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I hardly recognize it anymore. This thinning canvas that entombs the long rotted meat and crippling bones of a man more glorious in his prime. It has become leather. A hide tanned repeatedly by a twisted mind. Staples struggle to hold it together. It smells of death and decay. To glimpse it makes me ill. As if for some twisted entertainment, my tormentor mounted mirrors in my dank prison.
“Reminders,” he said with a malicious grin curling across a time-worn face, “that God no longer holds control over life and death.”
Tears sting under the rusted staples as I dare a glimpse. The face staring back is not mine. That withered creature crammed within its putrid form. Its once handsome features now ripped only to rejoin. A twisted dance of the damned.
I know not why I became the poor soul torn from the void. Forced to endure such abysmal horrors at the hands of this madman.
The locks creak in their tumblers, causing the foreign object wrenched in its cage to pound furiously against its confines.
The wooden door separating us opens. Again that smile appears. Both hands in his pockets as he crosses the small room to reach for his tool of malicious intent.
A flash of a silver blade in the faint light. The familiar pain will soon begin. Staples will tear and the canvas will spread again and again.
As they do every night.
I hope you enjoyed this macabre flash fiction. In a way, it’s a gothic ghost story If you did, please share it with a fellow horror enthusiast.
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