In the Cell

Why would they not act, these men – my tormentors? They laughed – laughter! – and excused themselves. They made no move to do my bidding! I implored them – I could bear the sound no longer!

But ere they left, the noise grew fainter. Its dreadful beating rang no more inside my head. I felt – nay, I saw! For truly I saw – my fear departing from my soul.

I have convinced you, have I not, of my clear sanity? and such will be furthermore displayed henceforth. As the dawn light increased, I myself grew calmer. My nerves settled and once again I knew I had nothing to fear. How could I have? My deed was undetectable; what clue had I left?

Once more I returned to the old man’s chamber, empty as it had been left. No sign remained to betray my secret – all was still. I myself was content, and this in itself shows my clear state of mind: only madmen fear fear.

The day passed; eve approached. As the hour approached that of four, the sound of knocking rang out against my door.

I opened it. There, as recurring phantoms, the men stood once more. They had seen through my demeanour! My deed was discovered! At once my fear rose up like bile in my throat. Why had they come?

Before I had moved – in mere seconds – they were upon me. Hands grasped my arms: I could not run! One ran past me and made his way into my chamber. I screamed – I swore – I struck out in terror. But to no avail! They had me; I was done.

They took me to a building many hours’ drive away. No words had passed between us, other than an enquiry as to my identity. My questions – my protests – fell upon deaf ears. My hands were shackled, like those of the dangerous or insane. What police were these, that treated me thus? None that I know of.

This cell in which I sit contradicts all I have heard of the cells of prisons. There is no crowding, no cramped rooms. Excepting one thing, I would think myself quite, quite alone.

Excepting the noise. At night (or what I presume is night, for I have no view of the outside world) I hear shrieks and cries. My acuteness of hearing – once again intensified – causes me to hear every word, every murmur. I cannot sleep for fear the sounds that I hear – those faceless footsteps – will enter the cell and take me unawares.

One day past, or perhaps two, the incessant footsteps halted outside my door. I, leaning against the padded wall (do they think me a child?), heard them enter. I did not rise or open my eyes. What need was there? I would hear all I needed to know.

Unseen hands grabbed my arms, dragging me upwards. Unknown voices demanded my attention. I did not comply. What obedience owed I to them?

My face was struck, my wrists were seized. They measured my pulse, my height, my weight. They bid me speak but I did not. I heard notes being taken and mentions of muteness & loss of sense. They left me once more.

And so I sit. Ten days and more they have left me; alone, awake, afraid. No word has been said of the old man – no mention of how they have seen through my manner of confidence to the truth within. I know not the reason for the terrible imprisonment: I have done no other than to act as an instrument through which Death does his work.

I shall go mad – go mad, mark you! – here in this cell.