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Halloween flash fiction of approximately 1000 words. Happy reading!

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I couldn't take a piss without trembling for months after that Halloween night. My neck muscles grow tense just thinking about it—his grimy hands on my exposed skin, his husky voice rattling my eardrum, the stench of hard liquor on his hot breath. Anger flows through me like the blood in my veins. If it weren't for these weekly get-togethers, I wouldn't know how to manage. Sure, our form of therapy may be a bit unconventional. But because of what I lived through, second thoughts never cross my mind.

"Where did we leave off in our story last time?"

"He's bound & gagged."

From the sound of it, one would assume we were talking about Channing Tatum in some erotic scenario, and not the man who had brutally attacked me and held me captive six months ago. But the nature of our story couldn't become more apparent and sinister as the night continues.

"Can he still hear or did we imagine his tongue being cut off? Which one? I can't remember."

"The tongue. For talking back and begging."

"Oh, yeah."

Like my doctor said, creativity and imagination is good therapy.

I look to my best friends, Jean and Stacy, as we sit in a semicircle on my living room rug. "He used to put his filthy hand over my mouth and whisper, 'Don't scream.' I still taste the dirt." I gulp, trying to rinse away the tartness.

"Aw, Andrea." Jean places her hand on my shoulder, probably in an effort to comfort me. "Let's switch up the story. Instead of him being tied to a tree in the forest with his tongue cut out, what if someone locked him in a stuffy basement with no windows and rigged some sort of contraption to him, like those in the Saw movies, so the next time he thinks about girls ... snip snip."

"A basement?" Stacy scoffs and rolls her eyes, obviously not impressed. "That's so original, Jean. And castration?" Sarcasm drips in her tone.

"Hey, he deserves it." Jean's voice raises an octave and her eyebrows dip. "For what he did to her, he deserves all of it."

They both look to me.

I drop my gaze to the rug, focusing on each little twisted fiber. "Let's just continue with the story."

"Is this even helping?" There was no mistaking the skepticism in Stacy's question. "I mean, how can you get over something so traumatic by reliving it every week and making up grotesque stories about ways he could die?"

Before I can answer, Jean butts in. "It's her way of getting revenge, turning the tables, you know? It's therapeutic."

My mind shuffles through images of that night, and no matter how much I try to will it away, the memory persist. "He held me for five days and made me do ... things." I glance back and forth between two pairs of worried eyes. "He would throw a bucket of cold water on me whenever he'd come into the cabin to wake me. It still didn't wash the filth off. You should've seen me, black and blue from all the fighting I did to escape."

"I'm so sorry, Andrea." Stacy brushes my shoulder with her palm. Her face full of concern. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore."

Jean sneers, narrowing her eyes in anger. "What, imagining the death of the man who hurt our friend is too much for you?"

"It is." Stacy nods. "Especially if it brings back horrible memories. I mean, look at her."

They both stare at me again, as if trying to read my mind through my facial expressions.

"Trust me." I keep eye contact this time, refusing to drop my gaze. "The worse he treated me, the more I wish the worst on him."

Jean snorts. "Like ... castration."

The loose strands of hairs from Stacy's bun twirls around her face as she shakes her head and stands. "This is too much. I gotta go. Hope you feel better, Andrea." Before I can respond, she's gone, out the door without a glance back.

Jean calls out, "Bye," to the closed door. "What a bitch. She just doesn't get it. He deserves the nastiest. Who knows how many girls he's done this to, or how many more unfortunate girls will cross his path on future Halloween nights. Besides, it's just a stupid story. Why does she care how he's treated in it, anyway?"

 I don't answer. I don't know. I don't care.

I stand. "Let's take Stacy's cue and call it a night. I'll see you later this week."

"You sure? I can stay the night if you—"

"I'm sure, Jean. Thanks."

She nods before reluctantly leaving me alone in the house.

Then begins my nightly ritual.

I lock doors, double-check windows, and close all the blinds. I set the alarm and check the surveillance system. When all is well, I enter the kitchen and take a sharp steak knife from the butcher's block. I never sleep without some sort of weapon under my pillow, and a knife is a quick and easy selection.

However, instead of going to my room for bed, I open the door to the basement and descend the stairs.

There, in the corner of the room, sits my subject. His arms are chained together above his head, attached to the wall by a thick pipe. His head hangs to the side and his eyes are closed. If it weren't for the trail of blood that seeps from the gag in his mouth and down his chin, he would have looked full of peace. I lift the mop bucket from the floor beside me and throw its freezing contents on his naked body. He awakes with a startle and a muffled grunt due to the bloody cloth in his mouth.

"What, weren't expecting me?" I raise the steak knife and his eyes widen in terror. "Looks like the story finally has a conclusion, but it wasn't unanimous."

The light from the hall atop the staircase illuminates the small space and casts shadows in the corners of the cold, concrete room. I step forward. His muffled words grow louder and more urgent. His head shakes, causing his body to convulse and the chains on his wrists to rattle.

"Sshh." I put my free hand up reassuringly, the way he had done to me right before inflicting the most pain. I creep closer until my feet hit the cold puddle of rancid water that spreads from beneath him.

He violently shakes his head until his gag falls out onto his wet lap. "Please, please," he manages. His words are only vaguely discernible because of his severed tongue.

I tighten my grip on the knife and take another step forward.

"Now, this is gonna hurt, but don't scream."

The End