by Zachary Krishef
You enter the control room, filled with flashing lights, whirring fans, and blaring buzzers. Above the panel, there is a cloudy glass wall, smeared with stains. Inside, your subject slumbers in a completely white room, perfectly empty except for a wooden chair. Stretching your hands, you settle down in the thick easy chair, making sure to get comfortable before you begin your work.
A small green button near the right corner of the panel sends three low blasts into the room. They are unearthly, like the sounds of the undead, roasting in the lowest pits of Hell itself, groaning and grunting. BRING…BRING…BRING. With a start, your prisoner awakes, looking around the room in confusion. Shrieking, he leaps off the chair and runs at the panel, bashing it once, twice, three times! Each time, he slides off, leaving rivulets of blood oozing down.
You smile and deliberately turn a crank in the center of the panel, savoring the way it immediately responds to the gentlest of motions. At first, nothing appears to be happening. The man simply continues to whimper and moan, scanning the area for some means of escape. Suddenly, he began to sweat. A flash of mortal terror flashes across his face as he realizes what is going on.
You continue looping the crank, beaming as the temperature soars. Before long, the man is no longer running. Weak from the torridity, he is curled up, gasping for air. Sweat soaks his entire frame, collecting on the ground in a fetid pool. Showing no pity, you continue.
After two agonizing minutes, the edges of his ill-fitting orange jumpsuit begin to spark. The boiling air burns away the pool of perspiration in enormous clouds. His skin begins to melt away, leaving only a charred skeleton. Soon enough, even that becomes ashes. A maroon button near the upper portion of your panel sends a miniature robot out, vacuuming up the dusty remains.
With an air of relief, you bounce out of your chair and leave the room, briskly making your way through the hallway. As you exit the building and head into the outside world, you toss your stolen key away. Freedom is yours, once again.
A/N: Don’t read scary stories before bedtime, kids. You’ll wake up and write stuff like this.