Father?

I woke up in a dark room. It was a different dark room from the one I’d been in the night before, this one smelled of musk. The last ones foetor was of a clogged toilet. I had no idea who moved me, or when. The denizens of this abode were horrible. They chained me up and beat me. I didn’t want to be in this new room either, I did not know what eldritch horrors awaited.

They told me they were my new family. Every time I asked who they were, they’d beat me again and simply respond “family.” The cyclopean masonry in here told me I was in a very old building. I was shivering, ague with a sickness I hoped I wouldn’t die from. I’d not seen a doctor in months because I’ve been trapped in this horrid dungeon. I tried to call out to someone for help, but my voice was lugubrious and dry. I needed water.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I noticed a shower head attached to the dungeon wall. I slowly walked to it, removed my old, foul smelling sweat drenched clothes and looked for the handle to turn it on.

I took a gulp of the shower water before actually showering. The water felt nice running down my back. I’d been collecting an egregious amount of sweat in my last room that would cause me to wake up choking on my own miasmatic smell. But the water slowly kept getting hotter and hotter until it burned my skin. I could already feel boils forming. I ran out screaming and slipped.

“Ah, my damn knee,” I shouted. I took a deep breath, and hoped it was just sprained, not broken.

I laid on the floor for hours with the hot shower water running, waiting to be able to walk again. The steam filled the stone room, causing the room to fill up with petrichor. I’m glad this was a smell I enjoyed, and inhaling the steam felt good.

I reached around and ran my hand down my back. I could feel both my old scars and fresh, open wounds I had from the whips. They were very painful.

I started crying, then yelled at myself “stop it. You’re tough. You’re the toughest guy I know. You’ll get out of this soon, go back to your old job, your old house, your old girlfriend. Life will return to normal soon.”

I pushed myself up. Still attenuated from my fall this was an incredibly difficult task. I felt like Hercules.

I slowly walked over to the shower and turned it off. The handles, now drenched in condensation and moisture, squeaked with every twist.

I noticed a small window close to the ceiling. I limped over to it. It wasn’t big enough for me to escape from, and had safety wire inside so I’d cut my fist if I tried to smash my way through, but it would allow me to hear the outside world again.

I jumped up several times, each time pushing the window slightly more ajar.

Finally it was open, and I could hear the bees, the bugs and the whippoorwills again. That was nice.

My leg in its weakened state gave out and I fell over. I crashed with a loud thud and let out another shout. My torturers who called themselves family didn’t hear me, or didn’t care.

I couldn’t move, this fall had caused me to hurt my back.

After what felt like an eternity laying on the cold stone floor, I heard loud footsteps coming down the dungeon stairs.

“Who’s there? I demand to know, who’s there?” I shouted.

I smelled alcohol and pipe smoke in the air, as if the person had been drinking and smoking. Then I felt a pair of hands lifting me up.

One of those hands went on my right shoulder after I was sitting astutely. It was to dark to describe the persons face, but I could see a shape of a face. There was just enough light to see his shadow silhouetted on the wall behind him.

“Who are you?” I shouted.

“Who do you think this is?” I heard a deep, scruff voice ask. Then I heard a whip make cracking sounds as if someone has been bending it in their hands.

“Father?” I asked, as he was obviously not my real father but my delusional kidnapper.

“That’s right, son. That’s right. I’m glad you’re finally starting to accept that. Welcome to America,” the shadowy figure said.

“But I was born here. And even if I wasn’t, who cares? Does that make me a bad person,” I shrieked.

“Shut up,” the man said and started whipping me.

“I’m sorry father, please stop,” I shouted. The pain of the whip was now even more intense from all of my previous injuries

The man stopped and sat next to me.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t hurt you to bad, son. You’re a good kid, I can already tell you’re going places. Just remember who you work for,” the man said.

“Yes father,” I monotonously moaned. The man grabbed my head and put it on his shoulder. I began to cry.

“Good boy,” the man said. I tried to lift my head up, but the man placed his hand on my head again and forced it to rest on his shoulder, patted me on the back, and ruffled my hair until I calmed down. Then he spoon fed me yogurt like a baby.

I couldn’t help but wonder how long I’d be here for, and what sinister plans he had for me. I missed my real family.

“Good boy,” he kept repeating while feeding me.