by S. E. Amadis
But why?
Now I remembered The Pit and the Pendulum. But I didn’t think Hugh would have had the generosity to leave a few rats lying about and some meat for me to smear on my bindings.
I struggled harder against the ropes, strained with all my might. They barely stirred, half an inch at the most, perhaps.
I observed the arc of the scythe, fatally mesmerized, unable to tear my gaze away from it. At last I came to and set to work trying to calculate where the leading edge of the blade would cut through, when it reached me. As I expected, Hugh’s calculations appeared to be perfect. It seemed the blade would arch right through the centre of my breast.
I glanced towards my breast. It hardly surprised me in the least to discover a round of cord smack dab in the centre of my chest, perpendicular to the path of the pendulum. This was the cord the scimitar would have to slice through in one, or perhaps two, passes, before, in its next round, ripping through flesh and possibly bone not long afterwards.
I nearly fainted at that thought.
I started battling against my bindings again, to no avail. My gaze scurried in terror about the reduced space as my brain hammered frenetically for some solution.
The only idea that occurred to me would require me to allow the scythe to slash through my skin as it cut my bindings. Then I would need to be on my toes and lightning quick to squirm out from the broken cord before the pendulum struck again.
I didn’t know if I could do it.
I would only have one chance.
If I failed, the next stroke would be the stroke of death.
My mind refused to accept that idea. I started thrashing about hysterically. In spite of the force I was using, the ropes refused to yield even one iota.
At last I realized I was wasting precious energy battling futilely. The best thing I could do was to accept that this was the only solution, then prepare myself in every way to do what I had to do when the moment arrived.
My eyes rolled about like those of a crazy person. I wanted to escape this place like I’d never wanted anything in my whole entire life. I would do just about anything not to be here at this moment. I wanted to flee into daydreams and fantasy, pretend this was all a bad dream and I would wake up safe and sound in my bed in a minute.
But this wasn’t a dream. This was real, and if I didn’t pull my act together in about two seconds, I was going to die.
My chest heaved. I started panting and gasping wildly, raising my chest closer to the scimitar. I realized I would have to stay calm and breathe more evenly if I was to even stand a chance.
I glanced about myself once again. If only I could stick something in between my breast and the place where the pendulum would pass. Something thick. A piece of wood. A wad of cloth. I was ranting, delirious. There wasn’t any loose piece of wood within two miles of me and even if there were, how was I supposed to get a hold of it?
I arched backwards, wondering if perhaps I could escape by somehow wiggling myself downwards, instead of thrashing against the ropes. But I was about as able to move backwards as I was in any other direction. There was some piece of stiff board or the floor wedged soundly and immovably against my back.
I studied myself, tried to make a run down of what the scythe would have to cut through exactly before it reached my flesh. There was the rope, of course. Then beneath that my burgundy velvet dress, which wasn’t all that thick. After that my bra. When I raised my eyes, I saw the scimitar almost graze my eyeballs. When had it dropped down so close? For one instant I froze and my heart started racing.
My eyes rolled about some more. I had to move fast. Well, I couldn’t move. But I had to make up my mind fast.
My gaze lighted upon the thick lapel of my blazer. It was close to my breast. Perhaps if I moved just a hint... I began nudging the lapel towards the centre of my breast. It would be better than nothing. I nudged a little harder. It started to move. I shifted my shoulder. Pushed with the top of my arm. The rough fibres of the braided cord binding my chest caught on the fabric of my jacket, snagged it closer to my breast. Encouraged, I lifted my shoulder as far as I could and pushed harder.
The lapel slipped through the cleft between my breasts, wedged itself underneath the cord, as if guided by invisible hands. I tried to bunch a bit more cloth in there as well, anything would help. I prayed it would hold and stay there. I could feel the collar of my jacket pressing into my neck, dragging at the lapel, pulling it back.
The scimitar swung down, almost grazed my nose. I suddenly became aware I’d been straining my head upwards and now my face lay almost in the path of the pendulum. I would have to drop my head back for this to work. Then I’d only be able to watch what was happening by turning my gaze downwards.
My stomach fluttered so hard I felt as though rocks were dancing a jig in there. My heartrate sped up like that of a marathon runner. I clenched my fists to give myself strength.
Closer and closer it hung now. The zing sounded as if it were right in my ear. I started shivering at the sight of the blade so close to my eyeballs. I made every effort to control my breathing, clamping down with my stomach muscles so my breast wouldn’t rise so much. I was bathed in cold sweat, my heavy dress clinging to me. My palms felt clammy and slippery.
The scythe drove down towards my breast, the scimitar hung near me. The next pass saw it graze the top of the rough hemp cord. I caught my breath, nearly fainted from cold shock as the glinting blade cut past barely a hair’s breadth away from my skin.
At the next swing, the blade cut through half the cord. I began to struggle, but the cord still refused to give. I would have to wait till the next round. My breath caught in my throat. My heart skipped a beat, then another.
My eyes watched the pendulum trace its mortal half-circle without respite. I couldn’t peel my gaze away. The weapon drew closer. The leading edge sliced through the cord completely as well as part of my lapel. Adrenaline surged through me. I battled with my arms, flaying against the rope with everything I had in me.
The ropes burst free. Hooking my feet around the bindings that still held them in place, I slid myself out from the path of the scimitar, propelling myself with my elbows and forearms in order not to lift myself up. I had to get away before the blade crashed down again.
I slithered to one side. Now I only needed to untie my ankles and feet. Curling myself out of the pendulum’s arc, I reached down and grappled with the knots holding my feet in place. Within seconds I was able to glide my feet out and pull myself away from the whole contraption.
The pendulum crashed to the floor, grinding itself into the dirt with an agonizing metallic screech. The mechanism groaned. Invisible springs in the ceiling shuddered and scraped to a halt.
I snatched the gag off my mouth and hurled it to the ground with rage.
“There, you fucking, evil son of a bitch. I beat your fucking helluva machine,” I couldn’t help screaming into the air, defiant.
I slunk along the ground. Now I needed to find a way out of here. I groped along the floor with my hands, trying to figure out where it would be safe to walk. I didn’t dare to stand up yet. For all I knew, maybe I wasn’t even on firm footing. Perhaps I was on a table, or a ledge. In this almost non-existent light it was impossible to tell.
I slid my way around the massive pendulum half-buried in the dirt. It still made me shudder. I felt almost as if it were about to rise up again, like a phoenix from the ashes, and start swinging towards me all over again.
I made it to the other side of that dreadful weapon, near the walls of my prison. I thought I would feel my way along the walls, see if I could find some sort of door or another way out.
I began crawling on hands and knees, too scared to get to my feet. I felt what seemed to be a smooth edging of concrete, as if the dirt floor had turned to cement. I glided closer. I reached forward with my hand – and my hand slipped into nothing. Into emptiness and open space, throwing me off balance.
The next thing I knew, I was plummeting
forward into some bottomless pit, propelled by momentum, unable to stop myself.
Chapter 38
I landed face down with a thud on something not too far below, grateful I’d been able to brace my fall with my hands. I heard an emphatic thump, as if some sort of stiff, heavy canvas had just fallen into place above me. The little vestige of light that was there a minute ago became snuffed out without warning, like a candle.
I’d forgotten about the pit.
Of course. In The Pit and the Pendulum, there was a pit too. Not only a pendulum.
I cursed Hugh under my breath. Only someone so convoluted like him would have dreamt up something so perverted, so twisted and perverse.
“Why are you doing this to me, Hugh?” I screamed.
There was no reply, of course.
Hysteria started rising in me. The complete, unbroken darkness, suffocating and oppressive, was more terrifying than anything.
I tried to distinguish a finger held up right in front of my eyes, and I couldn’t see it.
I started groping around myself. There had to be a way out. I had to find it. I began to crawl, feeling all around me with my hands.
Bit by bit, as I felt along in the darkness, I noticed shallow puddles of water underneath my palms and knees. I pulled myself upright, still kneeling, and bumped my head against something. Wherever I was, it had a very low ceiling.
“Hey!” I cried out. “Is there anybody there? Can you hear me? Help!”
My voice echoed back to me. Resounded as if on metallic walls, then faded away.
“Hey!” I screamed again. “Answer me! Please.”
No one answered me.
Whatever this place was, it must either be so far from anywhere public that no one could hear me, or I was so isolated within whatever was encasing me that all sound from within was muffled from the outside.
I decided to continue exploring this minuscule space, even though I didn’t have much hope. Hunching down on my hands and knees again, I began crawling straight ahead, feeling around for the walls. It didn’t take me long to discover that the walls on both sides were so close I could almost touch them just by extending my arms out to my sides.
Whatever this container was, it was long and narrow, like a tunnel. But how long? I crept forward, waving my hands ahead of me as if they were antennae. Almost immediately I came upon the pointed end. Both side walls arched around to meet at the end in a point, like the tip of a canoe.
I groped about the curved end of this space, realized I had no other place to go except back where I’d come from.
I’d barely slunk ahead perhaps eight or ten paces on my knees before I discovered the opposite end, also curved into a point. This place was like a boat. Shaped exactly like a canoe. A metal canoe. Except without the benches to sit on.
I began to slide my hands along the ceiling again, grasping about rather desperately, wondering if perhaps by some freak chance I could somehow pry the roof open. The roof seemed to be made of some sort of weighty, rugged canvas, but so firmly welded to the walls it might as well have been soldered there. I couldn’t note any junctures or joining points.
I glided along the length of this vessel, touching my fingers against the edge of the roof, in case there was some sort of release mechanism there. I didn’t expect to find one, but I couldn’t discard any possibility. What if Hugh intended on keeping me imprisoned in here forever, just as Bruno had done to me in his basement?
As I dragged myself around I noticed that the hem of my knee-length dress was wet. My knees were grazing water. I leaned back and plopped my hands in the slim sheen of water lapping against the floor. There wasn’t enough water to cover my hands. So there couldn’t be any danger from that. Could there?
But... from what I could recall, when I’d first landed in here – it couldn’t have been that many minutes ago – the amount of water had been barely noticeable.
And now I could splash my hands right into it.
Was the water level rising?
It couldn’t be.
This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.
What had been in that pit, in that Poe story? Was it fire? Was it a pit of sulphurous, avenging flame, rising from the depths of hell?
No. Now I remembered.
It was a pit of water.
The blackest, deepest, slimiest well imaginable.
With walls a mile long, too slick to climb.
Whoever tumbled in there would be left to trundle about until he fainted from exhaustion and drowned.
A slow, tortuous, agonizing death.
Even as I knelt there, thinking about this, I could feel the water rising up against my knees.
Only a small, barely perceptible amount.
But it was there. The difference was still noticeable.
I wondered, at this rate, how long would I have to find a way out of here? And where was the water coming in from, to begin with? If I could just, somehow, find the opening... Perhaps somehow I could block it. Maybe I could jam my knee up against the hole.
Silly idea. But at least that would allow me to buy some time, until someone could find me, hopefully.
Wherever the water was coming from, it must be near the bottom, since as far as I could tell the walls of my prison were dry.
I plunged my fingers into the shallow puddles and began groping along the bottom. Soon I noticed a teensy, circular opening in the smooth metal. Perhaps this was where the water was entering from. But it seemed tiny. How could so much be coming in through something this insignificant in size?
I continued groping along, almost immediately came upon another of these little round holes. Then another. And another.
The entire bottom of this vessel was riddled with these holes. There was a countless number of them.
And the water was coming in through all of them.
There was no way I could block them. Nothing I could use to jam against all of them at the same time.
I raised my arms and began bucking desperately against the rooftop. It was the only thing I could think of doing. I pounded my fists against that immutable canvas. It held as firmly as concrete.
The water was deeper against my knees now, almost covering my knees completely. I sloshed through the water battering my fists against the edge of the rooftop all along its entire length. I heaved a deep breath, forced myself to go more slowly. To inspect more thoroughly and painstakingly, and leave not a single millimetre untouched.
The way out could be a tiny button, almost impossible to discover. A slight dent. A catch. And if it was, I couldn’t miss it.
Catching it could mean the difference between living and dying.
I felt along every single square millimetre of surface slowly, swiping my fingers against the roof, trailing them along both walls as the water rose implacably in the dark. By the time I’d covered every bit of surface, the water was almost to my waist, and I hadn’t found a single thing.
I started sweeping through the entire space a second time, gasping and sobbing, near panic, my heartbeat thumping noticeably against my ribs. I leaned over and plunged my hands into the water to scrape around on the floor, procuring not to miss a single spot.
After the third pass, I was ready to throw in the towel. The insides of this vessel were as solid and seamless as if they’d all been molten together. I began to pound against the roof and scream instead.
I screamed until I was hoarse. The water was lapping against my breastbone. I sagged against the wall, shivering uncontrollably. I wanted to keep screaming, but I had barely a thread of a voice left.
There was almost nothing left for me to do. My brain was paralyzed. I couldn’t think of a thing to do anymore.
“Hugh!” I cried as loudly as I could with my raspy throat. “Hugh, if you can hear me, what do you want from me? What do I have to do to make you stop this torment? Tell me. Whatever it is, if I’m able to do it, I will. Just please, tell me. Answer me.”
I waited.
There
wasn’t a single sound in this pulsating, creeping darkness except the faint lapping of the water against my skin and the metallic sides of my prison, ominous, the pounding of my heart and the blood rushing through my ears.
I began to pass through the area a fourth time for lack of any better plan or ideas, still harbouring the vague hope that maybe, just maybe, it might still work. Maybe there was something there. Something I’d missed before.
The water rose up past my breast. I couldn’t help gasping hard, panting with fear. With bone-deep terror. My stomach clenched up and my legs turned to rubber. I began to beat the heels of my hands obsessively against the roof. I balled up my fists and pounded against the roof with my knuckles until they were raw.
The water rose to my neck. Crept surreptitiously up my chin. I was shaking so hard I couldn’t stay still in one place. I got onto my feet in a crouching position and stretched upwards until my head was touching the roof. My knees were screaming from the strain. I couldn’t hold the posture and crumpled backwards into the water, gasping in a deep gulp of air instinctively before toppling to the ground. Sitting on the ground, my nose was below water level. I hauled myself to my knees in a flash and reached upwards again, sucking in mouthfuls of air greedily, my heart battering away in my throat.
And even so, it seemed to me – almost as if it were an illusion, or a delirium – that the air was thinner somehow. There was less of it. I was panting, and it was from more than just fear.
There was hardly any air left in here now.
I pressed my palms against the ceiling and plastered my head against the rough surface with my nose up right under it.
Two substances couldn’t occupy the same space at the same time.
If the water was filtering in, the air had to be draining out through someplace.
There had to be something there. Something I’d missed.
Frantically, I began digging and scratching at the ceiling again a fifth time, feeling all over it.
At last I saw it.
The barest, dimmest, almost invisible tube of light. Shifting in through the dense shadows at a place just underneath the ceiling, right where the roof joined the wall.
