5 days in hell

My hands were tied. My hairless chest swathed in blood. My captor fed me now and again, it wasn't much, but it was food. He allowed me a glass of water and led me to a bucket on the other side of the room so I could do my business.

He wore a blank, white mask; he rarely spoke. I was in fear for my life.

The cuts on my chest were caused by being whipped with a bike chain.

I didn't like being able to see what he did to me, why wasn't I blindfolded? He got pleasure from allowing me to witness his punishments.

There was a smell of rancid meat in the air, mixed with regurgitated puke. Rats scurried across the floor, carrying small pieces of raw meat, meat from what, I don't know. The only light was a low watt bulb hanging from a beam above my bucket. What I assumed was a generator, buzzed with menace from behind the metal door that was keeping me from escaping my nightmare.

My cold, dank surroundings revealing ghostly apparitions. Spectres and ethereal beings roaming in the shadows. Were they real? I don't know, they seemed real enough. What was real was the fear and trepidation I felt whenever the metal door opened. The light causing temporary blindness, the figure standing silhouetted in the doorway, was real for sure.

I lay on a mattress, my hands stretched and secured above my head with a rope, the rope was attached to an iron ring coming out of the ground. My eyes would adjust and I would be able to see a figure approach, his haunting white mask, showing no expression. He sat on my ankles that were bound together with duct tape, I would wriggle and try to throw him off, " get off me, who the fuck are you?"

nothing worked, he was robust. A glint of metal shone in my eyes, with an expert touch, he sliced off a nipple. I bit on my tongue and screamed through the pain. After a few seconds the pain increased, the expressionless masked man stared at me as he daubed alcohol on my torn skin. I drifted in and out of consciousness, often seeing that shiny metal approach my broken body.

I think it was the second day when I awoke from a painful and disturbed sleep. Time was irrelevant, I could only guess how long I had been there.

No matter how much I struggled, I could not free myself. There was very little strength in my body, I had to stay calm and preserve as much as I could. My Inflamed wrists were abraded from the hemp rope that cut deep into my flesh. Both nipples had been removed and sanitized with alcohol, I could see blood on my fingers, my nails had been skillfully removed from both hands. My throat was raw through incessant screaming.

I drifted in and out of reality, the idea of letting my body and mind shut down began to appeal. The silhouetted figure emerged out of the doorway, the light from the side of freedom, nearly burnt my retinas causing me to squint and scream at my captor. The door closed with a ghostly squeak and slammed shut. Through my half-closed eyes, I saw the silhouette approach. He stood at my left-hand side, tilted his head like a confused puppy, put his finger against the mask's lips. "shh!"

My screaming stopped, that was the first time I had heard him utter anything. It was a plain, nondescript shush, there was nothing extraordinary about the sound, but a kind of recognition came upon me. "who are you, why am I here? please let me go." It sounded a little toady but maybe he had a little empathy, maybe he would feel sorry for me. The masked man bent forward a little, raised his index finger and shook it from side to side, along with a slow negative shake of his head. I gathered as much spit as I could and launched it toward his bent frame. He staggered back and yelled, "dirty fucker." I saw his foot coming at me with speed, it connected with my ribs, my kidneys screamed in pain. I stopped breathing for a few seconds, then, for the first time in over forty years, I cried. My eyes weren't the only wet things, my bladder emptied itself, my urethra screamed as razor-sharp urine soaked the mattress around me.

Once again, I slipped into unconsciousness and awoke with no idea how long I had been out. After a few minutes, I raised my neck to have a look around, at the bottom of the mattress, sat a man in a chair.

"I need to go to the hospital, I'm going to die otherwise, oh and you need to change me, I've shit myself." Again my words seemed to fall on deaf ears. He sat; staring, I thrashed my bound legs, up and down and screamed. "Well talk to me then you sick fuck! say something." With great speed, he arose from the chair, the chair tipped over and before I knew it, he was sitting on my chest, with his hands around my throat. The grip tightened just enough to cut off my air supply for a few seconds, he then released the grip. This was a rare opportunity to overpower him. My legs were bound with duct tape but they weren't strapped down like my hands were. He leaned forward, put one foot on the ground to ease himself up, that was the moment I struck. With as much force as I could manage, I raised my legs and struck him in the balls. There was a pained grunt as he toppled onto my left-hand side. The masked man whimpered and rolled away from me. I tried to lift my legs off the mattress and swivel around to continue my attack, the attempt was futile, as I had no leverage to reach him. He lay motionless for at least five minutes, then crawled toward the door and left.

By my reckoning, I had been tied to that mattress for three maybe four days. I hadn't had a visit for at least 24 hours.

The pain in my side was excruciating, below the waist I was covered in shit and piss, I had vomited several times, often in my sleep. The smell of dead flesh and something indescribable filled the air, some of that smell was coming from me. Where my nipples used to be, hurt beyond anything I have ever felt, the skin surrounding the areola was going gangrenous. All those smells attracted more rats and mice. They began to crawl over me, nibbling on the dead skin around my nipples and where my fingernails used to be. They crawled up my trouser legs, I managed to squash a few as I bucked and thrashed about buckaroo style.

My continuous yells of help made my throat close, I hadn't drunk anything for so long. I had forgotten about my hunger, there seemed no point in eating when I was in so much pain. Where was my masked friend? what if that kick in the nuts had a delayed reaction and he was in the hospital, or worse...dead?

Voices, voices everywhere: whispering, laughing. Angry voices all around me. Voices telling me to shut down; give in to death. Rodents as large as dogs, eating me alive.

The voices could have been my own, delirium and confusion making it impossible to function. I was sure that death was imminent. My throat was dry, I could no longer shout. My eyes were almost closed shut. What I could see around me, made no sense: my living room, my local pub, the church, all these familiar places seemed real but with an illusory quality.

This was the end, I was sure. The thought of missing my loved ones and all the cliche's that go with dying, never entered my thoughts. A vague memory of a five-year-old me, running off in excitement and my mother telling me to make sure I've got clean underpants on, was the only thing that I could think about. Please god, don't let me die with dirty undies. "Mummy! I need clean pants, I've done a poo-poo." I heard myself laughing. "Haha, I said poo-poo."

A bright light shone through my half-closed eyes. With my vision impaired, and my brain not able to function, it was impossible to see for sure, who was approaching. "Is that you god? are you real? have you come for me?" The figure advanced, surrounded by a halo of light.

"No, not God, but you will see him soon...I promise."

It was my captor, maskless and with an amused grin on his face. "Seeing things now Jim? sorry I mean James, I wouldn't want to offend you... you stuck up bastard."

I tried to focus on his face, a film covered my vision, " I've shit my pants, have you come to change my bottom?" I laughed hysterically, my throat burning and my eyes streaming. Rats scurried across the floor, and across my body in an attempt to escape. It was as if they too could feel the evil in the man that stood before me. Once again, my mother appeared. I remember her teaching me to ride my bike, I fell, on numerous occasions. She would pick me up, kiss my knee and say,' come on Jimmy boy, you can do this, don't give up now!'

With what little strength I had left, I lifted my head and focused on the man who stood next to me,

"Have you worked it out yet, Jimmy boy? I have spent a fortune on sessions with you, I'm taking it all back, piece by piece." He knelt by my side. "How's it feel to lie on a couch, or mattress in your case, and be humiliated and belittled." He moved his face closer to mine. "Come on professor, speak up, how does it feel to be vulnerable and helpless?"

I focused hard, "Tim?"

"Correct, Mr Thornton; In the flesh. Although I have more flesh now, thanks to you."

Being a psychologist for most of my working life, Timothy Harden, was a typical case. One I had dealt with for around two years. Tim was a very troubled man: diagnosed with an antisocial personality disorder at the age of fifteen, ADHD, OCD and a confessed sadist and narcissist. He was bullied all through his school years and on into adulthood. Tim's father walked out when Tim was only eight years old, it left a huge hole in his life. From what he told me, he has never had a girlfriend either.

"Tim, I don't understand, what did I do to you? Why are you doing this?"

He got closer to my face, the hate and venom showing in his eyes. " I am fucking skint because of you." He spat pure vitriol in my face, "two fucking years, two years and I'm no further forward, you're just an old quack aren't you." He launched a fist into my face, striking me on the jaw."You sat there every week, talking shit and taking my money. I bet the pound signs were flashing before your eyes every time I walked into your office."

I was stunned, I have always been the ultimate professional, I took an oath when I decided that helping others that couldn't help themselves, was the way I wanted to go with my career.

My head cleared a little as my anger grew, "I gave you a discount Tim, your sessions were nearly half what I would charge others. I helped you, Tim. Why would you do this to me after all we've spoken about?"

He stood up, my vision was deteriorating fast, I could feel myself fading in and out. Tim stood astride me and fumbled with something. He burst into laughter, I felt warm liquid hit my face."Are you thirsty, prof? Have a drink on me."

I opened my mouth to take in his pee, the liquid was warm and my throat was ablaze as it went down. At that point, I would have drunk anything. I am ashamed to say that the experience wasn't that unpleasant. I spluttered a little but kept it down.

Tim zipped himself up and walked toward my bucket. There were at least 2 days worth of piss in it.

"If you're thirsty Jimmy, I've got a bit here if you want it." He chuckled.

A large rat ran across his path, his attempt to kick it out of the way failed. Almost in slow motion, his legs went from under him, his arms windmilled in mid-air. I strained my neck to see, his arms flew out in front of him in an attempt to cushion his fall. There was a crack of bones as his wrist snapped, his face contorted in pain. This was followed by a louder crack, as his skull struck the iron ring that secured my hands.

There was silence in the room.

The door was open and the generator still gave out its menacing rumble. Tims blood flowed around my head, deep carmine red oozed from the vast hole that had appeared in his skull. His twisted, broken arm, twitched and vibrated against the top of my head. That was it, the end. I couldn't shout for help, I had no strength left. My body spasmed, my black and purple sores blistered. Wet gangrene set in as puss seeped from every open wound and the bacteria took control. The numbness in my toes and fingers meant that if I survived, I would probably lose them.

There was no hope of survival, my mother came to me again, 'James Thornton! get off your lazy behind and do those dishes, I won't tell you again.'

"I can't mummy, I've got no fingers and my toes won't work." My mumbled words falling awkwardly from my lips. As my eyes closed, I saw vaporous, floating images, swirling around my head. Unearthly phantoms laughed and mocked me, their tormented souls goading me, pulling me.

Night fell, and I slept.

They told me that I was unconscious for 12 days, they said I was lucky to be alive. A priest had been called and the plug was due to be pulled, at my wife's request. They also tell me that Tim Harden, was not in the cellar when I was found. Police investigating a report of a strange smell coming from my (man cave) as she calls it, reported that one male was found, laying on a mattress and tied to a metal ring. No other bodies were found at the scene.

I protested vehemently, but then again, I wasn't sure If it all happened as I remember it anyway.

Nothing is clear now, If everything that I remember, actually happened, then Tim was out there...somewhere...watching...waiting.

I'll be waiting for you Tim Harden, and this time I'll be ready.