The iron box

The Iron Box

I’m the only one in my family that thinks something is in the locked attic that surprisingly no one has a key to. My mom sits by the door and tries to pick the lock but everything she puts in the keyhole breaks before she can even attempt. As I get home from school Friday, I can hear noises in the attic that I have only heard at around seven o’clock. I walk up the creaky steps and get to the door as I reach for the handle I notice that it’s turning before I can place my own hand on it. The doorknob has been turning since I got up the steps and that was three minutes ago, now it’s starting to shake vigorously as if someone is trying to get out. I lean down and look under the door to see if there are any feet but there are none. I lean back up to peer through the keyhole to see if I can see through that way and again there is nothing on the other side.
As I back away from the door the shaking stops and it sounds as if someone is being dragged away. I turn to run down the stairs and someone in that room screamed my name as if they knew I was there trying to get in. They continued to scream “Cynthia, Help us.” I couldn't just leave them knowing that they needed my help, I turn to go back up to the door and as I return and go for the rusty doorknob it opens and is slightly cracked, I enter the room hoping to find no one in there but I can see the shapes of people being tortured and beaten. Some are bruised, bloody, begging, their intestines are hanging out, you can see their brain pulse, others have no heart but are still somehow clinging to life.
The one who seems to be in charge is built, has to be about seven foot tall, scars all over showing that his past was not happy, and part of his face looks as if it has been torched, ripped, and stitched back together, then put back on his skull. He doesn't see me when I first come in, but as I hide from his sights a person missing half their face and skull grabs me, I scream and pull away. That’s when I should have ran but as I tried to he lunges in my direction and swings what seems to be an axe covered in rust and blood at my head trying to hit me in the middle of my skull killing me instantly. As I crawl across the floor hoping to get away, I feel a sharp pain down my entire spine and a warm sensation pumping out covering my clothes and turning them a crimson color. As I lay there hoping his last swing will end my life, he picks up my drooping body and lays me on a cold metal table and starts to sew me back together. When he is done he puts me in something that looks like a dog cage and moves on to his next victim and tortures them until he is finished getting his pleasure out of that person. It seems like a continuous cycle that never ends.
Its been about seven years and it seems as if no one even notices that I went missing, my body died four years ago and now I’m a trapped soul looming in my attic until someone brave enough comes up to the now locked and abandoned house.