The Siren's Daughter, Part 5 (v1)

Part 5.

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He gripped my arm tightly, his fingers digging into my flesh. I kicked and screamed, helplessly, as he dragged me into the basement. It was dark, cold, and damp. I soon gave up screaming as we reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the darkness. Tears streamed down my face in terror as he threw me onto a crate. I trembled with fear, reaching out for anything on the crate to steady myself, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Shut up!” yelled Clyde.

The back of his hand slammed across my face. He lit a lantern that sat on one of the crates in the basement. The dim light lit the room, but it was still too dark to see anything well. I felt blood trickle out from the side of my mouth, slowly dripping down my chin. I hardly even felt the pain through the terror that filled my body.

“You and your sister…why don’t you both want to stay? Why must you both try to deny me such blessings?”

He slammed his palms onto the crate to the sides of my head. “I never wanted to do this, but I cannot lose something yet again. I give and I give, but never get anything in return. Well, no more. I am tired of being taken advantage of. You will begin by giving me thanks for my generosity.”

I tried desperately to writhe away as Clyde attempted to force his lips onto mine.
“No! Stop! What are you doing?!” I cried as I managed to slip out from under him.

Clyde caught my arm before I could reach the stairs. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, throwing me back onto the crate.

He pinned my arms down against the crate over my head until I grew tired from the hopeless struggle. He released his hold on my arms and began tearing my clothes. I pushed out at him weakly, kicking and screaming for the help that would never come. A surge of pain brought my cries for help to an end as he hit me across the face.

“Shut up!” he yelled, pulling out his knife and holding it to my throat. “No one is going to hear you. The harder you make this, the more painful it will be, understand?”

What have I done to deserve this? At that moment, I knew not what to fear more, life or death. I sobbed uncontrollably. Clyde trailed his knife down away from my throat, dragging the blade down my torso and to my legs. He tore what little clothing remained with his knife and brought it back up to my chest, licking his lips with unblinking, wide open, eyes.

I stared at him, terrified. “W—what are you doing?”

His eyes focused on his blade hovering over my chest, as if possessed. He lowered the blade tip below my right collarbone, and punctured the skin. A thin trail of blood soon dripped down my body as I begged him to stop. Clyde slowly dragged the blade down the side of my right breast, creating a long incision. Every bit of movement made the pain worse as he continued to cut me for what felt like an eternity. Slowly he would drag his knife through my skin as I clenched the crate in agony. Suddenly, he retracted his knife and grinned maniacally at the cut he created. For a brief moment, I had thought he had his fill of sadism that night, but I was wrong.

By what I could only assume to be noon, he left me lying on the damp wooden floor. The light from the small lantern died out and left me in the darkness. I cried for hours until I passed out from exhaustion, as blood trailed from my mouth, chest, and between my legs. Everything that had happened felt like some horrible nightmare, one of which the end could not come soon enough.

Day and night no longer had meaning to me. Darkness and anguish filled every waking moment. During the day, it would be cool and humid, and at night, it would be damp and freezing. Sometimes it would be so cold at night that I wouldn’t be able to stop shivering, and, as much as I hated to admit it, sometimes yearned for Clyde’s nightly perversions just so I wouldn’t freeze to death.

Day after day, I would lie in the basement, staring into the darkness. Day after day, I was always left there to be used whenever he pleased. Every time he descended those stairs, tears would well up in my eyes, as he would find some new devious way to satisfy his sadism. And every night, after he’s had his fill, he would end with another addition to the scar on my chest. The way he would grin hideously with delight every time he carved away at my torso with his knife haunted my mind. At times, he would even lick the blood that seeped from my wounds.

A few weeks after Clyde had first imprisoned me, the carving on my chest began to form a familiar picture. That night I managed to undo the band fastened around his arm while he was lost in his lustful actions. I quickly examined the band before he realized I had taken it off, which resulted in a small beating. Lying there in ache, the image of his family emblem—what would be the final product of the markings scarred onto my body—clouded my mind. I felt as though whatever little bit of life and self-worth that remained in me died out with the light from the lantern.



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