Fear of the Foreshadowed

It was the middle of summer, but down here it was as cold as winter. It was about noon, but it was dark as night. The surrounding room was vast and wide, but it felt claustrophobic. The walls, despite not being able to be seen in this dark room, felt like they were closing in.

I shivered in my wooden rocking chair, my hands tied up behind it, and my legs being handcuffed to the front legs connecting to the curved boards at the bottom. My mouth was taped, but my eyes weren't blindfolded, yet the room was pitch-black.

As I moved and shifted in the chair, it would creak, and if I tried hard enough, I could slide the chair across the hard concrete floor. I couldn't slide it far, but just enough to make a high pitched screeching sound when the boards scratched the concrete floor.

The slow rocking of the chair coupled by the creaking of the worn and poorly made wooden chair was soothing in a strange way, uncharacteristic for the situation I was in at the moment. But that didn't stop my chronic shivering. I felt a cold breeze brush past my face as I heard the buzzing of an air vent on the ceiling somewhere to my left.

My stomach growled, and I felt almost sick, but it was just my empty stomach giving me that feverish feeling. This was made worse by the constant odor of something being cooked. I wasn't sure where this 'cooking' was happening, but I could smell it. The teasing odor made my stomach hurt due to my hunger. I hadn't eaten in what..? A day? I wish I had eaten when I had the chance, because now I don't know if I'll ever eat again.

Every once in a while I'd hear the sound of the house settling, but it often sounds like a door opening, or something moving in the floor above. Or perhaps the house wasn't settling, and it was in fact the sound of doors opening. I hoped that wasn't the case though. The stress of being here in the first place, the pure knowledge that whoever took me here could very likely approach me and end my life and any moment. Further adding to that weight would make my composure collapse, and so far I've kept pretty cool, but that could change in a second.

I balled my cold hands into a fist, curling my stiff fingers slowly, then I opened them again to loosen them up.

I could hear the soft sound of water droplets falling from a pipe somewhere on the ceiling. I could occasionally hear water rushing through these pipes.

I listened close. The sound on floor boards above creaking became more and more noticeable, and it sounded some hat reminiscent of the sounds the chair I was in made, but these were much louder. More creaky.

My heart sank into my stomach and I held my breath. My shivering became more intense. The sounds of the rocking chair no longer comforted me. The soothing creaking was now overshadowed by the weighty creaks above. I felt a burning sensation in my nose as tears welled up in my eyes. My time has come, the end is near, I can feel it. My shivers turned into violent shaking, my eyes darted around the pitch-black room, looking for something to see, anything, and the creaks from above became louder and louder… until they stopped. And I heard a different type of creaking, like a door slowly opening. Suddenly I saw a sliver of light shine on the brick walls about fifteen feet away from me. The sliver widened as the door opened further. And then everything went quiet. The only thing I could hear anymore was my own beating heart. The water stopped dripping, the water in the now visible pipes stopped flowing. The creaks above stopped, and even the creaks of the chair I was in stopped. My fingers were no longer stiff with coldness, and I could no longer feel those binds on my wrists, and the cuffs on my legs were gone. I stood up and looked at my wooden chair. It rocked without a sound, and I looked to see freedom right in front of me. But… at the same time… whoever trapped me down here is just behind that open door. I can't leave, I won't. They won't come down here, they won't, and I can't be hurt, not down here. If freedom means death, I don't want it. If I stay secluded, I will be safe.

I backed up into my chair and fell back into it. I blinked and there I was, hands tied up behind the chair, and my feet were back to being cuffed to the front two legs. I felt a gust of cold wind brush past my face. I could hear water in the pipes, and the dripping began again. I started to shiver in my creaking seat once again, and tears ran down my cheeks. I heard the floorboards above creak again, and I saw a shadow of a man in the light coming from the door up the stairs. His arm reached down, and grabbed something. As he pulled it towards himself, the door closed, and that light started to disappear. With a slam of a door, the room was once again pitch-black, and I wondered why I was down here.

In an ironic turn of fate, I chose to stay down here, in the cold basement, this time by choice. But now I was safe, or that's what I thought. Perhaps it was a delusion, an illusion of safety. But that's all that matters right?

Better alive and alone than dead and happy.

Written by: HorrorsUnknown