The Light


I open my eyes and see a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Old roots accompany it, clinging tightly like mountain climbers. Rotting wine racks stand in desheveled rows. The stench of mildew and decaying wood brutally invade my nostrilsd as I take in a deep breath.

My eyes travel quickly down the far wall as I notice something metallic on my back. Im tied to a chair! My hands and feet are bound with the same thick ropes. My wrists burn from my subconcious struggle to break free.

I desperately attempt to shake free of the chair but it is bolted to the floor. I try to scream for help, but my dry throat prevents anything more than a whisper. A broken, wasted whisper, “Help, help…”

Hours pass by as I fruitlessly attempt to break free of my bindings. Im far too weak from hunger to even loosen the ropes. The light flickers as a door on the far wall opens. A tall, muscular figure enters and closes the door behind him. I take in his grotesque features as he sluggishly ambles toward me.

The apron he wears is stained brown and red. The right strap hangs freely over his chest like the roots in the ceiling. The apron barely covers his massive torso, clearly displaying his chest and arms. Torn blue jeans desperately cling to his waist, one wrong step from falling apart. His face is mangled and scarred as though he had a run in with a faulty belt sander.

The man stops barely a foot away from the chair. The smells of sweat and rotting flesh flood over my body, nearly causing me to vomit. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a large hunting knife. The light glinting off of the blade’s edge shows me that it has been freshly sharpened.

“Quite a beauty, isn’t she?” the man inquires in a gruff voice. “She belonged to my father, and his father before him. Can you guess what they used it for?” I shake my head exhaustedly. “Oh come now, take a stab!” he exclaims as she thrusts the knife into the empty air.

“Hunting?” I utter weakly.

“Exactly!” he says with a broken smile. “Gutting, skinning, and finishing off deer. But seeing as I don’t enjoy hunting, I use it for something else.” He takes a step closer. “Deer are not a worthy prey for a predator like me. I need something that shows its fear.” Another step. “Something that will scream at every pinprick, cut, and slash. Until finally,” he puts the blade to my throat, “I decide to end it.”

The room falls silent as I feel the blade drag across my jugular. I start choking and gagging on my own blood. The man laughs maniacally and stares intently into my eyes. The light flickers one last time before going out…