Trick or Treat

This was a story I wrote for Halloween and my first attempt at first person perspective.

Jasmine


Trick … or treat?

I’m sitting in a pool of my own sweat and blood, my body wracked with pain and fatigue. I hear him coming down the stairs again and stiffen with fear. A sibilant voice half an inch from my ear whispers “Trick … or treat?” In spite of myself, I can’t help but let out a whimper.

We’d been heading up to our little cabin in the mountains; the autumn leaves are beautiful in late October, so with my wife Julie, I had left work early to beat the traffic.

In the growing dusk I’d spotted the car by the side of the road and it’s owner waving us down. I turned to Julie and asked if we should stop and help. She smiled and nodded”. I slowed the car to halt, wound the window down calling out “Hi, do you need a hand?”

I didn’t even see the taser, I just heard the sharp crackle as the twenty thousand volts coursed through my body and left me paralysed. I heard Julie scream and felt a needle stab in my neck before everything went black.

I don’t know how long we’ve been in this basement; all I know is that the psychopath who is holding us is going to kill us. Eventually.

I’m strapped into a large heavy, wooden chair. Thick leather and steel straps cut into my wrists and ankles, with another one across my chest holding me upright. They look like old electric chairs and Julie is strapped into an identical one opposite me. She painfully lifts her head and looks at me with eyes dull from the agony and raw fear.

The bloodstained bench next to us is covered with horrific instruments of pain. I can only guess that our assailant comes from a medical background because he’s very careful not to inflict a fatal wound, even taking delight in showing us a fridge full of antibiotics and bags of blood, in case a transfusion became necessary to keep us alive.

Corpse Face slaps the side of my head and repeats his question. “Trick, or treat?” I call him ‘Corpse Face’ because of the hideous Halloween mask he wears that looks like a flayed skull.

I’ve learned the rules of his sick game, if I say ‘trick’, I can look forward to twenty minutes of unendurable torment. If I say ‘treat’, he goes to work on Julie. My mental anguish seeming to give him as much pleasure as her screams.

I’ve said ‘trick’ four times in a row now in an effort to protect her, but I’m not sure how much more I can take. The coward in me tells me to let her take her turn. I look up into the bright eyes behind the corpse mask. “Trick.”

Giggling to himself, he moves to the bench and selects a bright bladed instrument, holding up to the light for me to see.

My screams mingle with Julies hysterical sobbing.

I slowly regain consciousness and look around. I must have blacked out, but it’s over for the time being. I can hear music, it’s a polka of all things, and the smell of cooking. Corpse Face must be having a break.

I look down at my bloodied wrists, still held so tightly by the straps that the circulation has been cut off. I haven’t been able feel my hands for a while now. I’m almost grateful, they’re the only part of me that doesn’t hurt.

I need to get free before he comes back. My mind wanders looking for an answer. Aron Ralston, the name means something. Why have I thought of that? His hand … that was it! His hand was trapped by a rock and he amputated by breaking the bone and cutting it free with his knife.

I don’t have a knife, let alone a free hand. But maybe there’s a way.

I lever my arm up, straining with all my strength. The pain is unbearable, but I keep up the pressure until I hear a cracking, splintering sound. I grit my teeth so hard I feel some of them break, then as I pull my arm up and forward, a sharp shard of bone pushes out through the flesh near my wrist.

Black spots cloud my vision and I vomit bile, but I have to stay conscious. I pull my elbow back and the shard slips back under the skin, the wound closing over it like a mouth. I slump in the chair breathing heavily, Julie staring at me in mute horror.

I’m dehydrated, so it’s not bleeding too badly and I hope Corpse Face won’t notice.

I was drifting in and out of consciousness when I hear his slow, measured footsteps on the stairs.

I opened my eyes slowly and there he was, crouched in front of me, his elbows resting on my knees. Behind the corpse mask his eyes gleam in anticipation.

“Trick … or treat?”

I let my head drop and took a deep breath, tensing my muscles and bracing myself for the pain to come.

“Ah, ah … “ he said softly wagging a finger “Trick …” he glanced back at Julie “… or treat?”

As he looks away I wrench my arm upwards. As the flesh tears back from the wrist to my elbow my soul shrivels at the pain. The sudden movement makes him look back and I shove the sharp splinter of my shattered forearm deep into his left eye socket with as much strength as I can muster.

He shrieks and grabs my forearm, trying to pull it free but can’t get a grip on the blood-slicked arm. With one last effort I push it deeper into his skull, his right eye bulges in terror and shock.

There is a nasty slurping sound as he falls backwards, pulling free of the sharp bone. His body twitches a few times and then lies still.

“How’s that for a trick?” I gasp before letting the darkness take me.