D.O.A.: Extreme Horror Anthology by David C. Hayes & Jack Burton

Author:David C. Hayes & Jack Burton [Hayes, David C. & Burton, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780984540839
Amazon: 0984540830
Publisher: Blood Bound Books
Published: 2011-03-09T05:00:00+00:00

Digital Media

Michael Cieslak

“Wake him,” a voice said.

The body lay slumped in the chair, unconscious. Its head lolled back and to the right. One of the men stepped out of the shadows. A vicious slap to the face did nothing. A bucket of cold water was fetched and dumped on the figure, who came to life with a sputter.

The man, now fully awake, struggled briefly against the bonds which held him to the chair. After a few moments he stopped, hanging his head in defeat. The light from the bare bulb overhead illuminated the man’s bald pate.

“Look at me,” the voice commanded.

The man in the chair sobbed once, but kept his chin tucked against his chest, either to avoid seeing the surroundings or as a defensive posture.

“Head up, Sunshine.” The words seemed warm, but the voice was as cold and dark as the inky blackness which surrounded the small circle of light.

The man in the chair raised his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the harsh light.

“Open those eyes,” the voice said. “Remember, you asked for this.”

“I never—,” the man in the chair started to protest.

A hand shot into the feeble light and caught him, open handed, along his jaw. His head snapped back, teeth clacking shut audibly.

“Do not contradict me, Mr. Johnson.

“But I, I didn’t…”

“No, of course you didn’t.” The voice had moved slightly in the darkness. Johnson, the man in the chair, thought it was coming from his left side. He turned his head to follow it, but he could see nothing outside of the light bulb’s illumination.

“Where am I?” he asked. He couldn’t remember anything beyond leaving his office that evening. Or yesterday evening? He was not even sure of the time.

From where he sat, the room he was in was utterly featureless. The darkness could have hidden a warehouse, an airport hanger, or a closet-sized kitchenette. His whole world was defined by what he could see, what was directly below the bulb. Existence was reduced to his own body, naked except for brightly striped boxer shorts, and the chair to which he was bound. The chair was wooden, sturdy, with wide set legs. His arms were bound at wrists and elbows to its wide armrests. Other straps, which felt like leather, bit into his legs, chest, and waist. That was everything. That was his reality. A chair, some leather straps, and the ridiculous boxers he wished he had not worn.

That… and the voice.

“Do you think that rules are important?”

The voice was definitely coming from the left side of the chair now.

“Um, rules?” Johnson was unsure how to answer.

“Yes, Mr. Johnson, rules. Do you think that rules are important?”

“Sure, some rules. Others... I don’t know.”

“An honest answer, therefore a good answer.” The voice continued to move—behind him now. Johnson tried to turn, but the high back of the chair prevented his head from moving very far around.

“I think that rules are very important. They are necessary, essential. Without rules, all would be chaos. Rules are imperative for the existence of modern society.

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