WARNING:
This story is a horror story. This story displays scenes of extreme violence and death and should not be read by young children. Please consult a legal guardian if you are unsure of the following work.
Reader discretion is advised.
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The room was dark and the damp. The cement floors cold beneath her feet. No windows were allowing light in. There was only a dark shadow coming from one hanging, exposed light bulb. The wooden chair stood solid in the middle of the basement floor. No other furniture littered the floor. There were exposed beams on the ceiling and a stairway leading upstairs.
The wooden chair was bolted to the floor. It couldn't move from its spot directly under the light. In the shadows, too hard to really see, was a large crate, secured with a lock. The chest was too heavy to move, filled with secrets and wreaking of bleach. The floor around the chair had the same sharp smell and a large stain, of where the bleach was poured, on the floor.
The girl sat in the chair her energy drained from a long night. She sat with her head resting on her chest, no energy to pick herself up. Her hair was pulled into her face and tangled over her head. Her eyes were now dark and emotionless. All life drained out of her.
She tried to summon the energy to move, but the sharp cutting pain in her ankles and arms stopped her. The rope burns were too bad and her cramped muscles refused to move. The old, hard rope was digging into her wrists and her ankles, tied too tight to even sit on her skin correctly.
The cloth in her mouth chaffed and cut into her lip, drawing blood and pulling off old and new scabs. She couldn’t close her mouth because of the cloth. Her tongue was long dried and useless now. The only sound she could make was the screams her throat made as she sat there longer.
Her clothes were ripped and torn away from parts of her body. Crimson patches covered the dirty cloth in large patches. Her skin underneath was in the same condition as her clothes. Shredded and stained. Bruises marble her skin and made her sensitive to any touch or air movement.
Scratching came from above her head. Her head snapped up as the door at the top of the stairs opened and scratched the floor in its wake. Foot steps pounded the stairs as the man came down them slowly, closing the door behind him.
The girl watched his every move, waiting for it all to go wrong again. He walked over to large crate in the shadows. The girl pulled against her already deadly bounds. A scream echoed out of her throat. The man tossed a look and a smirk over his shoulder.
He pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it into the pad-lock that keeped it chest closed and out of attention of anyone. The lock clicked and was pulled from the crate. Slowly the lid was lifted. The girl could see into his crate of pain and blood, full of bleach, chains, and knives of all sizes and lengths.
The man grabbed a large chain and a large, silver knife and slowly walked towards the girl. She pulled against her restraints and tried to scream for help, but it was useless in the soundproof basement. She pulled against her ropes and tried to move the chair but it was all useless.
The man came closer. He pulled the ropes that were on her feet first. She tried to kick but it was short lived. The cold iron chains wrapped around her ankles and behind her knees. The rope from her wrists were replaced with cold chains also. They bit into her skin and started to draw blood from already fresh wounds and from the deep bruises of her body. They tore into the muscles that hardly exist anymore. The chains that held her in place during a certain time, and not one that she ever wished to live again.
The knife traced parts of her body. Her hands, then her feet. Next came her knees and elbows. Slowly the blood started to flow down her skin and onto the floor. Her upper thighs and upper arms were next. Then he reached her upper body.
The cold tip of the knife, now crimson with blood, traced her stomach, leaving blood trails that flowed from small shallow cuts in its wake. He move to her head, repeating the process on her forehead, dripping blood into her eyes, and soaking her hair in the thick liquid of herself.
Finally he walked away from her. Leaving her there for now, but before he could get a full step, he turned on his feet and sank the knife into her heart. The knife entered to the handel and sank deep into the muscle before being ripped out and sank into her again. She let out a strangled, gurgled scream. He pulled the knife out again and slit her neck. From one side to the other her blood flowed in alarming amounts. More alarming than it would be if her throat was slit by another. Her body convulsed and the blood pooled on the floor and on her body and clothes. Slowly what was left of her life left her body and just a corpse was left in the wooden chair.
*****
The man carried a bag to the river, emptying the contents into the river. A arm here, a foot there. Pieces of seven girls, who all sat in the wooden chair. The one surrounded by a stained patch of bleach and in the soundproof basement. He tossed the bag in, along with his gloves. He then set out to find another girl, who would like to spend two weeks in his chair.
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Scary Story!!! Really hard to write....
~A<3
