The Game

My head throbs. As my senses begin to return, I realize I'm intensely cold - and I smell something burning. Not wood; more like – yes, like meat. A shudder overtakes me and I realize I'm naked, and somehow suspended, hanging by bound wrists, but my feet are flat on something. What the fuck?

“Hello? I can't see! Is anyone there?” I hear muffled laughter, but it might be my imagination. So groggy...

I'm surrounded by glaring, white light, with no way to shield my eyes. And my feet are burning! The searing pain hits me and I realize that's where the smell is coming from.

“There we go! The sedative's wearing off now, isn't it?”

I know that voice. Who is it? Oh, shit!

The memory comes rushing like a flood. That stupid, damn parlor game! But he'd added his own twist!

“Aaah, I can see it's coming back to you, now! Just a second – we can't have you passing out, now can we?”

A motor whines and my shoulders scream as my feet are lifted off whatever floor is beneath me. The burning abates somewhat, but the smell is sickeningly more intense. My stomach heaves and I thrash helplessly for a moment, but the pain is too great.

“What the hell are you doing, Harold?”

“Take it easy, old pal. You're going to dislocate something. And you know exactly what I'm doing. You dreamed it up yourself.”

It's the truth. Harold had hosted a small, Halloween dinner party and after dessert, we'd played his sick, but seemingly harmless game. Instead of drawing cards, each of us wrote down “the worst way to die.” I'm experiencing exactly what I'd described.

“You have no idea how much trouble and expense I've gone to here. I think a little appreciation is in order. You've been out for about a week, though. It'll come to you soon.”

“Harold, please! I have money!”

Harold replies, thoughtfully, “Why is it that so many people think all the answers are in their wallet?”

I hear a loud sob. Jenny!

Harold's voice again, laughing, “Come to think of it honey, I don't think he has his on him at the moment, do you?”

Jenny's voice comes, pleading, “Please, Harold!”

“Oh, honey, no, this is exactly the way it's supposed to be! We played the game, and he won! 'Lowered slowly into a pool of acid.' It's absolutely brilliant. This is his prize! You came in second, so you get to watch! Rather fitting, don't you think, since the two of you have been cheating for months?”

I'm croaking now, as the fumes eat at my throat. “Don't look, Jenny! Close your eyes!”

“Oh, she can't, buddy! Her eyelids are taped open. I thought about removing them, like in that movie, you know? She's much too beautiful, though. I'm going to keep her whole and healthy, and if she misbehaves, or lets anyone know what happened here, there's something much worse in store for her. That's probably hard for you to imagine right now, huh?”

I look down as the winch motor overhead begins to purr, to find that the glass tank below me is full and I am, indeed, moving slowly downward. Instinctively, I draw my knees upward, toward my chest, which brings a fit of maniacal laughter from my “friend.”

“Jeez, buddy, I dunno if I'd choose that position. I mean, do you really want to feel that go first? I mean, it works for me... What do you think, dear? I have to admit, I can see what you saw in him, now.”

“You sick son of a bitch!” My last words should have been something more profound.

“Yeah, pal. My mom really was, but I'm not sure how you know that. Here it goes, honey!”

My senses are fully awake, and all I know is the burning. My voice is gone, but in my mind, the last thing I hear is the echo of my screams.

***

Just a little something for Kenny Penn's unofficial, creepy Halloween challenge, linked below. I very loosely borrowed a theme from and old Vincent Price movie, although many of you may not remember it.

Thanks for the fun idea, Kenny!