• One

    Samantha


    For a brief moment, Samantha Herrin thought she had died.
    That she had escaped it all.
    But then she felt the pain again, that unbearable pain that had wrenched all that was left of the doubts from her mind.
    The room was black, as if every glow of light had been scratched out with a switchblade. Sam didn’t dare close her eyes in fear of blacking out again, then attempted to move her arms.
    She screamed.
    Both were broken, she was sure. They were bound without flaw to an auburn wing-chair, along with her ankles and torso. Her feet were naked, but she could feel layers and layers of mud and blood on her jeans. Her crimson uniform was torn at the shoulders, exposing some gashes that she could not work her neck to inspect. Her sleeves drenched in what Sam hoped was water, but smell of metal and decay told her otherwise.
    The sticky upholstery had been violated with the eighteen-year-olds sweat and vomit. Her head continued to spin causing her to see white streaks in the endless blackness that surrounded her. Sam couldn’t help it anymore and finally closed her eyes and vomited yet again; missing the floor this time. After a few agonizing seconds she opened her eyes; gasping for air.
    The last thing Samantha remembered doing was taking out the trash. Taking out the smelly garbage at the café she worked at.
    Then there was blood.
    Then nothing.
    She then woke up here, tied and mutilated, waking up to bruises and scratches as a result of being dragged, kicked, and clawed. She couldn’t see what had caused the pain that made her so eager to welcome death. She couldn’t see why she hadn’t seen light for what seemed like days. She could not see the reason why she couldn‘t go home and hug Damien, who must have been worried sick. That’s all she wanted. To hug him one more time. Just once.
    Despite her fatigue she vomited once more.
    Help, she thought, Somebody help me.
    Sam hung her head, too weak to focus anymore. She could feel blood crusting onto her scalp underneath her mangled black hair. Her wrist twitched erratically, forcing her to let a cry out in suffering.
    She could barely hear the footsteps over her own heart.
    Samantha’s wrists began to tremble, but she suppressed a scream in order to hear the male whispers that followed.
    “It’s not with her.”
    To Sam’s surprise, the voice was young, perhaps no older than sixteen, and horrifyingly apathetic. For a short moment she thought this was all a joke. A clever school prank gone over the hilarity limit.
    But then another voice carried through the darkness. A sound so dark and intimidating, it made Sam’s skin prickle and stomach turn. It was the sound of evil.
    It was a voice Sam wished she would never have to hear.
    “She’s one of them. It has to be on her somewhere.”
    “She doesn’t have anything on her. She doesn‘t even have a god damn wallet.”
    Samantha hesitated. She twisted her head slightly, her eyes frantically searching the darkness for the source of the voices. She stifled a river of tears. Sam saw no one. Fear and pain kept her eyes open; uncertainty forced her body to maintain a pulse.
    “She may not be who we‘re looking for. It‘s possible that you -”
    “Made a mistake?” The wicked voice interrupted.
    There was a sudden crack, cutting the eerie connection of the whispers. Seconds passed before Sam heard a murmur of apology, followed by an aggravated grunt.
    “I do not make mistakes.”
    The footsteps loomed closer, growing louder and in sync with her racing heart.
    She felt a hot, searing pain as a hand connected to her face with excruciating force. Sam let a mixture of blood and spit drip from the corner of her mouth before she closed it and forced a swallow, all reflexes numb from the ache that consumed her entire body.
    “Where is it?” The young voice commanded beside her, though the source still unseen in the unending black that surrounded them.
    Her lips trembled, unable to find her voice to answer him.
    She was slapped again, but this time from the opposite side. She was commanded by the evil voice this time. “Where?”
    Why is this happening? She thought while beginning to feel nauseous again.
    “Answer me.” The sinister voice was deeper, more in tuned and certain. Its emotionless tone scared Sam past a point where she silently scolded herself for ever being afraid of anything else. “Where?”
    Sam recovered her voice in fear of what might happen to her if she didn’t. “I don’t…” she said in her normal, small voice, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    The chair rumbled slightly as one of them kicked the side of it. Sam could feel their frustration emanating from both the left and the right of her. She quivered and let a tear flow through a tired eye.
    There was a moment of terrorizing silence. She continued to cry. The stench of blood and decay was growing stronger as the minutes passed. Sam became limp and held back the urge she had to use the restroom to avoid shame and further discomfort.
    Sam collected herself as the one in control spoke again. This time he was closer, she could feel his hot, foul breath on her scarred left cheek.
    “If you don’t tell me where the key is, my apprentice will have no mercy.”
    The young voice could be heard further to her right, chuckling with a deranged boyish charm. The situation forced her to shake uncontrollably, causing her to close her eyes and silently pray. Her shoulders burned, Samantha able to feel the horrid gashes on her arms move as she shook her head. “I don’t know what key you’re talking about. I don’t know anything!” Sam sobbed with every word, her head hanging over her lap, “You have the wrong person.”
    The younger voice now showed a hint of concern, but not toward Samantha. “She may not know who she is.”
    “Oh, she doesn’t know, does she?”
    Sam could feel the boy cowering in remorse of his own words; cringing while awaiting his punishment for speaking so freely. She didn’t understand any of this. They had to have the wrong person. This was all a mistake. Just an awful mistake. She must have just looked like a mob boss’s daughter, and this was all a misunderstanding.
    Before she could think any further about it Sam was struck with another harsh slap by unusually thick fingers. She refused to cry out. She merely let her head hang to the right while he spoke.
    “What is your name?”
    The evil voice made her shiver in agony.
    There was another slap, but this time the hand was slightly closed, exposing five very large fingernails.
    Blood now dripped from her left cheek, rolling over her scars from their previous beatings. After a few seconds she registered the pain and screamed.
    “Name?” The voice repeated, apathetic to her screeching.
    “Samantha Herrin,” she finally answered in one breath, “My name is Samantha Herrin. I’m eighteen years old and I go to Rhett Academy.” She took a moment to catch her breath, choosing her words wisely. “Please let me go.” Sam chose not to say ‘Please don’t kill me’ only because she would much rather die than remain where she was. She would rather die than continue to listen to -- what she thought was -- the most sinister voice in the entire world.
    “See,” Samantha wrenched her jaw in pain as he spoke again, “She knows who she is.”
    Sam’s heart sunk, unable to feel its rapid beating anymore. He’s just playing with me, she thought, He’s sick, horrible and disturbing, and he’s just playing with me.
    “One last time. You have one last time to give me the location of your key.”
    Sam choked on a mix of blood and spittle, not knowing what to say or what he was talking about. She thought a moment, her eyes now searching the blackness again for her terrorizes. Maybe if she told him a location -- any location -- she would be set free.
    But then she wavered the thought. Even with the threat of death Sam could not be broken of her honesty.
    Plus she didn’t know for sure, and the last thing she wanted was to get herself in more trouble. Sam knew she was in no condition to escape.
    Sam shook her head, unable to render her hoarse throat to produce a sound.
    There was a long pause. So long, it made Sam think they had left and she was alone in the darkness. She lifted her head up in slow uncertainty, straining her ears for the smallest sound.
    Then there were words. Words spoken by who Sam decided to call the Devil, as it was the most evil thing she could think of. They were words Sam had been dreading yet wishing so powerfully since she had waken up from her dream. She had accidentally awaken from her dream to this vile nightmare.
    “Kill her.”
    No, Sam pleaded, tears now racing down her nose and cheek. No. No-no-no-no.
    Sam did not want this. She didn’t want to die, and she sickened herself for not wanting to live. She didn’t want to hurt and she didn‘t want to bleed. She didn’t want to feel anything except for Damien’s arms around her, telling her it will be alright. Sam wanted to be shaken from this awful dream and be given her shoes back.
    She closed her eyes, they burned from crying so hard so suddenly. She felt the boys cold, strong human fingers wrap around her aching neck. He oppressed her scream with a harsh clutch, stifling the air from her throat to her lungs. She shook as hard as she could, but the pain sent her into a terrifying panic; forcing her to choke on another stifled cry for help.
    There was nothing she could do. She was going to die. She would soon suffocate.
    The color began to drain from her skin. The delicate color Sam had been rewarded with by seasons of surfing disappeared behind a bitter pale. The boys laughter ensued the air as he gripped tighter to Sam’s neck.
    So this, Sam let her last tear fall, is what it’s like to die.
    There would be no more late nights with Kathleen at the coffee shop. No more visits to the library with Brooklyn. No more get-togethers with the family on spaghetti Saturdays. No more Damien. No more love.
    No more.
    She gave one last attempt for air.
    Now unable to scream, unable to move, unable to cry any longer, Sam slowly became limp with each passing second.
    Her legs twitched one last time as she heard a cackle.
    A cackle from the evil that watched as she slowly slipped into her darkest sleep.