Chapter Text
It was the dripping, the incessant dripping, that jolted you awake. Damn it. Groggily, you wondered if you had forgotten to turn off the bathroom sink last night. The thought made you groan, remembering the overdue water bill. You really couldn’t afford to have your water shut off.
You yawn and stretch; your body is sore—more sore than it should be—in places it shouldn’t be from what you remember happening the day before. And your arms... why can’t you feel your arms? Your eyes flash open, only to be met with more darkness. This wasn’t your room.
Fully awake now, you shivered in the cold, foul-smelling air. You manage to pull yourself into a sitting position, a chain clanks with every movement you make. You came to realize your hands have been tied behind your back, and you think your leg or legs are chained up as well. If you had to guess, you’re on a mattress in someone’s basement.
Your brows furled. What happened last night? How did you get here? You could feel your heart start racing, and adrenaline pumped through you. You quickly start taking deep breaths, trying to hold the panic back. Your eyes had begun adjusting to the darkness; before you knew it, you could just barely make out the outline of everything around you.
You scanned the basement; that dripping was becoming annoying. There seems to be a shelf just out of your reach to the left of you, and possibly a room on the further wall. A staircase in the middle of the basement and some boxes behind it? Honestly, this was all guesswork; it was hard to see value and depth in such a dark room.
You wiggle against the restraints around your wrist, wincing as the sharp rope rubs against your skin. You feel like crying; you’ve been trying to stay calm, but everything is too much. You can’t remember a thing about the previous night, and whatever happened got you tied and chained in a basement.
You let out a shaky breath and lay back down, realizing how exhausted you were. You want to give in and sleep, but you’re not sure it’s a good idea. You try to grasp the rope with your fingers, hoping to loosen it, but it’s no use. The rope is too tight and out of reach for your fingers anyway. A sigh escapes your lips before your eyelids become too heavy to fight open anymore.
You wake up to a shining light near the stairs. Your instinct is to cover your eyes, but they’re still tied behind you. Footsteps coming down the stairs caused you to become awake and alert almost instantly. Your body jerked upwards, sitting yourself upright. Black boots came into view, followed by the face of your captor. A gasp escaped your lips. Terror gripped you as you realized the severity of your situation.
“Mornin’ lamb chop.” His voice was deep and thick, with a southern accent. Bob Velseb, a wanted criminal for murder and cannibalism. And you were in his basement, tied and chained up. At this point, you threw trying to stay calm out the window.
He approached you, kneeling down a foot away from the mattress you sat on. You shuffled your way against the wall, trying to get as far away from him as possible. You wanted to scream, to yell and shout at him; you wanted to curse and tell him to stay away, but for some reason, you couldn't. You couldn't even get your mouth to open to even begin those dozen words you wanted to shout.
“Gone quiet? Not as vocal as last night, eh?” He chuckled; the man had chuckled at his own words. Last night? What had happened last night? You couldn't even remember. You stared at the cannibal, staring into those light blue eyes of his you’ve only seen on the news. Seeing him in person was so much more than seeing him on TV.
Bob smiled at you before extending a hand and grabbing your face. You tried to jerk away to get away from him, but he didn't let go. His hand cupped your jaw as he pulled you closer, tilting your head left and then to the right, examining you. “Very good, barely putting up a fight, good boy.” He mumbled. His words sent a shiver down your spine. You whined and tried to pull away, and surprisingly, he let you go. You cowered back into the corner, trembling.
The dripping sound caught your attention again. Now, with the light on, you see the source. Near the stairs hung a dead body, suspended by its legs, blood dripping from its slit throat into a bucket below. Horror washed over you, your eyes widening and your breathing quickening. Bob glanced at the body and chuckled again. "Oh, sweetheart, afraid of a little dead body?” He teased, as if this were all perfectly normal.
Tears streamed down your face. If the news was right about him, you were next. You’d be hanging by your feet, your blood draining into a bucket. You desperately wanted to scream, to beg for your life, to make a deal with him. But no sound came out. Your mouth opened, but nothing emerged. What’s happening to me? Why can’t I speak? Panic surged again.
Bob sighed and stood up. “I’ll let you calm down before I revisit you,” he said, heading up the stairs. The basement door closed with a resounding click of the lock. Shit shit shit is the only word that ran through your head as your heart raced and your breathing continued to race. You felt warm—too warm—and tears ran down your face as a panic attack overcame you.
You feel a sudden rush of overwhelming anxiety, your heart racing as if it's about to burst from your chest. The room seems to close in around you, and every sound feels amplified, every breath a struggle. Your hands tremble uncontrollably, and a cold sweat breaks out across your forehead. Your mind is flooded with a cascade of thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last, making it nearly impossible to focus.
You try to calm yourself and take deep breaths, but it feels like you're drowning in your fear, unable to find solid ground. You remind yourself to focus on your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale, though it takes immense effort to do so. Your heart still pounds, and your hands are still shaky, but you manage to draw your attention away from the spiraling thoughts.
You close your eyes and visualize a place that brings you peace—a small haven in the storm of your mind. Slowly, the suffocating grip of panic begins to loosen, even if only a little. The breaths come easier, and the room no longer feels so oppressive. It takes time, and the struggle is real, but you start to regain a semblance of control.
Bit by bit, you find your way back, the waves of fear receding. Bob was gone and probably won't be back for a while. You hope. This is your chance to escape, if that is possible. Your hands were the first issue; in order to do anything, they needed to be free. Like before, you struggle with the sharp rope. It's scratchy, and it hurts, but you keep trying to loosen it. It's almost no use; the rope is too tight- Ow! It cut you. You can feel the warm liquid that is your blood beginning to drip down to your fingers. You can't help but glance back at the hanging body, staring at the blood that fell. Were they in the same position as you? Did they struggle and fight to be free, just as you are now? And they didn't escape. You feel helpless.
On the verge of giving up, you decided to give it one more shot. Shifting your wrists in the rope, expecting nothing but... Your blood was acting as a morbid lubricant, allowing you to move your hands more than before. You needed more blood if you wanted this to work. With a deep breath, you found the bleeding wound with your fingers before digging your nails into the sliced flesh, tearing at the wound to produce more blood. It hurt; it hurt like hell, but this was nothing compared to the hanging body. If you had to suffer through this to avoid becoming that, it was worth it.
You couldn't see the amount of blood, but after a minute or two, you decided it was probably enough. You twisted and turned your wrists like before, and this time, one came free from the rope. Quickly leaning forward and grabbing at the chain surrounding your ankle, examining the chain itself and the lock that kept it tightly around you. It is rusted and looks old; it is well used, it seems. The thought makes you shiver. How many others have found themselves restrained by this lock? Maybe you were just lucky.
You grabbed the lock, noticing it required a key. A key you don't have. Maybe I could… You grab some of the chains holding the lock in place with one hand, and you slamed the chains into it. Nothing. You try again, and surprisingly, it works. The lock broke open, with the rusted inside, all it needed was a bash to break it. You throw the chains off of you and stand up, your legs quivering beneath you; they felt like jelly.
Why do I feel like this? What happened? It had to have been something bad—so bad you can't remember. You take a step toward the stairs before freezing. The creaking of the basement door opening echoed throughout the basement. He was coming back. Without much thought, you hurried out of sight, behind the stairs and stacked boxes. You placed your hand firmly over your mouth to quiet your breathing. He was coming down the stairs, his footsteps were loud. Without looking, you could tell he paused before reaching the bottom of the steps, probably noticing you weren't where he left you.
“Playin’ a lil hide n seek, huh?” His voice boomed throughout the basement; you could tell there was anger in his voice, and that scared you more. You peeked over the boxes; Bob was walking into that room, on the complete opposite side of the basement from you. This was your chance to run; if you stayed, he’d definitely find you.
Once he disappeared into the room, you bolted, racing up the stairs, wanting to reach for the open door. That's when you heard him, and he was right behind you. How is he so fast?! Your heart was racing. At this point, you were leaping up the stairs, trying to distance yourself. If you get to the door, you could lock it behind you, trapping him here. A few more steps, and you were almost there. You reached out your arm to grab the door, only for a hand to reach out and grab you too.