|The Door and the Window
Author: Lia Jenson PM
Sam is trapped in a very, very small room. Alone. Scared. Hungry...And to make it worse, the room is alive. It's even hungrier than Sam is.Rated: Fiction T - English - Supernatural/Suspense - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,445 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 4 - Updated: 04-28-11 - Published: 04-25-11 - id: 2910516
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Half-asleep while typing (again). Two chapters that form a one-shot. Hope you like.
The Door and The Window
It's a gaping black mouth. It's hungry. The door is hungry.
I have to leave this place somehow, gotta go...but how? The walls of this place are high and close and they smell like dirty socks. I poke at them, and I hear a wet squelch. The walls are gray-tinged and lumpy and slimy and too much like groping a wet frog. And they seem to breathe...Where am I? I can't really tell. I've woken up here mere minutes ago, with no pants and a sour taste in my mouth. There is no light save for a spear of silver light above. The window, not much more than a gaping hole, is an eye. The moon is a glowing white iris. It won't stop staring at me. WHAT THE FUCK DOES IT WANT?
My feet are wet and shiny as I stare at them. I feel weird, just standing in the middle of this squishy cell. But I'm not sure I want to feel the snake-like shifting under my feet on my ass. I breathe through my nose, but it's difficult on count of the blood leaking there. I shouldn't have freaked out like that earlier, running headlong into the door. I was just about to get out, too, when someone (something?) slammed it shut, leaving me unconscious for a minute, and with this bloody face for hours later. I'm actually grateful, seeing how insane I was being at the time. I mean, who'd rather get swallowed alive than stared at by a giant eyeball?
Now that GAPING BLACK MAW is shut...But I can't leave. The only way out will kill or horribly maim me, I'm so sure. I want to leave in one piece. I want to see daylight again and be in my soft, unbreathing bed. How did I get here?
I was in my kitchen eating a cookie not too long ago. It's probably been hours, many hours since I was home. I don't remember leaving my house, or picking up my little brother, or my mom's tired cry of "Sam?"
I ache everywhere: my face, neck, back, legs and now heart.
The door-mouth seems almost friendly now, so long as it leaves enough of me to find...Wait, what am I saying? I want to go home alive. I want to hug them and say sorry a million times like I should have since the first time I screamed at either at them. "Oh, Cameron, I didn't mean it..." My mouth is already spewing breathy, half-formed apologies to the humid air. "Mom, I didn't mean to say that...That's not it, that isn't what I meant at all. It's not you, I was just frustrated that I have to be the mom all the time, and you won't stop drinking... I take it back."
My stomach is twisting too much to even grumble at the lack of food.
Whoever trapped me here, they must be doing it for kicks, right? Just to watch me starve and stand and stare at the door-mouth, in turn being ogled by the moon eye. I only notice it now, but the door-mouth...it's opening again. Slowly. I can hear it's jaw creaking.
A shadow rests in the mouth, beckoning with the silhouette of a hand.
"Come. Come get eaten, come be free..." It says without speaking. "Free?" I scream at it, but no sound comes out. "You mean free food, you MONSTER!"
But I felt my resolve weakening. There is fresh air seeping from the mouth, and it's heavenly compared to this smelly living cell. My legs are so cramped. Why couldn't the shadows have put a damned chair down, if they could plop me down here?
The floor still seemes to breathe and crawl and jump with a faint heartbeat under my feet. Finally, I can't take it. I take off my oversized white t-shirt, and fold it into a cushion, and sit.
I am only in my underwear, sitting on my (now damp) shirt. I wait, and count my heartbeats up to a thousand. I register the ground thudding in time with all my thousand, but I don't care. Then I count again and again until my mind is too foggy to concentrate.
It feels like years when I hear the door-mouth groan open again.
My cold face is warmed by the floor, and the slithering movement strokes my cheeks. I've thrown all my caution, all my disgust to the nonexistent wind and let myself sprawl on the living floor. My feet point at the door-mouth. It's creaking pauses, then resumes, growing louder.
My eyes are practically welded shut, but that only makes my ears strain harder. I can still hear my own heartbeat, though I don't really feel it anymore. A loud slam makes me jolt, and I probably look like a flopping fish. For a moment, it is completely quiet. Then I hear a small cough.
Footsteps, clicky high-heel footsteps that should be impossible on this floor, and—I'm pretty sure I imagined this—a high-pitched chorus of children's laughter.
This isn't based on anything, really…If it seems similar to something else, feel free to point it out, but be aware that it was not intentional. Reviews now please.