Bound

Trigger warning: includes scenes of captivity and violence

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She had been bound, and she had been broken repeatedly. The scars a testament to her time here, being held by this thing. She would rather not think of him as a man. It was a thing, horrid and scared just like her. He came in the night and she could see the sun starting to fade through the small glazed over window. The dirt on it impossible to see outside and all of her screams had gone unanswered.

She had no idea where she was, he had grabbed her as she jogged in Central Park. Come from behind with a rag. She had tried to fight, but he was monstrously strong. No, he was a monster, in every sense. She had woken in this cellar. It was empty except for the table of tools. She shuddered, not wanting to think about it all.

She had been working at her bonds, she knew he would come soon. She wanted to be ready, as the plastic which held her hands was almost worn through. He had not taken her knife out of her pocket she could still feel in pressed up against her. A plan had been forming for some time now. She just hoped she had the strength to pull it off.

The sun was almost gone, he would be here soon. She listened nervously as the movement above become closer to the door to her prison. The door opened and his hulking form descended. He was a misshapen thing. His face was littered with pocketed scars and broken teeth that stood at odd angles in his jaw. He smelled fetid, he smelled like death. She hated him and feared her time was running out. She thought he was getting bored with her.

He walked up to her, taking a deformed hand and caressing her face. She tried not to flinch she knew he would like that. He stood there admiring her. He had bound her and torn open her top, her torso was full of his handy work. He cupped one of her breasts and giggled. It sounded almost childlike, it disgusted her.

He turned from her and she knew it was now or never. She strained with her arms and the bonds snapped. She heard him grunt and start to turn as she quickly grabbed for her knife. She frantically pulled it out, flipping it open with practiced ease. He had come around and shock registered in his eyes as she buried the blade in his skull.  

He screamed, blood pouring forth from his face. Somehow as he lurched backward, she held onto the knife. As he fell to the ground, she took the knife to the plastic bonds on her feet. Freeing herself, she staggered to her feet, almost falling. She had been on the rack for it seemed weeks. He was still sobbing on the floor, blood pouring from his head. She hesitated and then ran for the stairs.

The basement had been empty, the top floor was furnished, barely. There was stool sitting by an old wood stove. She was in a shack of sort she realized. She hoped it wasn’t far from the city. As she burst out the door, her heart sank she was surrounded by woods. Not knowing where to go in the dark she just picked a direction and ran.

After about twenty minutes she noticed some sort of light in the distance and started to head for it. As she came out of the woods, she found herself in Central Park. She started to run someone called out. Whirling she dropped to her knees in relief it was a city cop. Half-naked and dehydrated she told him everything that had happened.

The following weeks the police walked the park searching for this hut in the woods. But to no avail, no one ever found a trace of the man who had grabbed her. She was admitted to a local psych ward and has been undergoing treatment ever since. The kids still talk about the boogeyman in the park who will grab you after dark. But no one has seen since.

By Wil R.P. McCarthy

From: United States

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