“ROCCO” contains mature themes and content, and is not intended for children. Reader discretion is advised.
Seli – some time ago
It’s spring, the trees are sprouting, and their leaves cling to the branches in the gentle breeze. I walk down the sandy path towards the Distribution Centre for my weekly rations. Now and again I pass a beautiful, ornate bench on which people enjoy the brisk morning air. I step into a shallow puddle and smile, it’s been a while since I last saw such clear water.
I raise my head and see a familiar figure sitting on one of the seats. My old district’s HOPE Program’s Handler, Mr. Withers, wears his usual deep grey coat which rustles as he turns to look my way. My smile fades, I never liked him when I went through HOPE as a child. None of the children did. It had been his job to turn us into docile and obedient ‘Honorable Occupants’. I thought I’d escaped him, for good. The sobs of my lost friends still echo in my memory and the sensation of his fingers lingers on my skin. I shiver and walk faster.
Mr. Withers looks rigid and his back isn’t touching the rest behind it. He keeps his gaze fixed on me, even when a little girl stumbles on his extended foot and starts crying. The child’s mother rushes over and picks her up, seemingly wanting to get away from the strange man as fast as possible. I take her lead and keep walking with my gaze fixed on her back.
I’ve already passed him when suddenly, I feel a sickeningly moist hand grip my wrist.
“Sit for a while, why won’t you?” He asks under his breath.
“H-hey -!” I start, making the mistake of meeting Mr. Withers’ ice-blue eyes. He smiles, and the shimmer I recall too vividly shines behind his stare. I feel myself being locked inside my subconscious and witness myself sitting next to him, as I have done many times in the past.
Nearby people hear me yelping and turn to look for a moment before continuing onward with brisk strides. None of them have the time or courage to investigate the matter further. Mr. Withers is a District official, after all.
“What a dazzling sight you are, all grown up! That hair, like the rising sun itself, comes to manifest to this lowly me. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Seli.”
Mr. Withers’ words have the same grandiosity as when he was the children’s HOPE Handler. His smile never leaves his lips, and try as I might, I have lost the ability to tear away from him. His cold fingers are still locked around my wrist, and I can only watch the people go by, not able to call out. We sit in silence for a while before he speaks in a low voice.
“You know, things with the missus haven’t been that great. I feel I have started to irk her.” He hides his face with his free hand and continues, “I don’t know what to do, Seli. Where have I gone wrong?”
I stay silent as I feel his mental hold on me loosen. I shift my legs and he turns to me without hesitation.
“Stay.”
His eyes catch me once more and glow brilliantly. My body relaxes and his voice turns to honey in my ears. His smile has frozen to his tired features. We sit for a few more moments.
“Seli, would you mind coming in for tea? I think she would love to have some female company. Maybe you can have some heart-to-heart. You know, talk to her.” He shuffles up from the bench and looks at me as he offers his hand as if to ask. His eyes flash, and his voice resonates with me.
“Come with me.”
My body moves on its own accord. I try to fight it, to gain back control, and to stop myself, but it is as if a wall of glass has been raised between me and my body. My head bobs as I stand up and follow his lead.
It doesn’t take us long to reach our destination. He tows me behind him and soon a house appears ahead of us – it looks completely abandoned. The yard has grown wild, all sorts of trash carried by the Winds peeking out from between the swaying blades of grass. In the bare patches of dirt, numerous small pits disappear underground. A mole skitters by my feet, and while I recoil in my mental prison, my body remains unbothered.
Mr. Withers steps toward the decrepit front door. His hold of me tightens as he steps over the filth and mold of the bricks placed underneath the threshold. He opens the door and calls out:
“Celina! I’m home.”
A shriek pierces the air and a mad woman bolts into the dank hallway. She winds back her hand and I notice the black pottery she is about to hurl our way. Mr. Withers yanks me to the side as the jar hits the doorframe behind us, shattering and sending coarse, fragrant coffee grounds everywhere. I have no time to enjoy the scent of real coffee – a sudden prick pierces my neck. I turn to look at Mr. Withers, falling to my knees, weakened. He smiles, almost apologetic. His eyes flash once more, and the world turns foggy.
Seli – Now
I hear them fighting, again and again, they go at it. They keep bickering about what to do with us, and when to do it. It doesn’t matter to us though, the result will always be the same: we will die. It’s just a matter of how.
Next to me, my only friend breathes in a raspy gasp of air. Our legs battle for space on the treacherous floor. I don’t know how long it’s been since Mr. Withers brought me here, but it must’ve been weeks ago. The elegant scent the man next to me wore when they strung him up with me faded quickly, the oceanic fragrance turning into a bitter stench. This pitiful excuse of a closet reeks of feces, blood, and dust. My friend and I have made our peace with it and stopped gagging every time we take a breath.
We are tied onto the rack above, with a strong cable that digs into my skin when I make even the slightest of movements. In the beginning, I tried to shift around, to get just a little bit more comfortable. The shards of glass underneath my feet taught me otherwise, and ever since, I have stayed in one spot, unmoving. My arms have long since gone numb, and it’s a miracle I can even move my fingers.
THUMP!
Sudden and loud, the pounding sound snaps me out of my haze.
“Celina, p-please!” Mr. Withers’ stuttering clashes with my eardrums and I feel sick as I hear a soft thump accompanied by a woman’s mad cry. Next to me, the man twitches, and his elbow presses into my side. I gasp and all the blood drains from my face. Silence falls behind the door. We hear no steps coming closer, and I let out the air, slowly. We hear three more thumps before a moment of peace.
“You became complacent, Melvin,” a raspy, fiendish voice says, “At least you could’ve used the gifts I gave you for something more worthy!” Three metallic thunks accompany the words, and a low, whining grunt answers them.
The woman shrieks out in crazed laughter, and we hear her heels clopping on the floor. I reach my hand as far to the side as I can, but can’t reach my friend. Tears flow down my cheeks in silence and I understand that at this moment, we are on our own. I nudge him with my knee. This is my goodbye, as it has been every time she came to the closet thus far. He doesn’t respond.
“And you,” her voice is so close we can smell the rot from her breath in the damp air, “Don’t get too comfortable, oh no. I guarantee it won’t last!”
With the final word, she strikes the door. My friend groans, and for a moment I see the shimmering of metal as Mrs. Withers pulls her knife back through the thin sheet of wood.
The breaths of the man by my side are heavy, and I feel him gasping for whatever air there is left in this cramped prison. His knee presses onto my leg, and my heart flutters – he is hanging in there, at least for now.
Rocco – Now
I feel blood pouring down my cheek and trickling to my neck. That cunt barely missed my eye. I’m happy Sunny doesn’t have to look at me like this, I’m sure she’d be terrified. The gag in my mouth grinds against my teeth as I bite into it – I need to stay strong.
You will both die…
To hell with you, demon!
Another time, I would’ve taken Sunny out. That cozy coffee shop near the City West, I hear they have the best buns and pastries in Amelia. And they have fresh coffee. It might’ve taken a pretty penny from my savings, but it would’ve been worth it. To see her smile would’ve been worth it. I’m sure of it.
We haven’t known for long. After all, when the man brought me here she was already in the closet. I think, perhaps, it has been a week. The continuous darkness makes it hard to tell, time is skewed here.
Her eyes looked up at me when they opened the door. The depth of the ocean blue had faded into a pale summer sky. She had lost all hope, and just hung there, bruises on her wrists and streaks of tears dried on her cheeks. Her golden hair shone brightly in the short moment of light and became my torch for the future. I can still see it, her Sunny hair, gently fluttering from the force of the opening door.
I press my knee on hers to let her know I’m alright. The blood begins to dry, and all that is left is the aching wound. I’m tired. Too tired of this shit. I let the darkness embrace me as I fall asleep. For now, my demon is staying quiet.
Rocco – Sometime later
I wake up to a dreadful shriek. The woman has opened the door and is taking Sunny out, painstakingly and violently. The light I’ve not seen in what feels like years hurts my eyes and blurs my vision. Sunny kicks and screams with her last breaths as she is dragged away from the closet, and dropped on the ground.
I look around and don’t see the man anywhere. Instead, I witness the woman tearing at Sunny’s already ragged clothes, ripping them apart and revealing her body in a fit of rage. Whatever is left of my humanity burns with fury as I start seeing the marks on her beautiful skin: the crimson circles of cigarettes, the purple-green splotches.
Sunny sobs on the ground, lifting her stiffened and useless arms to try and cover herself. This irritates the mad woman looming over her. She lets out an incomprehensible shout and slaps Sunny. In one puff of her hair, she quiets, and her eyes grow dull.
She will die…
Fuck!
The woman shrugs and heads over to the table, sitting down to read the paper. I see the faint lettering on its corner and realize it has been 10 days. The many sharp and pointy instruments lined up neatly on the table catch my eye, and I feel sick.
From another room, I hear the tell-tale creaking of a door. The man of the house has returned, with a thin white rope loosely wrapped around his arm. He sets it down on the table, never even glancing at Sunny. One side of his face has turned purple and blue.
It is too late for her…
I am too tired to cry, all I can do is watch.
The man looks at his wife and resumes to unravel the rope. He crouches over the shivering figure of Sunny and grabs her wrists. With a few swift movements, he bends the weakened arms back and ties them with a practiced routine. The embers of my soul turn colder by the moment.
As soon as he is done, he hoists Sunny’s body to its feet. I look into her eyes, and my heart stops – in one blink, she looks straight into my soul, hopeless, and in the next, she is gone. Her body follows the orders of her captor, shambling backward to a hook affixed to the wall. The man sets her tied arms around the hook and steps back as if to evaluate a painting. For a second I see his eyes glow eerily as he steps away from the display.
Slowly, as if savoring every moment, the woman gets up and picks a tool from the table. It’s a blade, thin and straight, with a sharp edge that flickers in the scarce light. She springs towards Sunny, and as she starts her assault, my mind goes blank. The streams of red on the pale skin flow down in grim patterns somewhere at the edge of my vision. Sunny’s screams echo and vanish into the dark.
Suddenly, I’m one with the shadows, a void of nothingness. I have become incorporeal, delivered to another place.
Around me, a smoke blacker than the night whirls in cyclical patterns. It surrounds me and inches closer until I could touch it if I just reached my arm out. Something primal in me suggests otherwise, and I stop my already stretched-out hand. The fear I have for this curtain of smoke is far greater than for anything waiting for me back in the closet.
Serve me, and get retribution...
A voice echoes in the void and fills my mind with terror. It is cold and calculated, and the glee within is the most horrifying thing I have ever heard.
Do you wish to die..?
No!
The shadows wave as if the creature were chuckling.
Serve me…
The tiniest thought of acceptance is all it takes. The smoke around me speeds up, growing into a storm, with me in its eye. I look up and see two enormous black eyes, a toothy grin underneath them. As this face of terror crashes into me, I feel myself melt away, leaving nothing. No fear, no rage, no joy. My emotions are extinguished.
The monster that has possessed me opens my eyes as I sit down in the spaceless space, a prisoner of my own mind. I watch as IT yanks on the pole to which my hands are tied and rips the whole thing off its hinges. I hear the sound of the glass crunching and feel the stickiness of my feet as IT takes steps, walking my body toward the raging woman.
“You are long overdue, my child,” I hear myself say in a twisted voice.
She turns around, bewildered. Her arm moves to strike, still gripping the knife with Sunny’s fresh blood drawing streaks in the air. The blade pierces my body, but IT doesn’t seem to care. My hand moves to grasp the mad woman, and as my fingers wrap around her forearm, I feel the strength of a thousand lifetimes crush her bones. She screeches, and finally, the man, who I thought was her husband, steps forward.
“It would be wise of you to scuffle out of town, friend,” I let out a low growl.
The man looks at his now horrified companion, whose arm hangs limply in my grip. He hesitates but takes another step forward, grabbing a sharpened screwdriver from the table.
“Pity… you had so much life to live…”
I watch from my containment as the man’s eyes glow a violent cerulean color as he unleashes his desperate final attack. I feel myself getting drowsy, but the monster that possesses me is unphased. In turn, my arm is raised, one finger pointing at the sniveling man like a gun.
“Bang.”
With one word, the musty kitchen is painted red, as the man explodes into a mist of blood. IT turns my gaze back onto the woman, who has stopped resisting my grip, and I feel a smile creeping onto my lips. Behind her disheveled form, Sunny hangs from the wall, lifeless and painted in crimson.