View Full Version : The Box: Short Story

06-22-2009, 07:11 AM
I awoke from my unconscious state, my head throbbed, my feet, my wrists and my eyes burned like an inferno dancing in a savannah open plain, not to mention my mouth which was sealed shut. The last thing I remember, before where I am now, was walking my 90 year old grandmother from the nursing home back towards our family reunion we were celebrating at the time. After feeling a sharp pain to the back of my skull, there was blackness.

The room smelt dusty and very closed in. Little air would have been free to move inside here. It was difficult to breathe and all I could here were the heavy breathing sounds of a human and a rotating ceiling fan behind me, the breathing stopped with a distinguished, yet sudden sigh. My eyes were still adjusting to the ambiance of what seemed to be a basement. All I now saw were a single flickering light bulb above me, a bricked stairway with rusty hand rails on the left and right side that lead to a doorway about 7 steps up and a cabinet with a strange metal box on top seemed to be the main focus of the room. Then as I realized I was just a blood thirsty leach to a bloodied stool on which I sat upon, his face appeared before mine.

The old man studied me with his grimace smile before bursting out into a chaotic laughter. "I see you may be in a spot of bother?" he seemed to ask as if it were a rhetorical question. "They have puzzled me for weeks, now they will learn to...Love...Me?" He quizzed as if I knew something. I felt the fear rise within me now. I wished I could have retaliated to the old man and demand why I was here. But I found the task seemingly impossible. The words all came out at once in an inaudible mumble and groan. The pain seared across my face. He looked amused now as he watched me attempt to speak. Why wasn't I talking properly? The old man must have read my mind because at that exact moment he turns around and headed straight towards that maple cabinet. It had 4 compartments. 2 main drawers and 2 single drawers on each side at the top which swung open as he pulled upon the brass handles. He watched me over his shoulder still directing himself at the cabinet now.

He bent over into the left drawer and revealed a small throw away camera which was decorated in a floral design much of which you would find in a tropical paradise vacation. He spun towards me now with a steadied stride and aimed the camera towards the ground before me before standing in a sudden halt. I wanted to follow the lens to see what he was photographing but my head felt duct taped to the back of this chair. My eyes burned more so fiercely then they had previously as the flash suffocated the room, blinding me for a moment. The man aimed the camera at my face now taking another flash which was not nearly half as bad as the previous flash.

He walked behind me now. Stoping before taking three photographs; I saw the flashes pass my head. He started to walk again and I heard the wheeling of rusty wheels under something heavy. I saw him pacing himself in the corner of my eye pushing something, something that could possibly end my life right now.
Quite tattered and torn but yet so magnificent. A 17th century, Antique, Gold trimmed mirror with diamonds encrusting the outlined border which had engravings of what seemed to be small dancers throughout the entire borderline. He saw my reverence and spoke up. "I hear you are a collector, no?" I of course attempted to reply. My lips still fastened and I felt another searing pain lash out across my lips. He looked puzzled as though waiting a response "Oh what a shame, I would have let you have it. But you are so rude, not answering me after being questioned, oh well then." He picked up a heavy looking rock he must have picked up earlier and hurled it at the mirror shattering the mirror into bits. I could not see myself in the mirror before he tossed the rock, but now the shards lay across the floor I now saw myself. Bruises across my cheeks and nose, I saw the blood seeping from my nose. The Old man didnít pity my discomfort. "You want to know why you cannot speak?! Look carefully at your lips, boy!" I saw in horror that the reason I could not speak was most certainly something I now feared for my own well being. I saw holes where blood had been cleaned and replaced by a thread that sew my lips shut. My mouth has been stitched. The man, dropping the camera on the floor now, reaches for a larger shard of glass and approaching me. I knew he was going to do something terrible.

He smiled at me as he offered me the shard of glass for me to take, I saw myself inside the shard. I saw myself bruised, tortured and defenceless. I could not move and he knew that. "You are blind my good man. Look past yourself in the image" and in fact I did! I saw my 90 year old grandmother tied naked at the throat from a noose swinging back and forth from the ceiling fan I have been hearing for the last 10 minutes. I screamed through my lacerated mouth. Then my attention gazed from the image to the old manís accomplished face. He then stood down at me in his trench coat, long, black tracksuit pants saturated in blood before giving me a meaningful wave goodbye. "I am going to have these developed in my personal laboratory. We can't have anyone seeing these little snapshots, can we?" He turned swiftly toward the door at the top of the stairway while whistling an eerie tone.

30 minutes past and the old man finally returned. I felt the tears streaming down my face. He came out in a very disturbing, cheery tone. "Look I have the pictures!!!" It just made me sob louder and my face grew bright red. He started flipping through each of the pictures as though commenting on the "good times" as he put them. At this point in time I was fixed on that metal box over on the cabinet, tuning out the old manís ramblings. Then felt a strong force lash across my face, wincing in pain as my wrists started to sting. He pointed out the photograph of his Feet being nailed to the floor. Two long 12 inch nails with a diameter of over 10 millimetres in each foot. One in the base of the toes and one on a 45 degree angle through my ankle above the heel and out under mid way of the foot. This is when the overwhelming pain started to overcome my senses of fear and hatred towards the man. He just stared at me with his black eyes and his foul-stench breath escaping his discoloured teeth.
He flicked to the next photo. This was the photo of my face that I had already seen in the shard of glass and also with... He interrupted flicking to the next photo revealing the body of my naked grandmother hanging by the throat from a strained noose and ceiling fan still revolving. In the picture you could closely see her bloodshot eyes staring blankly ahead and her neck muscles stretched as far as they would go. I felt the tears build up in my eyes. He switched to the next photo of behind me with my wrists bound with barbed wire behind my chair and a pool of blood at my base. He then flicked to the final photo. It was a close up of that mysterious metal box. He then faintly smiled at me. "Do you wish to know the contents?" he asked. I gave what meant to be a nod of agreement. He paced himself quickly but then slowing up as her reached closer and closer until finally stopping. He picked up an envelope that lay across the top of the metal box which I seamed to of missed while staring blankly down at it. "The police should be here sometime soon, I've been waiting." He thoughtfully stated as I noticed the far off sirens becoming louder and louder. "I reassure you, this letter will explain everything. Everything about what has happened tonight." I felt scared. "Now, for what is inside the box" He pulled open the lock and slowly uncovered what was in the box.
There shone a powerful looking pistol that frightened me beyond belief. I was so scared that I did not even notice he was pointing the gun directly at my forehead. I flinched and the nails slid down harder into my feet. "I don't see why you should live!" I used all of my strength to open the stitching with my bare jaw but only managed to make the slightest of gaps. "Why? Why me?" I murmured. He looked shocked yet amused as the policemen and women burst through the cellar door. He peered over his shoulder as the police entered quickly then twitched back at me, his eye twitched before he yelled in a manic, hoarse voice "no, no, no. Why me?!" pointing the gun directly at his own temple before squeezing the trigger. His skull cracks open as the blood smears in every direction. Large clots of brain and fractured skull protrude from the skin. Smearing across the room, across several police officersí uniforms and across me. I feel so scared, so alone and my stomach is giving way. I struggle in my confined space watching everything jump around me as if in slow motion. I feel the stomach acids reacting and my throat squeezes tight as I feel my tongue force into the back of my throat. I throw my bodyweight forward but to no avail. I scream and scream but it is muffled. I am shocked that the police just stand there watching. There is no chance of me being removed from this seat alive. My mouth will not open and I feel the regurgitation burn my insides as it fills my mouth. I cannot breathe and there is no escape. I watch the old man hit the floor, his head ricocheting against the concrete slab. His left eye bulges out of its socket on impact and the right has already been obliterated by the gunshot-wound. The police surround me searching for an escape. They try to free me but it is no use. The room is spinning, my time has come, and the room is fading black.

The End