The Chamber

The woman sat on a chair, her black heels resting on the workbench in front of her, whistling a cold and sombre tune. Her whistling woke the man in chains, sat against one of the tiled walls, and she turned to him with a blank stare. She watched the fear in his eyes build as he looked around him; seeing the hooks swing above him, the chains that pinned him to the ground. And her, seemingly so relaxed with a ruler sharpened to a point in one hand.

“What do you want with me?” he asked.

“That depends on what you can give me,” she said. The woman smiled, spinning the ruler in her hand as lifted her feet from the table and stood up. With one quick movement, she threw the ruler at her prisoner’s shoulder right below his collarbone and he screamed.

“Bullseye,” she chimed. Picking up metal rods from the workbench, she drummed them against the side of the table.

“Please, stop. I’ll do anything, please. I’ll-”

On the final beat, and before he could finish his sentence, she hurled one towards his left shoulder. He cried out but the woman didn’t stop there

She repeated this process all along his arms, never causing a fatal injury but enough to make him yell again and again. Once he stopped making noise, she walked over to his paralysed body and, one by one, twisted the weapons into his flesh. His screams grew so violent and piercing, but all the woman did was smile wickedly. Blood leaked from his wounds to form a pool around him and she watched as he lost consciousness and she laughed.

*****

The woman smiled as her prisoner stirred from his slumber. She bit her lip, seeing her prey’s face fill with pain as he tried to squirm out of his shackles with the weapons still protruding from his body. She even let out a little chuckle when he started to choke, spitting blood from his mouth. It was only when silence ensued that music could be heard playing quietly in the background.

“Music?” he spluttered, “Really?” The man winced as he tried to straighten up.

“Makes it more interesting. Wouldn’t you agree?” she replied. Suddenly, she let out a loud wolf whistle and dropped her legs from the bench to lean in towards the radio. She turned back to the prisoner with a smirk before reaching over the table to turn up the volume.

She grabbed the meat hook from her workbench and whetting stone and, in time to the beat of the song, began to sharpen the barb. The woman sang along with the lyrics, her body swaying from side to side like a pendulum imitating the bass and as it hit “She was struck down”, she slammed the hook onto the table. As it got to the chorus, the woman turned around and held the hook to her mouth like a microphone.

Then she gradually stalked towards her prisoner.

Her footing was controlled by the song yet every step was powerful and assertive. When she finally reached the man, she dropped on top of him, straddling him and pulling his shirt with the hook toward her. The shirt tore, leaving the prisoner bare-chested and the man sprang backwards to the wall, hitting his back. The man gasped upon impact, and the woman seeing this opportunity, grabbed his brown curly locks with her hand and his lips with the meat hook.

She drew him close to her so she could whisper in his ear, “a smooth criminal.”

The man whimpered, and she pulled away to gaze into his brown eyes, not only seeing fear but also a reflection of herself. Then, without hesitation, the woman flipped the hook around and proceeded to shove the straight end down the prisoner’s throat.

He writhed under her but she kept a tight grip on his hair, tugging his head backwards as she continued to push the metal rod further and further into his oesophagus. She felt the resistance of the metal against his tubes but didn’t stop until the life had left his eyes.

*****

The woman pushed against the big metal door, it swung heavily inward. She grabbed the mop and bucket from next to her and dragged it into the room. “Disgusting,” she said, looking around, “absolutely disgusting.” She lifted the mop out of the bucket, drained it thoroughly and began to clean the floor.

Suddenly, she stopped. Something wasn’t right.

The woman walked over to the workbench and turned on the radio, her body relaxing as she let the music flow through her. She went back to her mop, bleeding it dry of excess water and wiped at the dirt in time to the music.

Once the floor was stainless, she left the room to bring back a box of sprays and sponges. She sprayed the sudsy liquid onto the walls and scrubbed at the stains with vigour. Getting every drop of blood and puke, the woman wouldn’t rest until she could see the pearl white tiles of the walls. Once it was returned to its form glory, she started to rearrange the decorations.

She turned each hook so that it pointed towards the chains like an omniscient crowd where the prisoner was the main attraction. Then she progressed onto the saws making sure every saw was spinning anti-clockwise to go against gravity and cause more resistance when connecting with flesh and bone. After the décor was complete, the woman strode over to the pile of chains on the floor.

“No, no.” She shook her head, “This won’t do at all.”

She picked up the chains, one by one, and carefully positioned them. Some draped from the hooks in the walls like confining metal curtains and some laid across the floor like anchors binding the prisoners to hell. At last, the woman stood up and admired her hard work with a satisfied nod.

Everything was perfect for her next guest.