Stephen Shutter Stephen Shutter’s eyes opened slowly, and his eyes registered on a vague, yet familiar room. An eerie silence settled over the dark, musty room. His eyes looked at the ceiling above him, seeing only darkness. Dusty corners and small holes scattered the ceiling. Stephen’s head ached, as if a hammer was pounding the inside of his skull. He sat up, and looked around the small room. The first thing he saw was a door. On the right of the door was a window with a dirty white curtain covering it. On the right corner of the room sat a brown crib with blankets and a small pillow. Under the crib, Stephen only saw darkness. In front of the door was an old rusty flashlight. Stephen stood up, took two long strides, bent down and grabbed the flashlight. Where am I? Stephen thought. How did I get here? Stephen shook the flashlight in his hand and tried the switch. A dim light poured out in front of him. Stephen grabbed the doorknob and twisted it. Locked. There was a small keyhole on the door he could pick easily if he had something thin and sharp. Stephen walked over to the crib, and his eyes wandered over to the right of it. He noticed a rocking chair. It was swaying back and forth gently, yet there was no wind. Its probably just a draft, he thought to himself. Just a draft. Then he realized that the chair hadn’t even been there in the first place. He stared at the chair. There was a noise behind him, and Stephen turned quickly and noticed a little white bin on the floor in between the door and the window. Stephen shined the flashlight towards the bin and walked up to it. He smelled a rusty smell, and looked inside the bin. Stephen gagged. A head, not properly chopped off, lay inside the bin. It lay in a puddle of blood, the eyes closed. The head had been stabbed on the side with a knife. Stephen’s eyes tore away from the bloody head. He looked at the rocking chair again, and Stephen’s
jaw dropped in horror. Sitting in the chair was a body without a head. The chair still rocked gently, the body’s feet planted firmly on the ground and arms lay on the arm rest of the chair. Where there was no head was chopped, and it looked like it had been done in a hurry. Stephen blinked and then the body was gone. Stephen walked toward the chair, when a gust of wind tore threw the room and ripped the curtains open. He turned in time to see a man with no face standing in front of the window, and the man slapped a bloody hand on the window. Stephen watched the bloody hand slide down slowly, then the man with no face disappear. The curtains still lay open, and he could still see the bloody hand print on the closed window. I have to get out of the place! He thought. He looked around the room frantically. He walked over to the crib, and he couldn’t lay a finger on it, but the crib was so familiar. Stephen dropped on his knees and looked under the crib with the flashlight. He saw a thin silver object. He grabbed it and stood up. This will have to do, he thought. He walked over to the door, and picked the lock. He twisted the doorknob, and pulled the door open. Stephen stood in front of a brick wall. But one brick was missing. What the…? Am I trapped? Why is there a brick missing? Stephen looked to his right and saw a small light switch on the wall next to the door. Maybe I can see now, Stephen thought. He flipped it, but everything went pitch black. The only light Stephen could see was a little rectangle piece of light. It was were the missing brick had been. Stephen lowered his face to the missing brick and looked. He looked outside from the inside. The only thing he could see was a large stone planted into the ground. The first words he saw were his name. He read: