Tunnel

There is a man standing over me.
He has shaking hands and a toothy smile.

The room.
The room.
The room with the skins.
The human skins that line the walls and the candles that burn black like Satan’s soul.
The man is gone and I am stretched out on a platform, bare and shaking.
There’s no one here.
I rattle the chains that bind me here.
And a cloak appears.
The hood comes down and a face stares down.
Eyes burning black, skin glowing yellow, teeth shining red.
“Hello.”
My eyes widen.
The cloak smiles.
“Are you going to say hello?”
I continue to stare. Those eyes are pulling me in.
The cloak leans down next to me and whispers. “Hello, hello, hello.” His tongue slides into my ear and squirms around like a moist worm.
I whimper and try to pull away.
The man cackles low and breathy.

More cloaks file in, their hoods up.

No sound.
No voices.

The crowd parts.
The man with the tattoos comes in.
Now I can see what his skin depicts.
One big horned god.
A deity of evil.
A divine entity consumed in darkness.

He walks up to the platform.
Goosebumps form all over my skin.

He moves around the dirt pile slowly until we can see each other face to face.
He runs his ragged fingernails up and down my legs.

And then he turns and faces the wall.
He takes something from off the floor.

Then he turns.

My skin starts to crawl and I start to rattle the chains.

He takes up the knife, thick and rusted.

Licks his lips and blows out a candle.

He runs his fingers down the blade and steps up near the platform again.

“Help me,” I whisper, but I can’t gain any volume. I clear my throat and try again. “Help,” I rasp.
No hoods come down.

The man with the tattoos licks the fingertips on his left hand and places them on my upper-thigh, slowing dragging them down the length of my leg.
It leaves a searing red mark.

Then his cold, wet hand is pushing down hard on my bare belly and he plunges the blade deep between my legs.
Scream.
Scream so loud it hurts.
Scream so hard it clouds my brain.

The black cloaks swarm in.
I’m being ripped apart.

One drops their hood and tilts her head at me.
She lowers her head and places her lips on mine.

My first kiss.

Then her warm teeth move across my lips and then sink in.
The blood gushes down my mouth and neck but I can’t feel the pain.
I feel it everywhere else.
Where the black cloaks dig in their claws and bite with their teeth.
As my skin slowly peels away, the soft pink flesh feels almost sweet as it tastes the dripping blood.
And the relief is good and warm when those warm, warm teeth burrow into my neck.

A metal door.
In the middle of nowhere.
A metal door.

4:37.
No reception.

Welcome to Route 666.