The Dark of Night, an original short story to celebrate Samhain, as always. Happy Halloween to all.
At night, there exists a brief time here where impossible silence thrives. Echoes of stillness swell into a heavy mass of air, imprisoning my shallow breaths. There is a peace in that which only lasts a moment, until I start to hear the voices in my head.
In their cells, the boys pound on the sturdy bars. Against my cranial bones, their fists pummel hard and uncaring. Their persistent voices scrap against the roof of my skull like sharp, jagged nails. All four of them let out dissimilar screams, melded as one.
They are young and faceless. They never age. They scream childish, unintelligible screams, such that I wish I had been patient. Patient enough to have endured them alive for a little longer. But patience was never my strong suit.
I shout back. They do too. It never ends. Their confused thoughts are shrill and louder than mine. They pierce through my own in a blameless skull that begs to be removed. Yet there is nothing in this cavernous room that I may saw my head off with. This is my punishment due. The sanatorium made sure of it.