“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Patrick said. Between the lightning storm, and his fear of being caught in the basement, his mind played tricks on him. The Millers were on vacation, nobody else was home.
Kicked out of his own home, Patrick couch surfed until Sean offered him the spare bedroom. Sean’s stepfather, Bobby, accepted him into their home with open arms, contingent upon one condition; Never, under any circumstances, go into the basement. Despite the odd request, Patrick happily accepted those terms. And he adhered to them, that is, until a lightning storm cut the power. Now, he broke the cardinal rule. He was searching for the circuit breaker.
“Help me,” again, that voice. There was no denying it, he wasn’t alone.
The voice came from the other side of the wall.
Bobby’s office.
Patrick pulled his phone out and toggled the flashlight. What a mess, he thought.
Just before the power went out, he had ordered honey barbecue wings from his favorite spot, Wings To Go. The plan was to marathon-watch old slasher movies and binge eat a pound of wings. Instead, he crept around in the dark, searching for a voice where none should be.
Thunder boomed as the night sky opened and rainwater pounded the pavement.
“Hello?” Patrick called out. “Who’s there?”
No response.
Alone in the dark and scared, moments felt like hours. Finally, Patrick stood in front of the door to Bobby’s office. He grabbed the knob, jiggled it.
Locked.
A deadbolt killed any hope of forcing his way in. Patrick pressed his ear against the heavy oak. “Hello?” He said.
He waited for a reply. Nothing, save for a metallic rattling.
The basement lights flicked to life.
“Hello, Patrick,” A voice growled.
Patrick turned around in time to see knuckles connect with his face and then his own lights went out.
***
Consciousness slowly returned to Patrick. With it, an immense pain in his newly shattered nose. He opened his eyes, struggling to see through a film of tears. Next to him, a large cage, it’s floor stained a dark brown. In the center of the room, an operating table. Hanging over the side of the table, a human arm, severed from the elbow down. Blood flowed from the arm; The amputation was fresh. Flanking the table on either side, were a metal tray and a fifty-five gallon drum. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Patrick scrambled to his feet and attempted to run; Immediately, he was yanked backwards. Looking down, he saw a leather belt around his waist, secured by a length of trucker’s chain. There would be no escape. Despite the cool air in the room, sweat soaked Patrick’s clothing.The creak of a door opening and closing snapped his attention forward.
Bobby.
“Patrick, what a surprise,” he said.
“Bobby, what's going on?” Patrick asked between sobs. “Get me out of here!”
“I told you to stay out of the basement, Patrick. Don’t worry, I’ll have you out of here soon enough.” Bobby’s voice was too calm. He walked over to the table, and grabbed a handle underneath it. With a grunt, Bobby lifted one end, lowering the other, spilling the body into the drum.
Patrick watched in horror as Bobby prepared the table. When he finished, Bobby walked over to Patrick and put a scalpel to his neck.
“When I unhook you, you’re going to walk over to the table and lie down on it, do you understand?”
“Yes,” Patrick pissed himself.
“Go,” Bobby applied pressure to the scalpel, drawing blood.
Patrick did as instructed. He prayed for God to save him even while he was being strapped to the table.
Bobby placed the scalpel back on the utensil tray and picked up what looked to be a circumcision knife.
“Oh don’t worry, Patrick, I won’t be using this today. I’ve got something more fun in mind,” Bobby put the circumcision knife back in its place and selected some sort of medieval corkscrew. “Ahhh, here we are. This, my inquisitive friend, is called a Trephine. But first,” Bobby placed the instrument next to Patrick and left the room. After a short while, he reappeared, carrying a styrofoam container.
“Would you like a chicken wing? I paid the bill, seeing you were…all tied up,” Bobby laughed. “Patrick, I really didn’t want to do this. I came back early to take care of… well, as you see, I had prior engagements. I thought you could be trusted to stay out of the basement. Sean is going to be very disappointed to find out you ran away without so much as a goodbye.”
Bobby removed a wing from the container, stuffed it in Patrick’s mouth. “Honey Barbecue is my favorite,” he smiled.
The wing blocked his airway and Patrick was unable to breathe. His vision blurred as his chest burned from lack of oxygen. He remained conscious long enough to feel Bobby trepanning his skull.
***
Bobby sealed the lid, laid it on its side, and rolled it towards a steel door. He opened the walk-in refrigerator and rolled the drum inside. The frigid temperature caused goosebumps to rise on his flesh as he placed the barrel in it’s position, last in a row of 5 similar barrels.
Always listen to your elders! Great flash, you were able to give a lot to the reader in a very short burst. Loved it.
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