It had been four days without food, without water.

And I knew The Rule Of Three.

Three hours without shelter.

I had shelter. A cold, steel cell, underground and without light. Four walls and a roof.

Three minutes without air.

I had air. The vent made sure of that...

A cold wave washed over me as I realized:

THE VENT

The vent. Maybe I couldn't run, but I could escape. I could escape the horror of the thing, the torture. I could escape. Not run. Just escape.

Three weeks without food.

I grabbed the bucket, turned it over. The contents spilled onto the hairy floor. The smell made me gag, and I dry-heaved onto the floor.

I gathered my remaining strength as I stepped onto the bucket. My head was pounding, my vision was dimming.

Three days without water.

I wasn't going to wait to die. I wasn't going to wait for the thing to have mercy. I wasn't going to wait to die of dehydration, like I already was. But I wouldn't let it finish me. I wasn't going to be driven insane.

I still had dignity.

The vent was open, just a hole in the ceiling without a cover. I decided that I could make it.

I pressed one foot against the wall, and braced my shoulders and arms against the other wall. I sucked in a deep breath.

I braced my back and left foot against the cold steel, my right foot sliding a few inches up. I took a deep breath and lifted my torso up as well, slamming it back onto the wall to keep myself from falling, my weak arms shaking at the effort. I repeated the process over and over, for what seemed like hours, until my head touched the ceiling. The vent was within arm's reach, and I was thankful that the vent ran across instead of up, giving me an edge to hold onto. I slowly raised my arms and grabbed onto the edge. I repositioned myself so my legs were on opposite walls, and made a mad scramble into the vent. I pushed my head inside, gripping the seams in the duct to pull my aching legs in. My limbs screamed in pain as I lay there, panting. My feet were hanging out, my head turned to the expanse of the vent.

I knew it would be there. I knew it would not let me leave.

A distant, dim sunlight shed a glow on the face of the thing.

The twisted, malicious, shredded, ruined features of a face. The mouth spread into an approximation of a smile, teeth glinting.

"Where you gonna go, where you gonna run?"

Another grating whisper.

But it thought I was trying to run.
I screamed one last insult at the thing.

"I'll see you in Hell, you bloody maggot."

I pushed myself out of the vent, screeching as my emaciated arms put forth their last effort.

My skull was smashed by the floor as I landed headfirst. Blood gushed from my head as my bones screamed in pain. Blood.

The thing's smiling face was branded into my eyes, the only thing I saw.

I heard laughing as I died.