The Hell Within

When I wake, my eyes are unseeing, swathed in some thick, black fabric. My hearing sharpens in response, ears straining. The only sound detected is a drip. Drip. Drip. I find that my hands slip free of their restraint easily, and I pull the blindfold from my face, every little hair on my body raised to attention.

I’m in a small room with old walls; wallpapered walls. There are no windows. There is no door. But I am here, somehow. And I am breathing – there is air in this room. There are a few scattered lights set upon the walls, candles swaddled in copper. I let my gaze penetrate every nook and cranny of the space, keying in on scratches, lumps, bumps, anything that could be a clue to how one enters – and exits – this prison. 

I lift my head, studying the ceiling; white, flat, unassuming. There are only tiny fissures scattered throughout the paint, nothing unusual, but I step onto the chair – the only thing in the room other than myself – and gently push against the cracked areas, hoping I will feel something give way. There is no movement other than some flaking of paint. 

I wipe my hands against my trousers and step down from the chair. I will study the walls closer. I run my hands over the yellowing wallpaper, face close as I tap in different spots. If I can find a hollow, perhaps I can break through. Everything sounds solid. What is the room made of?

The floor. I’ll check the floor. It’s hardwood. There may be a loose plank. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl, baby steps, little distances. I use my fingers to pry at the slats, hoping one will pop up. My hope dissolves to broken and bleeding nails. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

That sound! Where is it coming from? There is water, coming in here, from somewhere else! Follow the water. 

I begin frantically searching for the source, but it evades me, moving as I move. When I think I’ve cornered it, it’s gone, only to start again somewhere else. Then I hear it again; coming from multiple directions. It’s dripping in two spots! 

I run from one end of the room to the other, running my hands along the walls, then the floor, craning my neck to look at the ceiling. Another drip. Then another. A fifth drip joins the cacophonous chorus. 

Though the blindfold was stripped away, I cannot see what would inevitably lead me to my freedom! It is all around me, but my eyes will not recognize it. Do my ears betray me? Do they simply hear what they want to hear? And what of my hands? My fingers hurt, bloody and chipped. But when I touch a bit of wall, of ceiling, of floor, what am I really touching? 

I do not trust myself. I do not trust my senses. This entire room could be a lie! Perhaps I am not trapped. Perhaps I can leave anytime I wish. The dripping quiets. I breathe in deeply, then slowly exhale. Once more. And again. Then I walk towards a wall with purpose, no hesitation. And collide with it. Solid. No give. I rub my nose tenderly; I should have led with my hands. 

Don’t give up. You can leave if you want to leave. Try again.

I brush my clothes off, execute a few more deep breaths, and try again, palms straight out. They collapse against the wall, my wrists cracking from the force. Shaking the pain away, I step back into the middle of the room, where the single, wooden chair sits. 

I hear the dripping again. It’s getting louder. Uncomfortably loud. The dripping has become like a pounding rain. I wrap my arms around myself for stability. Every storm has to come to an end. 

There’s something happening; the yellow-tinged wallpaper is turning bright, turning red. Liquid is seeping through and running down the walls. It’s coming from the ceiling too, small droplets, then larger, then rain. 

I hold out my hands to catch the drops; blood splashes into my outstretched palms. I smell copper and fear. I try to keep my mouth shut, keep the metal from touching my teeth and tongue. My heart pounds and pulse throbs. The rain intensifies. 

I look down at my shoes; it’s pouring so heavily that it’s beginning to pool around my feet. A thick, oozing puddle with a smell that thickens the air. I gag. 

The blood rain has become a torrential downpour, extinguishing the only sources of light, and there is nowhere for it to go but around me. It fills the room like tar, pungent and sticky. I slosh about in desperation and climb up onto the chair, but it keeps filling, rising. 

I am drowning. It has reached above me and I cannot rise to the surface; it is too thick. No matter how I flail my arms and kick my feet, I cannot breach. 

As I heave a dying breath, it turns into a gasp, and my lungs fill with air. My eyes snap open: I am sitting in the room on the wooden chair, and there is not a drop of blood to be seen. 

Am I dreaming? I pinch myself. Hard. Harder. Harder! I draw a speck of blood and panic, pressing my hand down against the spot with fervor, eyes darting all over, ears perking; no drips. I release a very slow, labored breath. No drips. 

I continue my examination of the room; perhaps I’ve missed something. A chip? A tear? A stain? A new sound is beginning to permeate from beyond the room; something akin to buzzing. My heartbeat stops, flutters, then pounds. The noise grows in intensity. It sounds as though the walls will burst open from the pressure. 

I hear something flit behind me and violently turn, swatting at the air. Then there is one by my shoulder, then my thigh, then my hair. They are all around, and they are swarming. Angry and primed, the hornets swoop. It feels as though tiny fires are erupting all over my skin. I try to fight them away, but they continue their onslaught, their numbers swelling, the buzzing a deafening roar, as the room is swallowed by their wings and darkness. 

As I heave an agonizing breath, surely to be my last, I feel nothing. The stinging stops. The swelling dissipates. The buzzing recedes. My eyes slowly open; I am sitting in the room on the wooden chair. The hornets have all disappeared. 

I jolt from the chair, teeth grinding together. 

“What is this!” I cry, looking all over. “Why am I in here?”

“You can leave whenever you like.” 

I turn this way and that to catch the speaker, but they are not in here with me. 

“I tried,” I answer hesitantly. “I wasn’t able to.”

“That is because you do not wish to.”

“What? That – that’s crazy! Of course I want to leave! Please! Can you help me?”

“I cannot…but maybe he can.”

I feel the tingle of eyes caressing my shoulders. I am being watched. Two icy hands reach out and lovingly grasp my arms. They feel so familiar. They touch me as I long to be touched, with such tenderness, such understanding. I turn to face this watcher. 

I gasp. A tear slides down my right cheek, and I see it travel down his left. “Why?”

“You can only ask me questions you know the answer to,” he replies, the smile dissolving as my face falls. “How can I answer what I do not know?”