The Basement

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


Warning: contains graphic details


The basement.

Cold, damp, and reeking of rotted flesh and blood. He felt something rubbing up against his wrists. It bared a burning sensation and felt like bruises had been placed all around them. His body was so weak it could hardly move at all. He tried with the energy he had to look up. His eyes seemed to search for a life source, but nothing was there. Or so he thought.

A moan lowered from across the dark room. He shifted his grey eyes toward the direction of the noise and lied them on what looked like a corpse. Even worst, a decapitated and mangled pile of mostly organs and ripped skin. In a puddle of its own blood it looked like multiple different kinds of creatures put together-or ripped apart from each other. It was, in fact, a person, but the body was so discombobulated and shredded that it was hard enough to tell what gender the person was. There were dark, hollow sockets where the eyes should've been. The holes were scooped out, the remains of what the eyes were attached to hung out in an unnatural and disgusting manner. There was a flat surface where he guessed the nose would've been and two large gashes in each cheek. The sides of the slits had raw flesh hanging off of them where the skin had been ripped from the face. The torso of the body was a mangled mess. Nothing in that area was recognizable besides the lungs, which were disconnected from the rest of the organs. The arms and legs of the person might've been the only parts that weren't completely grinded and torn. Other than some bruises and dislocated joints, they looked untouched- which was an oxymoron.

He stared at the gory mess next to him and gagged. Though his captor had tortured and killed people in front of him before, it didn't make sense to him that he'd go this far. What did this person do wrong, he wondered. He couldn't stand the stench anymore. The smell of rotting organs and flesh didn't appeal to him as a very nice fragrance. He tried to cover his nose, but his arms wouldn't budge. He tugged at them violently, feeling the surging pain rush through his wrists. His eyes trailed back to the pole behind him, staring at the rusted metal of the chains and shackles cuffed around his lower forearms. His stomach gave in and a sudden flow of vomit shot from his mouth onto the floor next to him. He gagged once again and lowered his head.

"Get out."

He thought he heard the words to leave. He looked up again and scanned the dimly lit basement.

"Get out."

He heard it again. It was as if the lifeless lump of body parts was telling him to escape. He knew he was just imagining things. It was dead. It was gone, there would be no way for it to speak in the condition that it was in.

Footsteps.

Thud, thud, thud...

 


 


Submitted: January 05, 2018

© Copyright 2021 Cloud J. Yankira. All rights reserved.

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