Chapter One: Don't Go in the Basement

         There is a young woman who lives alone in a small northern house. Her residence does rest not far from a rocky beach, not one tourists would visit. The building is further in from the coast, within a dense wood. It hides in the shadows of the trees, alone for a few miles before the next home on the street. Common for these parts. The owner tends to her home with care, it is not aged or unsightly. A small abode in the quiet outer regions of town for someone who doesn't mind the distance from civilization.

         The girl who lives here spends too much time in her basement. No one knows all the hours she spends doing her work. Down the steps she walks. Several steps creak as she gently reaches the bottom. The girl dolled herself up tonight, with fresh make up and her hair freshly dried, brushing her bare shoulders as she walks. She wears a dark vintage dress with tights and heels. A sinister twist of the picture perfect housewife from decades ago. The basement is half finished and half a mess. It is mostly hidden in shadows. There is a light peaking out from a doorway at the end of an unfinished hall. She makes her way to the threshold of the room and smiles as her eyes fall upon the barely lit scene.

         The room is spacious, with very little inhabiting the space. There is a bed with covers strewn hastily across and a few pillows without their cases. Beside the bed is a small wooden dresser, only coming up to about the head of the bed frame. In one corner is an old refrigerator, making a low humming noise in the otherwise silence. Against the adjacent wall is what appears to be a work table, what one might find in a garage or tool shed. Papers and various tools are scattered on the surface along with a dusty office lamp which is illuminating the room. Most noticeably found here is a small pistol as well as a box of bullets and shells, ripped open with it's contents pouring out. There are also a few varying knives, most of which are small kitchen utensils except for a few that are meant for hunting or protection. The rest of the tools are common gardening tools, some on the table and some hanging on the wall. Written on the few papers lying under the weapons and such is scratchy hand writing, seemingly in a panic and erratically. Haunting words cover many of the pages and a few even have illustrations portraying various activities, some violent, some sexual, and some innocent enough. Just some of her work she attends to. But they are not her main project.

         Laying atop the haphazard linens of the bed is a young man. In the low glow of the lamp, she sees him struggle slightly as he notices her. The man is shining with sweat and dirt, his clothes a few days old. His wrists and ankles are tightly tied with grimy rope. The rope around his wrists are looped through the bed frame, keeping him immobile. His mouth is gagged by an old rag tied in a knot. His eyes reflect the fragile light as he gazes up at her.

         "Oh honey, you look filthy. We should wash you and change those clothes. Good thing we packed some for ya, right?"

         She giggles sweetly as she makes her way to the dresser and opens the second drawer from the top. A few neatly folded shirts are within and she pulls a pale red t-shirt. In the drawer below are pants, which she takes a pair of jeans from.

         "Hmmm.... With these ties, removing your clothes would be difficult. Ah, for now we'll just cut them off. They are stained with blood, anyway, they are no good now." Another light giggle escapes her.

         The girl makes her way to the work table where she picks up one of the hunting knives. It has a sharp serrated blade that gleams in the light. She makes her way back to the bed and sits herself on his waist, legs apart so that she can face him directly. A smile spreads across her lips as she takes the blade and rips straight down the front of the shirt. She then cuts the sleeves so that the shirt can just be pulled up and away. With this, the girl pauses for a moment. She tilts her head slightly as she admires her project.

         "Mmmm. The light really does hit you just right. All these muscles. You could make any girl weak." She sighs. "Good thing I'm strong."

         She runs her hands across his stomach and then his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. He shakes a bit and lets out a few muffled noises. His breathing becomes heavier and his eyes are wide.

         "Shhh shhh it's alright." The girl lifts herself from the bed and stands beside it. She leans in close and speaks softly. "Isn't it nice to be adored by a girl? You were always such a charmer."

         She then turns her attention to his pants and cuts along each leg. The jean fabric gives a bit of tug against the blade but she manages to remove them. She tosses the torn up fabric aside and leaves the room. Moments later, she returns. In one hand she holds a plastic bucket full of soapy water. In the other, she holds a cheap bath puff and a clean towel. Carefully placing the bucket beside the bed, she dips the puff in the water then squeezes the excess. Slowly and methodically, the girl cleans every inch of the man. His chest, his arms, his legs, his face. She looks at his boxers and decides to save that for later. When done, she drops the puff into the bucket and collects the towel. She carefully wipes away the suds and dries his body.

         "Hmm now we have to find a way to put these clothes on without you running off. I wouldn't want to punish you for being a bad boy." She giggles again.

         With the old hunting knife back in hand for safety, she loosens the ties from his feet. With the freedom to move them, he thrashes his legs a bit in an attempt to kick her. She tightly grips his ankles and throws them down. She places her right knee down hard over them to stop his moving and he groans in slight pain. She then takes the knife and digs it shallowly into the muscle of his leg. His groaning becomes louder as he winces and struggles.

         "Bad boy. Bad. You could have hurt me." She pouts.

         The girl gets off of him but he does not try to move again. He is in too much pain and does not want to risk further injury. The girl sighs and shakes her head.

         "We have to bandage that up before we dress you again or you'll get your clean clothes dirty. Shame shame, bad boy."

         Once more, she departs from the room but this time she returns with a small first aid kit. She pulls out antibacterial ointment, adhesive pads, and wrapping gauze. She also has a cool, moist hand cloth with her. With the cloth, she cleans away the blood from his open wound and presses on it for a short time. Then she spreads the ointment across the cut, stinging him slightly. He winces again. Finally, she covers the wounded area in the pads and wraps the leg with the gauze. Although the girl is not medically trained, she knows just enough to treat any harm she inflicts on him. Without proper care, he could get an infection or even bleed out. And the girl will always take care of him. Always.

         Now that his wound has been addressed she slips the jeans onto him. His eyes are closed as he tries not to think about the aching in his leg. He is still and his breathing is rough. She reties his ankles, this time a bit tighter. She takes the t-shirt and slides it over his head so that it hangs around his neck. She gets on top of him once more, this time resting on his chest. She has the bloody knife in hand, just in case he tries to attack her again. She undoes the ropes on his wrists and he seems like he might fight her but instead settles slightly, in defeat. She pulls his arms into the shirt then reties him. Tight like his ankles. She gets up and pulls the shirt down all the way.

         "Ah good boy. See? Don't you feel much better? Don't I take care of my love?"

         With the little energy the man has, he glares at her. She gets back on the bed and lays on him, her legs on either side of his waist and her body pressed against his. She tucks her hair behind her ear and rests her head on his chest so she may hear his heart beat. It pounds fast and hard against his rib cage. They lay like that for awhile in the dim light, the only sounds filling the room being their breathing and the low hum of the fridge. After some time, his heart beat slows down to a steady lull. It soothes her restless spirit. For now.

         Three days in this basement. Three days since her latest project began. She works hard on this one. There is something special about him. Special. He will be the best yet, she can feel it in her bones. His bones. This will be the best yet.

END CHAPTER ONE