Sneak Peek at a New Story!

Hello, my Loved Readers! 😀 I’m currently working on a new novella and Spook Shorts #2. 😀 For today’s post, I thought I’d share a very rough draft of the first part of one of my new shorts which will be featured in Spook Shorts Volume 2.

There’s probably a lot of typos and stuff. but remember, it’s a rough draft. 😀 I just wanted to share this with you all. 😀 work up a bit of buzz about my works. It’s also my first attempt at a present tense story, so I hope it reads ok.

Happy Reading! Likes, Comments, and Shares are love, ya’ll!

I Love The Screaming

Take a look into the mind of a very distubed indiviual as play with their latest toy.

Part 1: Now

The soundproof room in my basement is dark and dirty. The only light comes from a small, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The only way in or out is the door I have just came through. It only locks from the outside. Only I have the key. The room is mostly bare. There is a work bench along one wall, holding all of my toys. In the center of is a metal table And on that metal table, held down with chains, is a naked man.

It smells, this room. Sweat. Blood. Piss. Shit. Vomit. It all mixes together in a smell that can only mean one thing: Fear.

I love it, other people’s fear.

I walk forward slowly. Each step is a loud boom in the quite. He knows I am coming. The only other noises are the man’s ragged breathing and the dripping of liquid as he wets himself. The man hears my steps. His head turns towards me even though he can’t see me. A blindfold covers his eyes. It’s stained with tears, sweat, and blood.

The blood. That part is my favorite.

It makes me happy, when the blood begins to flow. Dark red staining flesh, dripping to the concrete floor. Its intoxicating, better than any drink.

He is crying, the man on the table. He is talking. No. He is begging. Begging and pleading with me, desperate to be set free. Fool. He should know by know he is never leaving this place. He’s to much fun.

“Please… please…” his voice is a rasping croak from lack of water.  He is thristy, I know. But he won’t be getting any water now. He will only be given enough to survive. He doesn’t need it now.

Besides, my needs are more important. It is way he’s here after all.

I smile and run my hand over the man’s bare torso. “Hello, my friend,” I whisper. “Are you ready to play?”

He flinches and jerks at my touch, like it burns him. I laugh softly. We haven’t even begun yet.

“Please… Let me… go!” he pants out as he strugges. “Please!”

“Oh, but where would be the fun it that?” I say. I smile to myself as I move across the room to the work bench. What toys to play with today?

“Please… I won’t tell… anyone.”

Of course he wouldn’t. He was never leaving. The man had been here for three weeks so far. He would stay until I had worn him out. Then he would go join the others. I don’t respond. I simply take one of the toys from the bench and return to the table. His breathing is panicked. He thrashes wildly.

“Please! No more! No more! No more! No more!” His voice is high and shrill as he babbles.

I tilt my head to the side. I don’t like all this. I want him to scream. I raise the toy I have chosen for today’s session, a fishing knife. Slowly, I run it over his skin. He goes stills and stops talking. He’s barely breathing. I smile.
“Are you ready to play?” I repeat.

His lips quiver as he tries to say the word “No.” No sound escapes.

“Are you going to scream for me?” I ask. It’s a retorical question. He tries to keep the screams in whenever we first start. They all do. They don’t want to give me the pleasure of their screams. But I always convince them in the end.

I look him over critically until I find just the right spot, a large patch of skin on his upper arm. It’s dark purple from a bruise I gave him a few days ago. Purple is a nice color, but I do so prefer dark red. I grip my knife carefully in my hand. And I begin to cut.

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