Kitten in a Basket

Is Kitty ready to come out and play?”

The voice is so sickening to my ears. It makes my stomach lurch and my eyes water in repulsion. Everything about it brings green to my face and puts an acidic taste in my mouth. The strongest feeling that I have of him is pure disgust.

My name is really Katherine, but ever since he kidnapped me, god it must have been years ago, he’s called me Kitty for his own foul pleasure.

“Kitty…I’ve got a new game for us today!”

He’s getting closer to my door. Its pure darkness in this filth, but I can see him clear as day in my mind and every inch closer that he comes makes me wish more and more that I were dead. His shiny, bald head, his rotting, black teeth, his lanky, old body, and especially his grey haired hands that end with yellow nails. Even his own shadow finds him repulsive.

I don’t speak anymore, I barely move, I’ve finally given up all control, it won’t be long now before he rids himself of me…I’d take it over freedom any day.

There is a soft knock at the metal door. He is playing with me, toying to get me to become fearful. I don’t know fear anymore, what was once alive in me has somehow withered away leaving mere ghosts of what was once there.

“Kitty, dear, you get to play with dolls today! How exciting!”

I’m lying here naked on the cold cement floor. There is no bed in this room, no tables, chairs, no light. There is only a toilet. There is no shower because he forces me to bathe myself in icy water right before his black eyes. There are only four cement walls, one toilet, a cold cement floor, and a metal door that is wood on the other side, to match the hallway. It sounds awful, but I’d choose living in this prison for twelve lifetimes over one second with him.

It seems like a decade since I’ve seen the sunlight or the stars. I know nothing of the outside world and it knows nothing of me. The last I saw of my family was on a news broadcasting that he forced me to watch, they pronounced me dead and their search finished. The date was October 5, 2003...one year after my abduction.

The door opens, I close my eyes to the light that stings my retinas. I here his shoes padding on the dirty floor. I must call him Oliver. I am unsure whether this is his real name or something he finds pleasure in.

“Oh, my poor sweet, look at you!,” he says peering down at me. “Bored and cold on the floor. Come now, we must get you clean and dressed for this event! Its going to be so splendid!”

Oliver reaches for my arm and I lay limp while he drags me across the floor, the floor is so full of grime that it doesn’t even pull at my skin. I trail behind him like a corpse, my head to one side, and my eyes still closed for the shock of light after the pure darkness.  I don’t need eyes to see what we’re passing, I’ve been through this passage to the “game” room, as Oliver calls it, for what seems like a billion times.

Outside of my chamber is a long hallway, the floor is made of hard wood and shines against the lamps that hang and the walls are a deep red wallpaper. I feel my greasy skin slide on the polished floor. There are monstrous paintings of mythical creatures, each one more bloodthirsty than the first. They look strange being hung so straight on the wall. There are only three rooms down here in what I’ve always assumed was the basement. One is mine, the other is the game room, and the one at the very end of the hallway is the bathroom. I can’t ever remember being upstairs, after all this time I still don’t know where the stairs are. I only know that there is an upstairs because after long hours spent in my room I can hear walking and muffled voices on the floor above me. Who would be defected enough to keep this monster’s company?

My eyes are still closed but I know that we’ve just passed the game room and must be on our way to the bathroom. I no longer shiver, hurrying to get done in shame, now I just lay lifeless letting him bathe me. I force my mind to search for the closest thing to warmth that I can find, wishing my body could follow, desperate to be numb to his hands and his eyes.

Today is different though, today the water is scalding hot. My eyes immediately open and I gasp out of surprise and pain. I slip around in the dirty tub trying to get as far away from the water as possible, my feet slipping with every attempt, but water fills every crevice of the shower. Oh how it stings and burns! I turn away but Oliver grabs my hair and forces my face into the hot downpour. For the first time in so long I let out a scream. Then it stops and the water is replaced by a cold, steady stream of the water that used to make me shiver but now soothes my body. I’m enraged with myself. My desire to die doesn’t match my desire to escape pain.

Above the sound of running water I hear Oliver laughing. It’s a low laugh full of hatred and today genuine delight. I seemed to be bending to his every desire.

“Kitten, let me wash your hair its in such tangles, oh and your poor, poor body is covered in filth. Let me wash you, Kitten.”

I’m torn between washing myself or letting him wash me. I don’t know what to do, which is the answer that gives him the control? I’m trying to think quickly, but I’m too surprised. He should have been rid of me long before now. He used to tell me all the stories of the other girls that he got bored with, how they became too weak to play with. I thought for sure he was going to be do away with me soon, but this isn‘t right . I’m sure that I created a new excitement for him and I don‘t think there is any winning or losing. I am beginning to feel that I’ll be here forever. He’s revealing a side to me that I’ve never seen and its full of twists and turns. I guess I won a small battle, but he is still winning the nightmare. 

A tear falls from my cheek as Oliver begins humming and lathering soap into my hair. I close my eyes tight because he likes to get the shampoo in my eyes in hopes that I‘ll begin to struggle the way that I used to. He tugs on my hair, jerking my head this way and that. Again I don’t need open eyes to see what is in this bathroom. I’ve been here too many times not to know. The bathtub sits with no shower curtain and the fixtures are corroded. When the water runs it smells musty and there are no windows. There is putrid, orange tiling on the floor with no real distinct pattern and the wallpaper reminds me of the time Oliver forced me to eat a dog and I threw it up. There is a toilet in this room with water stains on the inside. I’m almost positive that it has never been cleaned. The door is the nicest thing in this room and matches absolutely nothing except for the hallway outside. On the back of the wood door are hooks for towels, they’ve never been used. When I finish with my bath Oliver almost always makes me stand still on the cold tile until I am completely dry from head to toe. Often he will blow his stale, rotting breath onto me whispering that it will make me feel better if I let him help me to dry more quickly.

Once he took a lighter and held it close to my skin, he threatened that if I moved I would get burned. I shook so badly from the cold and being scared that my thighs and forearms were scorched. The stinging and burning were only eliminated during our cold showers and took so long too heal from all the dirt and malnutrition.

Now Oliver is washing my body, its his favorite part. First he starts with my toes, washing them with soap and then sucking on them with his mouth to antagonize me, hoping that I‘m praying he won‘t go up any further. I know that no matter how many baths I take, after the first moment his hands touched my body I will never be clean again. Now he is working his way up my legs with the bar of soap, lathering gently as if I might break if he does it too hard. He spreads my legs washing every crevice, taking his time, then up my stomach and to my breasts. The soap is on my neck now, my eyes are still closed, he could touch me a million times and I would always have the same sensation of nausea radiating throughout my whole body. Its time to rinse, he does it with his hands and water. I try not to let him see me squeeze my eyes shut even more as he puts his fingers into me. His long nails scratching the already raw sides of me, purposely.

He’s laughing again. He must have seen me wince. My desperation deepens. I try laying still, knowing there is blood coming from me. Oliver rinses his hands and me once more, then stands up.

“Kitty, come now we have lots to do today,” there is a distinct devious tone in these words.

Oliver turns the water off and begins to let it drain from the tub. Just before his hands touch my arms to lift me up, I grab the side of the tub and lift myself up. I feel weak from the struggle and lack of good care, but something tells me to do it myself. I’m bracing myself for the cold tiles and the endless wait to dry, but Oliver hands me a towel. This is another surprise that I am not ready for. Again he sneaks a reaction out of me, a raised eyebrow. I hide my frustration with myself and begin drying myself off with the dark blue bath towel that he handed to me. It feels so heavy in my hands and my body feels so sluggish. I can’t remember the last time that I ate a vegetable, a fruit…or anything moral.

While I dry Oliver leaves the room, but just for a moment. He returns with a dress, a large, old dress. One that years ago I may have thought beautiful beyond recognition, but now I want to spit on. This is the dress that Oliver has had me wear for all of our games in the game room. The hatred doesn’t cross my face as he hoists it towards me, dancing with it as if there were a person wearing it, humming like a lunatic. He holds it up for me to see, and yes, see I do. I see every blood stain, every bit of torn lace, every evil, awful thing about that dress reflects right through the gossamer and tulle.

“Come, Kitty, lets get dressed for our game,” there it is again, that devious tone.

I hold the heavy dress and force myself into it. I let Oliver button up the back. He sits me down on the side of the tub and begins to brush my hair. He tugs at my knots like someone pulling weeds, out they come, with tufts of my once beautiful chestnut hair. I do not shiver, pull away, or even react. I sit obediently, letting Oliver comb my hair. This is usually where Oliver would braid my hair into one long braid, but today Oliver is pulling my hair back into a complicated bun. Its so snug that my face is tight and every bobby pin stabs into my scalp.

I think to myself, its too bad he’s psychotic, cause he’d make a good homosexual. I almost giggle. I think I’m losing it. Isn’t that what happens? Isn’t that how you’re supposed to turn out when you’re taken in by a mad man who molests, abuses, and tortures you? My eyes look down and I ask myself if that’s true.

Finally the pulling and tugging are done and I am ready for makeup. By this time I don’t expect the same style in which he does my makeup, but here again, he throws me a curveball. I turn around on the side of the tub and watch Oliver take out the usual white powder for my face, bright blue shadow for my eyes, and fire engine red for my lips. Oliver holds a mirror up for me to see myself. My brown hair is slicked back and tied tightly in a bun, my freckles clash with the white powder, and my green eyes are bright with the red and blue. I show no reaction, but really I’d like to break the mirror in two.


Oliver begins to smile again. Its time to go to the game room. I remember his words “…you get to play with dolls today.” My eyes narrow in my mind, again I sense that something isn’t right. Suddenly I become excited inside. Maybe he’ll kill me today! No, no its too good to be true. I quickly stamp out my hope for fear of disappointment.

I follow him out of the bathroom, back into the hallway that hides every hideous thing that happens down here. Oliver opens the door to the game room and lets me come through before closing the door behind himself. This room is the largest of all three. The walls are wooden paneling and the floor is cement. There is a large drain in the middle of the floor where there is a downgrade…for all the blood. The things in the room change daily, except for the horrors that occur here and a painting of a woman that hangs on the furthest wall. She wears the same dress, the same makeup, and a braid. Her features were just as wrong for the look as mine are. Ebony hair, pale blue eyes, and a small, taut mouth.

Today there is a strong smell in the air. The smell of formaldehyde.  I am astonished that I can even recognize it over the putrid smell of death that lingers ihere from years and years of murder. There is a long table in the center of the room laden with cups of tea and cookies. There are six chairs at this table and the two at the very ends are empty. The other four, two across from the other two, have big lumps covered in sheets on them. A wave of fear washes over me knowing that there are probably bodies under the sheets.

“We’re going to have a tea party today Kitty. Why don’t you sit so that I may introduce you to our guests?”

I look at Oliver and see his yellow teeth slip out of his disgusting lips as he smiles. I choose one of the chairs at either end of the table and look around. We haven’t had a new game in a long time. Why is it the game he got bored with and not me?

“I thought this might be fun for you, Kitten. Its been so long since you had any friends of your own to play with,” Oliver is now walking around the table, his hand rests on the first sheet. “Let me introduce them one by one.”

“This, darling, is Susie,” the first sheet is pulled and I can’t hold in a horrified scream.

“This is Jimmy,” another sheet pulled, my hands fly to my mouth.

“This is Veronica,” the third sheet is whisked off, and tears are drowning my cheeks.

“This guest is my personal favorite, her name is Mitsy,” the last sheet is tugged and I lose control.

At the table sits my entire immediate family. Veronica, my sister, two years younger than me, just entered college when I was taken. Mitsy, my baby sister, five years younger than me, she was still living at home when I left. My mom, Susan, and my dad, Jim, neither of them retired, all of them naked and all of them dead. My eyes are frantic going from one face to the next. My breath caught in my lungs. Oh my god! Oh my god, they’re all dead!

“No, no!” I begin to say over and over again. I am in complete disbelief.

Oliver calmly walks to the other end of the table and seats himself across from me. He takes a sip of his tea and looks at me.

“Its rude not to say hello to the guests, Kitten. Go on, greet your old friends.”

I sit here staring, I think I’m in shock. I can’t move, I can’t think, I can only sit. I feel the familiar throbbing from great emotional pain, only this time its deeper, bigger, and much more paralyzing. Oliver takes a knife out of his pants and brings it to Mitsy’s flesh. The blade shines as he puts it to her lips.

“I don’t want to have to punish the guests for your ill-manners, Kitty. But I suppose if you won‘t talk, none of them will so no need for these!”

I look at Mitsy’s head resting on the back of her chair, her eyes wide open. I’m sniffling and my eyes go to the table. Its bad enough that he killed them, now he’s desecrating them.

“H-hello,” I say trying to stifle my cries but the attempt is futile, my greeting turns to nearly a shriek.

Oliver puts his knife away and takes another sip of his tea. I can almost swear his hands are shaking with glee. He clears his throat in a disgustingly polite way.

“Mitsy here was a very good girl. She thought if she did everything I asked her to that I would spare her life,” Oliver’s laugh fills the room. “What a stupid girl. She was the first to go. I caught here while she was walking home from a date, alone. I was rather fond of her, thought of keeping her instead of you for awhile, but after I fucked her with her compliance she was of no more use to me, alive that is. I asked her to take me to her, well your, house and to get me the keys to all the doors, she so kindly obliged. She died quietly and with surprise because she thought I was slipping myself into her, but instead it was this very knife. It was quite a mess.”

I can’t look at him. My stomach is churning. My head is foggy. I can’t breathe. My baby sister! My eyes change and I look up my head slightly tilted. I am staring at him. I see a monster, cruel and ugly. A monster that needs to be destroyed.

Oliver motions to Veronica and begins another story.

“Veronica didn’t take too kindly to me. She was very suspicious from the start. We kept “bumping” into each other. On campus while I cleaned the yards, at the public pool where I frequented a sunbath, later at her favorite coffee shop, drinking the same latte. We did have fun together, somehow liking all the same things. How ironic. Its also very ironic that we should wake up in the very same bed. She’d told me that she knew there was something off about me and that she should have gone to the police like she’d wanted to. That was when she was playing nice. Then she spat in my face and tried to run away. I guess she didn’t notice that her acciles tendon was slashed while she slept. I have to smile at myself for this because she didn’t even feel the needle numb her foot, mostly because since you left she‘s been a raging alcoholic and she was sleeping off a long night on the street corner. What a poor dear. So tragic. I licked her from head to toe while she laid bleeding to death on the floor. I even got a cute little moan out of her when my tongue touched her nipples. But the best part was fucking her, she couldn’t fight back so she just sat and enjoyed all of-”

“STOP IT! YOU MONSTER STOP IT!” I get up and throw my chair back. I am sweating and screaming. I’m ready to scratch his throat out with my bare hands.

Oliver begins his remorseless laugh. I am half way to him before he stops and stands up. The look in his eyes stop me in my tracks and I am disgusted with myself, but somehow I cannot move. I am sure this is what he wanted. This reaction is what he’s been searching for since I stopped fighting. I am almost sure I will crumple to the floor crying like a child. I see his lips curl into a smile.

“Kitten, sweetie, do you not like your guests? Have they been mean to you? What’s wrong Kitty?”

I begin to back away. I’m confused and I don’t know what to do. I am beginning to become panic stricken again and I look around the room frantically. The walls are closing in. Why am I so confused? Why don’t I know what to do?

Through my dress I feel his clammy hand on my shoulder and I am being seated in my chair.  I am sitting again and the tears are spilling from my eyes, filling up my plate. Oliver seats himself again.

“I was not finished with my story, that was very rude of you Kitty, please apologize to the guests.”

With tears in my eyes I feel my face hot with anger.

“F-f-forgi-ive me-e,” the words barely come out through my sobs.

“Now, where was I? Oh yea, Veronica, then I promise to tell you about Susie and Jimmy, I can see the anticipation in your eyes. As I was saying, she enjoyed every bit of what I gave her and when I took her from her room not a single soul questioned me, they were all sure she had been drinking heavily, despicable. No to Susie, my darling. Ah yes, Susie, so old and foul. Did you know, Kitten, that Susie was pregnant when I took her?”

My eyes shoot up, my control for reactions are gone.

“Can you imagine a woman of this age actually raising a child?”

It isn’t too unimaginable, my mother had me when she was fifteen and I was twenty two when Oliver took me. I have no idea how old I am now. No idea how old they were when they died.

“Anyway, I knew for sure that she must be taken care of immediately. While Jimmy boy was away I slipped right into the house with the keys that Mitsy so kindly lent to me, and before you know it Susie was out cold from the goodies that I slipped in her morning coffee. When she awoke we were no longer in the house. We were in my laboratory and I had to make sure that baby didn’t come into this world deformed and such. I performed the best abortion that could have ever been performed. You would have been so proud, Kitten! Susie here was awake the whole time of course. Good thing I strapped her down tightly because she was in such pain! Why do you look so shaken? Don’t worry I saved some of her breast milk for you too! Why its in this very tea that we are drinking today!”

Oliver takes another sip of his tea. I look over at mine, untouched. My sobs are only low, short gasps now. Please, just kill me.

“Mm, it is quite good isn’t it? What’s this?” Oliver asks looking over at my cup. “You haven’t taken a single sip of yours! I’m ashamed of you today, Kitty. I worked very hard milking that woman, you best drink your tea now or I’m going to have to be very angry with you.”

My head is now bobbing to my chest. I am no longer fully alert. I am so exhausted now. I feel a cup go to my lips and I try to spit it back, spilling most of it down myself but some of the contents is forced down my throat. I cough and sputter, but its too late, I’ve drunken my dead mother’s breast milk. Now, please, just kill me…please.

“There’s a good girl. Very rich isn’t it? It was a little out of season, not at all as good as a younger mother’s milk.” Oliver is now seated again and I am still feeling very unresponsive, but I want to fight “Shall we talk about Jimmy? By the look on your face, I dare say we shall! Lets see, where should we begin? Though it may have looked as if Jimmy were no longer home, he indeed was. He was in the garage in his big, new ford truck (that they bought with your insurance money of course), and the garage door wouldn’t open, and neither would the door to the house! His keys were jammed in the ignition and Susie was busy drinking her coffee, so she couldn’t hear poor Jimmy. Jimmy got a little delirious from the carbon monoxide poisoning. When he came to Jimmy and I were fulfilling our date in my lab. Tied to a chair, his lids and body heavy, he looked so weak. So, dirty. I held his aborted baby up to be seen. The last thing he saw in this lifetime was me tasting the flesh of his only boy.”

Oliver sits in his chair with a thoughtful, faraway look on his face. I am still not quite here. It’s too much, the torture, the drama, the anguish, all of it, too much. I feel as if I’m slipping into black, I’m almost sure that I am. My eyes are closing. Let this be it, let this be death.

***

I’m awake in my chamber. Naked again. My face is washed of all its makeup and my hair is let loose from its bun. I feel the familiar pain between my legs, another violation, another rape. I’m suddenly aware that I’m not alone. The smell of formaldehyde is fierce. I know at once that it’s the dead bodies of my family. I am still alive, and my disappointment is deep.

I curl my feet under me into the fetal position. I’m sick inside knowing that my lifeless family is laying around me. Even more sick to know that its comforting having them there, dead or alive. I’m trying to remember what happened the day that Oliver kidnapped me. I couldn’t even tell by the look of my sisters at the table how much time has passed. I stare into the black with the haunting feeling of familiar corpses surrounding me.

A picture is beginning to form itself in my mind. The picture is cold and cuts through my mind like ice. I can see his mouth laughing and exposing every vile tooth, yellow and black with decay, saliva sticking and stretching with every shake of malicious laughter. I remember not understanding what was happening, being confused like a child. It wasn’t until I woke up in this very same room, in this very same way, naked and cold, that I realized I had been abducted. The entire ordeal is still a blur, I can only remember bits and pieces, as if it were a dream I just woke up from.

It was fall and the I remember thinking that the leaves were especially beautiful this year. The pinks and oranges settled so vibrantly with the grass that was still as green as if it were summer.