"The Room That Screams"
The walls whisper when John breathes.
He's counting seconds, heartbeats, breaths—anything to drown out the echo of Grim's voice. The ropes bite into his wrists, each fiber soaked in old blood that isn't just his.
A drop of water hits the floor.
Another.
A rhythm forms—drip, drip, drip—like the ticking of a clock in hell.
John grits his teeth. "You think chains break me? I've slept in worse holes than this."
He pulls—once, twice. The rope digs deeper, skin peeling. The pain's a friend now. Keeps him focused. Keeps him him.
The door creaks again. Footsteps. Two sets this time. Lighter ones trailing behind Grim's boots.A woman enters—hooded, quiet, carrying a steel bucket. Water sloshes inside. She doesn't look at John, doesn't speak.
Grim leans in the doorway, chewing on a matchstick."Hydration time," he says, voice dripping amusement. "Don't want my new toy dying on me yet."
The woman kneels. The water isn't for him. She pours it onto the floor—thick red liquid streaking out beneath John. Not water. Not clean.
John stares. "What the hell is this?"
Grim's smile stretches too wide. "A reminder. That everyone you killed bleeds the same color."
The woman finally glances at John. Eyes dead. No soul left to save. She whispers something under her breath—"Run, when the bell rings."
Grim leans in the doorway, chewing on a matchstick."Hydration time," he says, voice dripping amusement. "Don't want my new toy dying on me yet."
The woman kneels. The water isn't for him. She pours it onto the floor—thick red liquid streaking out beneath John. Not water. Not clean.
John stares. "What the hell is this?"
Grim's smile stretches too wide. "A reminder. That everyone you killed bleeds the same color."
The woman finally glances at John. Eyes dead. No soul left to save. She whispers something under her breath—"Run, when the bell rings."
Then she leaves.
Grim flicks his match against the wall, flame blooming in the dark. He studies John through the firelight.
Then she leaves.
Grim flicks his match against the wall, flame blooming in the dark. He studies John through the firelight."You'll break, Van Reap. They all do. But you…" He grins. "You'll make a beautiful sound when you do."
He tosses the flame into the red puddle.It doesn't burn. It hisses.
And somewhere beneath the floorboards—something screams back.