The leather straps cut into my wrists as I pulled against them, trying to free myself. The air felt warm against my skin compared to the cold metal below me, the direct contact making me want to get out as quickly as possible. Again I tried to thrash against the restraints on each of my limbs to no luck. A soft click hit my ears as a light broke in from under the frame of a door, and I could see the stone floors lit up. I called out to whoever had turned on that light, but no response came. As I continued to thrash, the light turned off again. As I began to settle and catch my breath, I noticed a small red light above me, slowly blinking.
—
As I awoke again, I could feel my dry skin rubbing against itself between my legs and on my arms and sides. Again at the door, a sliver of light poked through and I could hear faint footsteps in the distance. I looked at the light above me again, still blinking red. I assumed it was a camera, and whoever was keeping me here was clearly watching. Again I began to thrash against my bounds, and I started to scream.
Between screams, I panted, and I could feel my throat starting to give. As I took a break, looking again around my room, there was a form I could barely make out in the light from under the door. It seemed rectangular and held a clear case which reflected just a bit of light. In the case, there seemed to be a small pool of water, just enough to make my stomach turn. As I watched the water drip into the box, the light suddenly went out again, and as I heard the footsteps fading away, I began to thrash and scream again.
—
I came to slowly the third time, fading in and out of a confusing dream. I could hear the dripping of what I now assumed was a dehumidifier, filling slowly with water. It was now nearly half full. Under the door once again there was a light, but I had not heard the approaching footsteps this time. Again my eyes went to the blinking red light, and as I thought to the bastard behind that camera keeping me here, I tried to scream.
As I opened my mouth, I could feel the dryness of my throat, and I began to become dizzy. As I settled and tried to calm myself, I could hear the footsteps getting closer than before, the light still shining through from under the door. As the footsteps slowed and I could see the shadows casting over the light in front of the door, I shut my eyes and went as limp as I could, attempting to fake sleep.
My pulse pounded in my forehead as the door slowly opened, the light shining against my eyelids, bright enough to hurt. As my captor walked to my right where the dehumidifier sat on the floor, I opened my eyes, trying to adjust to the bright light and get a glance of their form.
As my eyes adjusted, I watched as he locked eyes with me, poured a glass of water from the tub he had removed, and drank it in front of me. The rest of the tub, he poured slowly out on the floor, and I listened as it trickled across the brick and into a drain that I assumed was underneath the table I was on.
As he began to walk out, I began to thrash again with as much energy as I could muster. I tried to scream at him, but all that came out was a croak which he ignored as he closed the door, locked it behind him, and then the light clicked off. Again, I faded fast.
—
The next time I woke up, he was already in the room, and was drinking a glass of water. To my left, a cart the same height as the table held a scalpel, a small clear bag, a strip of fabric, and a small bandage. As he set the glass down on the cart, he reached for the scalpel and the bag.
I watched as he unbound my left arm and positioned it slightly above the table. Underneath the inside of my arm, he set the bag open. As he rested the scalpel against a blue-green vein just past my elbow. As the cold metal cut through my skin, I tensed and began to scream. I could feel my body trying to cry, but nothing seemed to come out.
As my red blood slowly dripped out of the vein and into the bag, my captor began to hum a simple tune, and once the bag seemed somewhat full, he moved to the cart. With the cloth, he pinched my arm at the elbow, seemingly cutting off the circulation, and then he placed the bandage over the cut. The second he looked away, I began to thrash again, pushing the bag off the table and hitting the cart.
He quickly turned towards me and grabbed my arm, pressing it down and tightening the strap on it once again. As he leaned across my body to tighten the strap on my other arm, I lifted my body as best I could and bit down on his arm. His sweat was warm in my mouth, but when he pushed me off, I fell hard against the table, and was unconscious instantly.
—
The next time I saw my captor, he was moving the skin on my bare leg, and I watched as he moved back, the skin staying in its distorted position. I could feel an aching pain from the back of my head and from my side, and as I looked over my arms, I could see small bruises where he cut my arm and where he had wrapped the cloth, and a large bruise on my forearm and around the bounds he had tightened.
I drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, watching him draw blood by the same process from my other arm, this time binding my arm in its raised position, and watching him drink glass by glass of water from the dehumidifier. As he left, I looked up at a bright lamp he had put directly over my face. It seemed to switch itself on and off at random every few seconds, and as I watched, entranced, I could feel the pounding pain from my bruises join in with my heavy pulse, and eventually, I managed to pass out.
This story was originally published as part of a then-weekly writing event called Frights By Fire, which is hosted by Athan and Jamie of Hush Studios, creators of [REDACTED], The Cellar Letters, and The Grotto, three great audio dramas. The theme for this week was Thirst, and I chose to write with inspiration from the Stephen King book Holly, which I had recently read. I combined that with extreme dehydration, which I did enough research on over the week I was writing this that I am decently sure this is an accurate depiction of something that could happen.
Xenophon Vos 