Threads Of Terror

I felt so cold. Each movement of my flesh touching the smooth ridge surface was like a zing of electricity shooting through my aching icy bones. My eyelids twitched, yet they felt like old windows stuck shut.

Why can't I open them?

It feels like someone ran my brain through an eggbeater.

What is happening? Where am I?

Trying again to lift the stuck eyelids.

Unsuccessful.

I start to take inventory of the rest of my body. Pain radiates down my slender back, screaming nerves as if an electric probe has touched them. A vise-like pressure tightens its invisible belt around my upper thighs. The fiery pained licked down my limbs. Hot and chilly sensations sweep down my body, causing a jolting spasm on my rigid muscles.

My head felt like a lead ball, unmoving, flatted to the unyielding surface I found myself on. I must open my eyes to see where I am! With fearful determination, I forced my eyelids open. Ripping pain sears at my fragile eyelids.

Fluorescent light lasers into my slit eyes. Beams of harsh blueish light make their way through my obscure vision like I am looking through multiple thready keyholes.

What am I looking at? Are those threads?

My limp hands make minuscule movements on the smooth, chilled surface that my lifeless body lies upon.

Broken images appear as quickly as they vanish, like a ghostly form that is playing hide and seek from my view. I can't catch hold of an image long enough. My brain struggles to come online like a cell phone looking for Wi-Fi.

Tap, tap, tap!

What is that noise?

Working to crane my neck towards the sharp sound. Yet, it remains as lopsided as a forgotten Raggedy Ann doll. I listen intently for that tinny sound to occur again. Straining to catch some kind of noise to tell me where I am.

Drip drop, drip drop.

My other ear picks up the other noise. My aching head slowly skates to the other side of the icy surface to see if I can identify it. Frustration built in my drug-induced haze as my eyelids refused to open any more than a slit.

Was that white thread crossing over blueish light?

Are my eyes stitched shut?

A wave of cold terror breaks over my body like a violent wave crashing against the shore.

Willing my hands to move from the frigid smooth surface took a herculean effort. I needed to touch my body and learn what I could from the exploration.

With drug-laced adrenaline, my limp digits begin to clumsy dance over my naked flesh of their own accord.

Why can't I control their movement?

My right hand seemed tethered to a tube on the back of it. The tugging sensation caused a new pain. It shackled me back from exploring farther with that hand.

What is happening to me? Where am I?

As my left hand slowly searches my lower unclothed half. Disjointed memories of the past took shape in my watery brain like an old fashion movie stills.

A wood panel bar with red neon lights flashing out the words….… Phoenix's Alehouse. Gothic heavy metal music screaming in the background of the smokey drinking hole.

I was drinking wine, no, was it a margarita? Stale peanuts, chips, and beer permeated the air of the dark room. People sitting and standing around, faceless blobs.

I can still smell the stench in my long black hair. A prickling sensation spread from my scalp, like glacier skeleton fingers touching my head. I pick up another scent, adding to this oily mix I can't figure out. Taking a deep breath, my lungs greet me with a sharp, chemical smell. The odor feels like a snake coiling down my lungs slowly, wrapping itself into a ball at the bottom of my empty stomach. A metallic taste burns up from the journey of the reptile's descent. A tongue so heavy, like a dense velvety pillow, tries to escape through cracked lips. Pushing hard through my soft-feeling teeth, there was no exit.

Oh God!

I quickly try to open my raw, dried lips, but to no avail. My lips will not open. As if my body understood my thoughts, a violent trembling broke over my body as if cracking through the icy surface of a frozen lake.

A muffled thud sounded from my limbs desperately coming back to life against an unforgiving surface expelled a tinny metal noise.

My left hand moved up past my flat stomach, over my breasts, my gracefully curved neck, and finally arrived at my face. Like a blind woman trying to read Braille for the first time, fingers touch my petite nose and contoured mid-age cheeks.

I attempted to work my index finger through the rough lips; my fingernail strummed against the threads as if it was playing a chord on a guitar. I was right. My lips have been stitched closed.

Strength was injected into my enquiring hand for more answers, ever so slowly, my fingers inching closer to my eyelids. Each finger traces the fine eyelids of delicate, swollen flesh, starting from the corner of my eye and working slowly towards my pulsating temples. I do this a few times, trying to make sense of my tactile mission. What feels odd is that the swollen, eyelids are missing something. At the end of each journey, there is a tiny fabric knot at the end of each lid.

Why does it feel so smooth?

Have I lost my eyelashes?

Has someone cut them off?

Is this knot of silk threads??

A dark terror surges my heart, attempting to stop its beating. Then, a ricochet of heartbeats, like the thunder of horses bolting from danger, resounds in my bare chest.

Metal hinge squeak sounds echo over my head. A guttural breathing booms in the ice chamber. I try desperately to tilt my head away from the sound. Shuffling sounds from a dragged foot against the floor added to the symphony of terror.

A beefy hand pulls my searching hand away from my face. The clammy male hand holds my dry, weak left hand.

"I have been waiting for you to wake, Aimee. It's time we got back to work," said the deep baritone voice.

A new image flashed…

A tall man in a sports jacket, the color of granite just like his size, had been staring at me at the bar. His piercing onyx eyes telegraphing a sadistic message. His raven's short black hair was neatly combed.

His uneven gait slithered over to me at the bar. ‘Do you needlepoint?’ he whispered into my ear.

The man gave me the creeps. I tried to stand up from my bar stool, his beefy hand shot out and gripped my knee.

Then nothing. The images stopped playing. A chuckle vibrated from this sinister male presence.

"Don't you like my stitching?" he asked.

"Mother always said,

'Pull the needle down

Then around

To form a knot at the crown.

Keep going around and around

Until your white knot looks like a beautiful crown.

And by god, don't do it with a frown.'

Now, where too next….."

I felt a small cold, sharp needle begin to glide up my thighs……

WAIT, NOOOOOOOOOO!

***********

"Aargh!" adds a male voice.

My eyes snapped open, and jumping up on bent knees, I grabbed my pillows, using them as makeshift weapons. With a swing, I began to wheel them at a large, warm man in a half-reclined position. Muffled male grunts came from behind my feathery assault. Both of us were now enveloped in the results of the nightmare vortex I had found myself in. Large, loving hands try to grab at my feather pillows.

Dropping the pillows, I raise my hands to search my face, lips, eyelids, and eyelashes. I have them. Ragged breathing, sweat dripping down my cotton nightgown. Warm linen floral sheets twisted up in my legs.

"We are never watching a horror movie at bedtime again!" I said to my husband.