Page 8 of Ethereally Tainted

The master approaches me with slow steps, every thump of his shoes on the floor a countdown until the bomb drops on me. My body huddles in the corner, full of cobwebs, trying to get away, as if the walls could take me into their arms and save me from his wrath.

His wrathful grimace is evidence of the anger burning behind his almost black eyes, his teeth are visible, and one of his front teeth is rotten away as well. A large pit forms a hole in it, and the rest of the teeth are yellow from neglect.

Thump, thump, thump.

I can hear him closing in on me, and each step takes me further into the box I feel like I’m lying in. It’s a box without handles and an endless darkness, a space without walls or time, just a terrible existence, but no way out.

In his hand, he holds a knife whose blade shimmers in the lamp’s light, and I’m drawn into the darkness because that has always been my safety before the master ruined it.

“Give me your hand, beautiful girl. You shall atone for your sins.”

The fear inside me makes me bite my lip hard until the taste of blood fills my taste buds, both salty and sour, with a metallic undertone. I’m trembling as my arm reaches out to the master, but he shoves my hand forward when I don’t act quickly enough. A searing, unfamiliar pain engulfs me, and tears stream down my face like an unstoppable torrent. There is too much blood everywhere from his actions. The pain of a thousand needles pierces my skin, and I’m left feeling like my life is slowly slipping away.

Everything hurts.

His smile widens, and calm fills his expression as panic spreads inside me.

Will I even survive this torture?

I cower into the corner as he strides away with a satisfied smirk, the stinging sensation in my hands and the pungent scent of metal lingering.

It all hurts so much.

There’s one minute left until I have to be inside the parlor room.

I make it to the front yard and instantly freeze when I see what’s ahead of me. A teenage boy has been victimized by a force that split his skull, leaving a vast black and crimson red hole. A swarm of insects attempts to eat his delicate flesh, but the precious boy is unaffected, and his spirit remains alive in the afterworld. He is free from torture.

I struggle to keep myself upright, battling nausea that makes me long to join the corpses on the ground and fade away from the face of the earth. The chilly morning finds every body lying motionless at odd angles, only bullet holes hinting at their fate. One single bullet hole each, as if the master had precision and did not want to waste bullets.

On one of the girl’s bodies, the skin around the hole has started peeling off in an ugly view. The look in her eyes is one of utter devastation, forever frozen in something akin to horror as she realized she would never wake up to see another sunset again.

With shaky arms, fighting back a sob that wants to rip out, I squat down next to her and close her blue, lifeless eyes. Eyes that an hour ago were full of life, clear eyes that shone in the sunlight but are now filled with a bottomless sea with no way out of eternity.

I take a deep breath and force my legs to keep moving, the trembling growing stronger with each step toward the front door and the weight of my heart threatening to pull me down.

It’s one thing to know someone has lost their life; it’s another to actually witness it with your own eyes. Those children will never have an ending. They will be disposed of like nothing more than trash.

Furiously, I wipe away a lone tear that has escaped from the corner of my eye and tentatively push open the door. All the children have returned to their chores, trying to pretend as if everything is fine when in reality nothing is.

By now, the master will open the door to his office to settle down with his glass of whiskey before returning to controlling all the children. Trying to keep my emotions in check, I scan the painting as quickly as possible, all the while wanting to huddle in a corner and weep for hours.

I take the stairs, the wood groaning with every step toward my room. I haven’t seen Everlee yet, but I didn’t see her outside either, which must mean she is still alive.

Terror courses through me, my breathing growing shallow as a deep-seated feeling of dread threatens to overwhelm me, the fear that something terrible has happened to her. I haven’t talked to her since the day before.

Down the hall, I hear children’s voices singing, some more broken than others, as if trying to hold back tears. Several lives are lost, none of which will ever return to us. They did not deserve their fates.

Once inside my room, I feel like I can finally breathe properly, surrounded by the walls that give me some protection and the only space where the master has no cameras. I guess he respects us that much for not putting up any surveillance cameras in our bedrooms.

When I realize I’m not alone in the room, I feel as dazed as a frog about to be swallowed by a snake preparing to take me whole.

“Everlee,” I breathe out as my body slumps from the straining position I’ve held it in.

There is a faint smile on her lips, but the pain behind her eyes obscures it. With slow steps, I approach her and sit on the rough edge of her bed before placing my arms over her shoulders. Her head leans toward me, and she hugs me back so tightly it feels like she’s trying to squeeze out as much air from me as possible.

“You’re here,” she whispers into the quiet room, and all I can do is nod in response.

“Where were you?” I ask warily.

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