I was born into a world of darkness, cold and unfeeling. It didn't take me very long to learn this. I have been told that I came out of the womb stoic with a look of dread upon my tiny face. That is probably the truth. My mother, rest her soul, died within weeks of my birth. I heard told that she had died as a result of one to many of the savage beatings that my father loved to give her. This I know to be truth. Before the age of five I had already suffered from more broken bones than any one person should suffer in a lifetime. I would love to tell you that it was the drink that made him do it, but that would be a falsehood.
He was just a mean s.o.b. that took pleasure in tormenting those weaker than himself. I would learn later on in my life,quite by accident, that this seemed to be a family tradition. An evil and twisted lust for taking pleasure in the pain of others. My father was a doctor, as was his father and his father before him. Very convenient profession for such a mad man. A wealthy family. We lived on a palatial estate in the middle of nowhere. That it is the way that it had to be. The way it was...couldn't have anyone hearing the screams!
The servants that occupied the grounds had been with my family for generations. They were a loyal lot...mindless fools...deaf to the suffering, blind to the bruises...all they cared about, I thought was themselves. I learned later or understood rather that they had to be that way, it was a matter of survival for them. You see, they were not immune to my fathers devilish games, many of their loved ones had suffered at his hands, pawns in one of his grisly games. I had taken many beatings, but I was lucky...very lucky indeed...you see he hadn't taken me to his "play room". A room that I discovered by accident one evening while I was trying to hide from him. It was a hidden room, the kind that I had read about in books, the kind that you think can only come from the imagination of a fictional writer... to be cont....

[edit on 6-6-2009 by Greenize]

I had gone down the stairs that led to the lowest level in the house. I hated it down there, the air was stale and had a pungent odor, but I was desperate. I had heard him ranting and raving from the east wing of the house...he was in the mood... I knew that he was looking for me, but he would settle for one of the servants if he could find one. He did. I could hear the blows striking Ginny, I could hear her wails of pain. I was far enough away now that the terrible sounds didn't reach my ears. I felt a tinge of guilt, but quickly pushed it aside. I was in survival mode. I reached the bottom of the stairs and decided to take the corridor to my left. It was dimly lit, a small light fixture every couple of feet or so, giving enough light to cast eerie shadows down the length of the stone walls. I had never been down this hall before. It was creepy. The carpeting a strange combination of red and black, it reminded me of a snake, slithering and winding its way across the floor. The thought of it sent shivers over me. I had goose bumps.
There were many doors. Large heavy wooden doors. Old and seasoned. Some were carved with strange elvish looking creatures, some cherubs, some leaves and vines. If I hadn't been so scared, I might have taken the time to admire the craftsmanship that went into making them. No... they were creepy too I decided. At, the next turn, I made a right. Another long corridor, no doors on the sides...but there at the end, two large double doors. I approached them slowly, curiously. They were carved as well, with hideous creatures, creatures that looked liked the gargoyles that I had seen in books. They looked evil, menacing, like they were looking to kill me... I reached for the handles that would open them..... to be cont....

Then what happened?

The handles wouldn't budge. No matter what I did, nothing worked. I was puzzled, but determined. I pushed, pulled, tried to twist...nothing... wait...as I stood there, looking at the huge doors, I realized they weren't doors at all. In fact it was a solid wall...the doors were fake..some kind of strange art work I supposed. I turned around and headed back down the long hallway, still thinking how strange that was when a sliver of light caught my attention on the far wall. It was coming from underneath the wall. It was barely visible, and if the bulb in the last lamp on the wall hadn't been burned out I might not have seen it at all. Funny thing, there was no door down here on this end. As a matter of fact, the only thing in the whole hallway was the strange fake doors that I had just left, the small lights and an out of place silk tree that sat in the corner. I got down to my knees and bent to try and peak under the wall, I couldn't see anything...if I could just get a little lower...I stretched out a little more, my foot moving the silk tree...I heard a click...to my surprise, a small door opened up in the middle of the stone wall. It had blended so perfectly....this was getting stranger by the minute. I got to my feet, swallowed hard and walked through the door...somehow I wasn't shocked when it automatically closed behind me. I was however shocked at what was on the other side of that door. I felt the blood drain from my face...I swallowed the urge to scream... this couldn't be real...that was it...I was having a nightmare... that is what this was...it had to be....please...it had to be....to be cont...

There was a whole house in this one large room. Different settings...a sitting area, a dining area, a bathroom complete with tub...a reading area...a bedroom... I didn't remember my mother, but there were pictures of her all over the house... I was looking at her now... her corpse...perfectly preserved, sitting at a small table adorned with a silver tea service, her long dead hand resting on a dainty teacup. There were others at the table too, some I recognized as being former housekeepers, some I had never seen...all of their mouths sewn closed with big black stitches...all sitting in on a macabre tea party... Each "room" had a scene... there was a man in the reading area sitting on a leather couch, book in hand...eyes sewn closed with the same oversized stitches... there was a nude woman in the bathtub, as if soaking after a long day...her stitches ran across her throat.... a couple on the bed in the bedroom scene...my eyes were seeing, but my mind was racing...I was sure that this was a dream...what kind of sick person could do these things...who in their right mind could even ...CLICK... I recognized the sound instantly, it was the door...hide...I had to hide....I ran to the bedroom set up and crawled under the bed...I prayed that I wouldn't be discovered... tears threatened to spill out, but I bit my lip and fought them back..I had to keep my head clear...I had to be strong...I had to get out of here.... to be cont....

That was the voice of my father. It couldn't be...I knew he was mean..but this...he had Ginny..she was beaten terribly, but she was alive, I could hear her whimpering. He was telling her to shut up...that it was to late for her. I watched helplessly as he carried her to the kitchen area and layed
her on the counter. She moaned softly and he brutally punched her in the face, she stopped moaning.....I was glad...once I saw what he did next, I was glad that she was unconscious. He flipped a switch on the wall and I watched as something lowered from the ceiling, An odd
contraption with tubes and things that I can not describe hanging from it. He slid open a drawer and pulled out a mallet and a chisel. I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my mouth with my hands as he hammered the chisel into her skull. He then inserted a tube into the hole and flipped another switch...I could hear the sucking sound...the sound of her brain being removed. He had placed a tube into each arm as well...he was draining her blood...I felt the bile rise into my throat...I had to swallow it...if he found me here...I couldn't think about that... I suppose a morbid
curiosity made me look again. He had replaced the other tubes with different ones and was now pumping something into her body... a preservative I assumed. He walked over to the ongoing tea party and kissed my long dead mother on the forehead then asked her is she were enjoying her tea and if she was ready for her bath...I again had to fight the urge to vomit. Did he even know how sick he was? It dawned on me that the man with the book in his hand was my grandfather. He had died before I was born, but again I had seen photos. My father now walked over to his father and lit a cigar and placed in his hand...this was just too twisted...he then lit himself one and sat down and began a conversation with the gray colored corpse...I just wanted him to leave so that I could get out of there and mean out of there. I was going to run far far away from this place... to be cont...

[edit on 7-6-2009 by Greenize]

I watched as he made his way around the room. Making himself a part of a grisly play in which he was the director. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. He truly was insane. He moved back to the counter and removed the tubes from Ginny. Then he stitched her mouth as he had with some of the others. He told her that she wouldn't scream anymore...He washed her face and arms, brushed her hair and from a ladies cosmetic bag that he took from the cabinet, he painstakingly covered the bruises on her face with make-up and put a clean dress on her. To my horror, he scooped her up and began to twirl her around the room in some sort of sick waltz...he moved her into the sitting area, placed her in a lavender wing back chair with her legs folder under her, as if she were relaxing and watching her favorite television program...he told her that if she behaved she could perhaps join the tea party.... I had to stop him...this had to stop...he was mad..a true lunatic...and from the looks of it he had been for a very long time. I knew what I had to do. He was again sitting in the reading room with his father...talking...his back to me... I slipped silently from under the bed, crept over to the kitchen and picked up the hammer that he had earlier used on Ginny...I sneaked up behind him and ....bam...bam...bam...bam...bam..bam... he fell to the floor, twitching and jerking...I hit him again just to be sure... now what to do...what was I going to do...I knew exactly what to do...I dragged him to the kitchen, stuck the tube in his head and hit the switch...I think that he would enjoy sitting with his father, reading a good book, I had read one not to long ago , written by my great-grandfather...titled The Art of Preservation. I am sure he would enjoy that one, and if he was a good boy...I just might , I just might let him have some tea!

The End


[edit on 7-6-2009 by Greenize]

What a great and dinked story! Left me wanting more. I hate when that happens.