Another spooky story to get you through this Halloween night.
The Brick Wall
A Massachusetts Horror Story
Massey was a soldier unfortunate
enough to cross me, his commanding officer.
He did not live to regret it.
There was something very satisfying in the moment when I thrust the tip
of my sword into the soldier’s heart during our duel. I watched him fall to the ground with the
satisfaction of a job well done.
The men under my command seem
depressed in the following weeks. They mention Massey frequently, but I ignore
their conversations.
One night, I retreat to my
chambers to sulk and soon was joined by a delegation of men who were friends of
Massey. I am surprised and delighted to learn that they had come to their
senses and now saw the impertinent lieutenant for the cheat he really was. We
share a round of drinks and laughed together.
I’m afraid I drank far too much that evening.
The other soldiers suggested we
explore the lower dungeons. That sounded like a fine idea to me. We set off in merry spirits, drinking and singing
and laughing, our voices echoing through the narrow passages. Deeper and deeper
we went. My head started spinning and my
legs felt like rubber after all that drinking. I am afraid I passed out from
drunkenness, much to my shame.
When I came to, I was lying on
my back with my wrists and ankles shackled to the floor. Drunken men, fooling
around, I thought.
“Very funny, lads,” I called
out. “Now set me free.”
The soldiers didn’t answer me. A
moment passed and Massey’s best friend appeared in the doorway, holding mortar
and a mason’s trowel. The other men
began handing him bricks and I realize that the soldiers are bricking up the
entrance to the cell in which I lay shackled. “Very funny,” I said again.
No one answered me. They worked
in silence, laying brick after brick until one row is done, then two. They were
playing a nasty joke on me, of course.
Then Massey’s best friend paused
in his work and looked directly into my eyes. At that moment I realized that
this joke is no joke. Scream after scream ripped from my throat as I struggle
against my bonds. But the dungeon was too deep within the fort, and no one
heard my screams.
They were on the final row of
bricks. I was reduced to bribery now, desperately using my wealth in an attempt
to escape my fate. But no one listened
to my bribes. I watched in
heart-thudding horror as the last brick is put in place, as the last chink of
light faded from my sight. I have been entombed alive in the deepest, darkest
dungeon of the fort. I howled in panic,
writhing against the iron manacles binding hands and feet and twisting my body.
Eventually I fell back against the floor, my wrists and ankles wet with my own
blood.
My fingers were torn and
throbbing from their intense scrabbling against the hard floor. I found myself
weeping angrily, though I have never shed a tear in my lifetime.
The agony of the thought sent me
writhing again in spite of the horrible pain racking my wrists, ankles, and
hands. Daylight. I must see daylight again. Just once more.
“Don’t leave me here to die
alone! Don’t leave me!”
But I was alone, and the sheer
brutal horror of it overwhelmed me. My eyes strained against the complete and
utter darkness, and I wondered if they were even open.
Dear God, I can’t get out. I
can’t get out. I CAN’T GET OUT!
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