Twist the bolts ever tighter.
Lock the doors – gotta keep them out.
Lock the doors, twist the bolts ever tighter.
Gotta keep them out.
The hiss of steam doesn’t quite cover up the clanging of their boots on the checker-board steel plates, doesn’t quite cover up the ragged sound of my breathing, the omnipresent pounding of my heart against my shattered ribcage. I can hear their droning voices through the walls.
“We are coming, we are coming, we are coming.”
They’re in my head. They’re coming.
Three weeks now. Three weeks of solitude – if my tally holds true. Diagonal scratches scored into the metal walls of my prison, of my sanctuary. Diagonal scratches gorged deeper and deeper into the walls. I’m losing track of the days as they come and go.
Tighten the bolts, lock the doors.
Three weeks now, and finally the antiphonic droning has stopped, the ritual chanting above my head has finally stopped.
The screaming hasn’t.
I was lucky. Managed to escape, to get into the boiler room and start what now seems an endless task.
Tighten the bolts.
Lock the doors – they are coming.
Menacing shadows twist and dance around me – they are no longer coming.
They are here.
Written for this week’s Flash! Friday image prompt. Comments and criticism always welcome!