Tag Archives: thriller

Magdalene

WARNING: Extreme graphic violence. I wanted to write a short story that pushed my writing into taboo areas and pushed the reader in the same way. This story involves torture and rape. Read at your own discretion.

 


He called me Magdalene. It wasn’t my real name, I didn’t hear my real name for years. He proclaimed I was his gift from God. He told me to call him Father many years ago, but my own name for him was The Menstealer. I had been his property since I was 16 years old, kidnapped and placed in a room guarded by a lock on the door.  

I remember the first day in the room so vividly – I was screaming, clawing at the walls to get away from The Menstealer as he approached me quoting words from The Bible. “But at the beginning of creation God made them male and female,” The Menstealer bellowed, “For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh. So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.” His eyes bulged and mouth was agape from his last recited word. His hands reached down to his waistline and he started undoing his pants. I started screaming louder, tears streaming down my face. Blood dripped down my arm from a couple fingernails that ripped off while I was scrambling at the walls. He grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head against the concrete.

He raped me nearly every day since then and I hadn’t fought against it for a long time. Whenever I heard him unlocking the door I would climb up on the mattress and lay on my back, opening my legs for him. It made it easier.  

The room had concrete walls, ceiling and floor. When I had first arrived it smelled damp like wet rocks in a riverbed. It took no time before I didn’t notice the scent anymore. A single bare mattress lay in a corner opposite from the door. No blanket or mattress cover was ever provided to me for comfort. The only other amenities in the room were a bucket used for defecating, a roll of tissue paper, and whatever novel he would provide me to pass the time (One that he deemed worthy to God). All my food was served with plastic plates and cutlery and he made sure he got them back after each meal. Clothes were given and rotated to me every couple days, along with another bucket of clean water and a sponge to wash myself.

Once I tried to attack The Menstealer. I held the bucket high over my head when I heard the door unlocking, positioning myself against the wall. I whacked him hard over the head when the door opened. He stumbled forward and I quickly slipped between him and the open door. The Menstealer was swift when he spun around and caught me by the forearm, and with immense strength he flung me to the floor. My head cracked on the ground, briefly causing me to drift out of consciousness. When I had come around my sight was blurry. I saw his figure stand before me. Suddenly there was a sharp pain in my leg. I could hear him screaming maniacally as he lifted his leg and smashed in down on mine over and over, multiple cracks pierced the air. My right leg laid there in an unnaturally shaped L. He had broken it badly, the tibia bone threatened to protrude through the skin. The LORD has disciplined me severely, But He has not given me over to death The Menstealer said to me when he saw me pathetically laying there. He loomed over my broken body, and when he climbed on top of me the pain was so intense that I wailed out and went limp.

My leg never healed properly since. A burden gifted to me.

I laid on the mattress years later with my gimpy leg, reading a novel The Menstealer deemed appropriate. I had been ill for a few days, vomiting so much that he gave me a seperate bucket. Even without any way to know the time, I knew he was late. The Menstealer loved routine, and over the years my internal clock had adjusted to his sick schedules. But he was late. Very very late. I hoped he had died in some terrible accident, but then pushed the thought aside, If he died then I would too. I would be confined to this cell until my mass had withered away.

I heard rustling behind the door. I put down my book, pulled down my pants and lay on the mattress. The locks unclicked and he opened the door slowly. He stood in the door with tears welling in his eyes. The bucket I used to wash myself with was dangling in his hand by the handle. Except it wasn’t the day to be washed, and he had never broken that routine before.

His tears dropped and his lips were curled into a small smile. He was so soft when he finally spoke, “And so that you may live long in the land the LORD swore to your ancestors to give to them and their descendants, a land flowing with milk and honey.” He approached and knelt beside me, another instance that broke routine. He reached out and stroked my cheek, “Beautiful Magdalene,” he passionately whispered, “God has blessed our union.” He set the washing bucket down on the floor and cupped my face in his hands – almost an affectionate gesture if not for the circumstances. It was then I noticed he left the door open, but with him so close I wouldn’t dare make a run for it. He usually locked it behind him when he entered.

He removed the hands from my face and reached into his pocket and provided a small white tube that I couldn’t instantly recognise. He placed it in my hand. It was a pregnancy test. He choked back on his tears when he said, “Magdalene, you are with child.”

A shock ran up from my stomach, a sobering surge that vibrated in my bones. I was kidnapped at a young age, but not young enough to not have had a sexual education. Over the years I assumed he or I was infertile.

“You are pregnant!” The Menstealer loudly pronounced, jumping me out of my horrified thoughts. He lifted his head towards the ceiling, “God blesses us! Thank you LORD!” His hands raised up in a spiritual gesture and I thought about making a run for it. With my disfigured leg I wouldn’t’ve been able to get away fast enough.

“What say you, Magdalene?” He turned his attention back to me. I still clutched the pregnancy test, unable to bring myself to look at it a second time. I knew he wasn’t lying. He wouldn’t lie about something he deemed so important.

I knew now that he was using my bucket full of piss and shit to test my fertility. The thought of him dipping the pregnancy test into my defecation bucket caused me to drop the test. He looked at me sharply and got closer to my face. “The confirmation of God has blessed us. What say you?”

I hardly ever spoke to The Menstealer and when I did it was with my head down in soft words that would please him. This was not that time. I looked him straight in the eyes and hissed, “I’m not going to have your fucking baby.”  

His face burned red and his eyes bulged as his drew back his hand and slapped me. He climbed on top of me and slapped me again. I tried to push him off, but that caused his open hands to become fists and he punched me in the face again and again. I cried out and covered my face with my hand, which he caught and with a loud crack he bent it unnaturally, snapping my wrist. I wailed out and his bulging eyes seemed to recede back into their natural place. His face went soft but still burned red.

“Beautiful Magdalene,” He said, using a soft tone. “We have been blessed. You must be so overbeared with the emotions of God and swayed but the whisperings of the devil.” He got up off me and motioned towards the bucket. “Take your time and be overjoyed. God is inside of you now. Inside both of us.” He left the room, locking the door behind him.

I laid crying on the mattress, my broken wrist resting below my breasts. I wanted to curl into the fetal position but the pain was too much, so I lay on my back until bile built in my throat and I shot up and spewed vomit onto the concrete floor. It was then the pain was refocused from my wrist to my face. With my unbroken hand I gently touched my face, outlining with my finger the swollen bits. My right cheek was puffed, as well as my lip. My left eye had been slowing closing until the swelling confined it to a puffy slit.

I fucking hated the Menstealer – a fucking devil. Satanic were his grotesque eyes that would push out of his head unnaturally. Demonic the seed inside me he planted, forming the antichrist within the walls of my very womb. I will not have this baby I told myself. I cannot. It is unnatural, it is a leviathan in a sea of beautiful things. I will strangle it as soon as it’s entered the world. I will raise my bucket high above my head and bring it down onto the babe until it’s crushed on the floor. I thought about how The Menstealer would be there by my side as I gave birth. He would probably snatch it away from me before my hands could reach its neck and then he would probably dispose of me or rape me till I beared more of his offspring.

I wouldn’t not allow it.

I grew larger as months past. The Menstealer would come visit me more often than usual, providing me with healthier foods and daily wash buckets. Before my wrist healed he would wash my naked body with the sponge daily. My wrist healed as disfigured as my leg, and just like my leg I could still use my wrist but sometimes pain would shoot up my forearm and I wasn’t able to hold onto things like I used to.

One night I lay on my bed, my small belly protruding skywards like a hilltop. Something inside the mattress jabbed at my side so I sat up and felt it with my hand. It seemed as if my unfailing mattress of many years was slowly deteriorating. A metal spring inside the mattress had apparently come loose. Maybe if I asked nicely The Menstealer will buy me a new king sized tempurpedic I laughed, He’ll probably just flip the mattress over. For some reason this thought made me laugh harder.

I lay back down on my side facing the broken spring. I ran my finger over it and felt it through the mattress. Absentmindedly I picked at it, the threads slowly unravelling until the spring had fully poked through. It was rusty, but feeling the tip it was also quite sharp. I shot up with an idea. I began picking more of the mattress away until, after a few minutes, I was able to see further down the protruding spring and its many coils. The coil was sturdy, but after bending it around and twisting it with my good hand I was able to snap it off. I held the coil in my hand and inspected it, deciding it would be best to try and straighten it out.

I was bending it and twisting it when I heard the door unlocking. I lept to my feet – which pained my bunged leg – and panic shot through me. The lock clicked as I rushed to put the coil under the mattress. I then remembered the hole in the mattress and dove on top of it. A piece of the metal had stuck straight out from where I had snapped the coil off and it impaled silently and easily into my side. I winced in pain but remained over it as it was too late to reposition myself. The door was open and The Menstealer stood in the frame.

I was laying in an unnatural position on my side, looking like a model in some awkward photo shoot. In a normal situation- and if not for the piece of metal that was painfully in my side- it would’ve been funny.

The Menstealer gave me a weird look when he got closer to me. “Are you alright?” He questioned.

“Yes I am. It’s just comfortable like this on my side. More comfortable for my belly.” I lied.

“Are you in any pain?” He looked concerned and knelt beside me.

“No,” I stated, almost too quickly, “I am fine. Just resting.”

“Here, I will help you up. Lean against the wall.” He motioned to grab me under my arms.

“No!” I snapped.  

He was taken aback, his eyes beginning to bulge, “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior.” He aggressively grabbed my arms and lifted me, the metal in my side tearing violently down before exiting. I felt my side getting wet with blood.

He threw my back against the wall, then his eyes got soft, “And the wife must respect her husband.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” I humored him, “Please forgive me.” I had my arm against my side where the metal had stuck in, hiding the blood. I quickly glanced down between my legs (I was now sitting on top of the hole in the mattress but managed to not get impaled by the broken coil a second time). Something else had caught my eye. There was a little blood stain on the mattress, right between my legs high up near my crotch. I had glanced quickly, but The Menstealer had noticed and quickly followed my gaze.

He leaned back in horror, “Magdalene! You are bleeding!” He reached his hand out between my crotch and felt the blood, an odd gesture, “Magdalene! You are not well! The child! Oh God the child!” Then – with great surprise to me – he slapped me across the face.

“You’ve been courting with the devil to bring harm to this child, haven’t you?” He slapped me again, “You mean to bring disruption to our union!”

“No,” I pleaded, “I didn’t know I was bleeding.”

“You were trying to hide this from me! You know you rot from the inside.”

“ I did not! I swear!” I cried out as he slapped me again.

“I will fix this!” He screamed, his voice reaching unhuman levels. He was unhinged and I expected to be beaten, but he rose to his feet, “I will be back, and when I do you will truly feel the wrath of GOD.”

He quickly left the room, locking the door behind him. I didn’t know how long I had before he came back, but I knew I had to act fast. All I knew was that he would probably beat me within an inch of my life, but I also knew the child still lived inside me.

I moved quickly, pulling the piece of wire out from under the mattress. It was misshapened but as straight as I could make it, one end formed a small hook. I took off the ugly pregnancy pants The Menstealer so graciously gave me a few weeks previous and lay on my back. I inserted the hooked end of the straightened coil into my vagina. The wire was uncomfortable as I inserted it further and was met with some resistance. The misshapen features of the coil meant I had to move it around a bit to insert it further.

I must admit I had no idea what I was doing. A joke stuck with me over the years I once heard in school: Coat hangers, they really bring out the kid in you. I could feel fluid dripping down my labia. I was unable to push the wire in any further. I moved the wire around and it caught. I pulled the mattress wire out slowly, trying to supress my wails. I noticed a lot of blood on my hand and a small piece of flesh hung from the end of the hook. I brought it close to my face and knew that it wasn’t the fetus. I picked the chunk of my insides off the hook and I reinserted it.

Through my stress and anger and pain and sadness I could no longer compose myself so I screamed out. I moved the coil around until it was met with resistance, this time hoping I had caught the fetus and not the lining of my insides.

I heard the door unlocking; The Menstealer was back. With one hand motion I pulled the wire back out, met with pressure, pain, and a feeling of expansion. The Menstealer was in the doorway, face frozen with shock and horror as the wire fully came out of my body. Something the size of my palm moved slightly on the end of the wire and I threw up, rolling to my side and dropping the wire.

The Menstealer, screaming and not bothering to close the door, ran forward and dropped to his knees in front of the abortion. The fetus had stopped moving. The Menstealer pulled the hook out its lifeless body and threw the wire aside, landing to my left. He picked the fetus up in his hand, trembling, and shrieked, “What have you done?”

I didn’t hesitate nor did I answer, I picked up the coil and inserted it into his neck. He dropped the fetus and turned to me, the coil protruding from his neck. I went for the open door.

He grabbed me by the leg and I fell forward. My face ricocheted off the concrete, knocking the wind out of me and at least a tooth. I twisted onto my back and The Menstealer ripped the coil out of his neck, a trickle of blood coming out with it. I kicked him in the face with my bad leg, causing a sharp pain to run up my shin. The Menstealer fell backwards as I sat up. I  was almost on my feet when I was slammed back to the ground, The Menstealer tackling me onto my back. Both his hands were wrapped around my neck and his eyes looked like marbles about to fall out of their sockets, his mouth hung unnaturally wide open with an odd slant. Maybe I broke his jaw.

His hands squeezed my neck with a strength and fury that could only mean he was going to kill me. I gasped for air, clawing at his arms. He face was inches away from mine, drool dripping out of his open jaw onto my face. In the moment he looked like a sadistic animal.

My hands moved to his face as he bore down on me harder. I clawed at his face and he moved his head back trying to avoid it. My bad arm fell to my side and I felt something metallic on the floor. My arm twisted and turned, desperate to pick it up. I felt that it was The Menstealers keys – they must of fell out of his pocket when he tackled me. I got a good grip around them and brought them up to his neck, stabbing him. His body curled down when the keys punctured the skin, I removed it and with a frantic movement stabbed them into his eye. A jelly liquid mixed with blood bursted out of his eye and onto my face. He lurched back screaming and I kept the keys tightly in my hand. He landed on his ass on top of the abortion, sliding slightly from the slickness when it was broken apart beneath him.

I scrambled to my feet, The Menstealer held a hand over his eye as I loomed over him. I thought about kicking him but realised how absurd that was, an open door was at my back; freedom was so close. I turned and limped to the door, blood dripping down from my vulva in red lines.

I went past the open door and slammed it shut. I fumbled with the keys. I already knew what lay outside the room from my attempt to escape long ago. During that time, when I managed to slip past The Menstealer before he caught my arm, I had seen that I was in an unfinished basement. The basement looked the same now as I remembered it had back then. I tried two of the keys on the lock but they didn’t work. On the third key, I pushed it in and with a satisfying click I turned it to the locked position, hearing the deadbolt slide inside of its corresponding tunnel.

The Menstealer was screaming in blood curdling cries, “Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!”  

End.

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