A girl is held hostage, but not all is as it seems
THEY WERE SO NICE
She was in a huge field of wildflowers, sitting by a cool running stream on a beautiful, warm summer day. A butterfly with bright purple and yellow wings fluttered about in the soft breeze, and as Debbie Cooper slowly stretched out her arm, hoping to coax the delicate creature into the palm of her hand, her utopia was suddenly shattered by screams.
She sat bolt upright, not sure if they were real, but as the screams continued from upstairs, she realized they were real, and where she was.
And where she had been for the last seven months.
Thirty seconds went by as the screams gradually subsided until they were little more than a whimpering, a pathetic sobbing that could only be of someone who knew their own fate.
Another one, Debbie thought. They got another girl.
Debbie rubbed her eyes and looked around the dimly lit room. The only light, if it could be called a light, was the dancing flame of a small red candle that sat in the corner. There was no furniture, not even a mattress to sleep on, which is why her back was as sore as it was. The little sleep she did get was on the hard concrete floor, and what she had to keep warm with at night was the moldy blanket they’d so graciously offered on her first night of captivity.
“Please take it,” the woman insisted. “I know how cold it gets down here, and we don’t want you to freeze to death.”
They were so nice.
Overhead, a few flies buzzed around aimlessly. She was sitting Indian style, and when one of them landed on her knee she shooed it away, only to watch it go land on the bones by the candle. They were stripped of their meat, and Debbie knew she wasn’t the first one to have been here. The bones were about the only thing she had to look at during the day when the one small window allowed the dirty light in. The spider and the rat were her only other visual entertainment, and Charlotte rarely showed her face during the day. She worked the nightshift, building her intricate web to catch her own dinners. Debbie was surprised she wasn’t working right now. Two or three of her future meals were tangled up in her gossamer lacework.
Mortimer was different. He’d scurry out of his hiding places at any hour of the day or night. Sometimes he’d stop and stand up on his hind legs to sniff the dank air, his little whiskers twitching as he checked Debbie for any new signs of infirmity. One night she woke up to see him standing on her chest, staring at her. Her scream had brought them down immediately, wondering what in God’s name had frightened her so.
They were so nice.
Even though she hadn’t eaten anything for a few days, Debbie suddenly had the urge to go ‘number two’. Thankfully, the urge passed after a few seconds. Her bucket was full anyway, most of it pee. Normally they emptied it for her every other day, but today they must have forgot. Oh well. They were probably busy getting this new girl.
They were still nice.
Debbie adjusted her collar, a thick leather thing that was attached to the wall by a ten foot length of chain. She had grown accustomed to it now, even considered it part of her wardrobe. Her panties and bra completed her ensemble.
She was just starting to lay back down when the voices upstairs suddenly erupted, as well as the girl's screams. She heard the footsteps approaching the door at the head of the stairs, and she knew she was about to have company. The door flew open, and Debbie saw the silhouette of a girl being pushed down the stairs. It collapsed into a heap and rolled down to the bottom.
“Take care of her, Debbie,” the man said. His voice was low and raspy, a heavy smoker’s voice. The door slammed shut, and the footsteps slowly faded away .
The heap was crying. Debbie’s leash allowed her to crawl over to her.
“Hey, hey. Calm down, honey.” She reached down and put her hand under the girl’s chin, raising her face to hers. “It’s OK. I’m here. You’re not alone.”
The girl opened her swollen eyes and stared at her. She looked like a wild animal. Her long red hair was wet with tears and hung in her face. She didn’t look any older than fifteen, sixteen at the most. Her dress was torn to pieces, and it was obvious what they had been doing to her.
Sometimes they weren’t so nice.
“Who…who…who are you?” the girl asked, her voice catching between sobs.
Debbie put her arms around her and helped her sit up. “My name’s Debbie. Debbie Cooper. What’s yours?”
“Lin...Linda,” she stammered. “That man, he…he…”
“Hush, Linda, hush,” Debbie said as she put her finger against Linda’s lips. “I know what he did. You don’t need to tell me. Are you alright? I mean, other than…”
Linda sat up a little straighter. Her sobs were starting to slow down and her breathing was getting more regular.
“Why?” she asked. “Why did he do that?”
Debbie didn’t know how to answer, or even if she could answer. Instead she just wanted this poor girl to rest.
“You need to lie down, Linda. This is too much for you right now.” She helped her over to her own sleeping spot and the two of them huddled together, side by side on the cold concrete floor.
Within minutes, she managed to get Linda to sleep. And whether it was from exhaustion, shock, or both, Debbie didn’t care.
She opened her mouth and lowered her face to the girl’s throat.
Her gracious hosts had given her food.
They were so nice.
Published in Infernal Ink Magazine (vol. 2 issue 1 for April 2013)
Yes, I'm bragging, but I don't get to do that very often. So let me toot my own horn for one moment, if I may...So remember when Navin from Steve Martin's 'The Jerk' looked in the phone book and discovered he ''was somebody"? Well, that's kinda how I felt when I saw this review this morning (even though it's been out for more than 2 months...when I originally wrote this)
April 12, 2013 · by Hearse-Say Magazine ·
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INFERNAL INK MAGAZINE VOL. 2 ISSUE 1 by Rick Powell
Another great issue that cannot be missed! This is a magazine to keep on the look out for. So many talented writers in here. Hydra and Dave are onto something really great here in world of small press. If you like a “no-holds barred, punch to the stomach and groin” writing…this is it. I look forward to their magazine whenever it comes out. The scope of writing in this tome will be a devilish delight to those who enjoy the decadent tastes of literature. Be warned..these are for mature readers and if you get easily offended..this is not for you. Excellent poetry by Vicy Cross, Robert Leuthold and others. The short stories by James L. Jones and Rick McQuiston stick out very well. You also have “Andrea‘s Rants” which I look forward to each issue. If you like an “Eclectic” taste in music, check out “The DaveL’s Music” Always a pleasure…Keep up the good work, guys!
This blows my mind! Thank you Writing.Com! This would never have happened without you and everyone on here!