Thirty Minutes on Brown Street ( Relived)

*It was not a very unique house, white with black shutters and a slightly ajar, front door. Sitting on this tree lined street, it blended in with the other middle class American homes.1

No one could ever know, the secrets that were kept behind the locked doors.The shades always  staying tightly closed. To keep the morning sunlight at bay. 2

No need or desire for light and warmth in this barren hellhole. The need ran more to dark, dank hiding places for the dysfunctional occupant that lived here.3

The front room was chaos with weathered newspapers tossed among the jumble of cast off lamps, tables and chairs.4

The papers were now yellow and faded with time. Still bound by the fat red rubber band...no one had read anything from these pulpy pieces of unwanted information. They lay scattered as if thrown by some over zealous paper boy racing to finish his route.5

Laying there as desolate and alone as the other withered and faded soul in their midst.6

The stench of stale urine and the fetid odor of unwashed human skin, penetrates every inch of space.7

There is no discernible pattern to the worn rug that covers the floor. Bathed in great splashes of red rust stains.8

Scattered here and about pieces of food. Old now, dry, crusty, moldy, leaving no trace of what it once might have been.9

Clothes lay scattered about, stained and stiff with the mark of the unclean rags they had become. With no hands to wash them or lovingly care for them. Their once new and proud state, forever lost .As lost as the person who once spent hours meticulously, mending and cleaning them.10

Down the short hallway,ia closed door.11

Suffocating sir fills the darkness. 12

The door does not beckon one to enter there. It is more of a barrier from the world outside and the world inside. 13

Tightly locked ..no one can enter or leave here without the knowledge of the keeper. No one knows that on the other side of that door is a glimpse of Hell. 14

Scratches gouged deeply,  stained  with blood and human flesh, on the inside of the door.15

The stench is unbearable here..the heat is oppressive as it swirls the fetid odor into the air to mingle with  the cobwebs and unheard cries that linger here.16

Time is nothing in this place. Clocks have no meaning, day from night is as unknown as lunch from breakfast. If, indeed, such a treat even occurs. 17

On any given day, a soft mewing sound fills the air here. As if in a plea without words for human contact..a human savior.18

A pitiful heap can be seen in the floor, with back against the  farthest corner. As if seeking any measure of protection offered. At first, it appears to be another pile of old rags, old stenches. But, for a tiny movement, that ruffles the dust in the air. 19

A silent plea for help? Or a prayer to die, to be made free from this unspeakable horror.20

Suddenly steps can be heard, quick tapping sounds, that mark the tone set in this place.21

A rattle of a key and the door is thrown open.  The heap of human devastation draws smaller into a ball. Knowing what is coming, having been there many times before.  22

The tall neatly dressed man, lashes out in his fury .."How does it feel today, my love?"  "Do you still love me?" "Am I the best you ever had?"  "Do you want to play a game? We will pretend your husband is at work and we are having a little fun." 23

Spittle runs down his face as he becomes the master of his game.24

The shriveled heap in the floor quivers as he lashes out at her ..first with words, then with the the leather whip he has picked up from it's resting place...no cries can be heard now ..as he lashes out in  a maniacal frenzy, never contacting with her flesh, the whip is caressing the very air she is trying to breathe.25

The whip snaps the air in its fury..all she can do is pray that one blow will be the last one. That is not to be..the man is a master at his craft ..his torture. 26

She slowly fades into an unconscious state ...blessed relief. The man ejaculates on her, then calmly zips his pants and walks out of the room ..to return to his job, his lunch hour is finished for this day ..but there will be another chance..tonight.27

He smiles softly and thinks how smart he was to buy this house a few months ago and to tell all the neighbors his wife was very ill and ask them not to disturb her...they even believed his last story ..when he told them she had died suddenly. 28

He remembered the thrill of his most recent adventure in the "Room" ..he must think up a new game to play with her..yes, that he would do. He calmly goes out the front door, smiling and whistling as any other man who has just enjoyed a leisurely lunch time break.29

The neighbors smile and wave, they are so happy to see he is adjusting to his tragic loss.30

Quiet settles over the house once again..the pitiful emaciated woman tries to remember why and how she got here...suddenly a flash of remembrance crashes through her mind..she and her boyfriend had been hitchhiking after their car broke down out by the old cemetery...they had just spent a few stolen hours together...all she was trying to do was escape her husbands wrath and abuse..she never thought he would catch her and now her boyfriend was dead. 31

He had been  tortured in this very room. Then carried out late at night. Her husband had taunted her for weeks about killing him..."an eye for an eye"...he would say.And now she was in her own private Hell, praying for death, yet knowing that somehow, her husband would keep her alive to satisfy his own needs. 32

There was no one to know or to care or to save her..She weeps without sound..without tears ..remembering..trying to forget.33

Suddenly, she hears another sound...no, not her husband. A strong voice calling out..."Is anyone here?"   "Are you here, Jane?"34

It was the sound of her lover's voice.  35

H was dead. Was she dead also? Suddenly the doorknob started to turn. Dare she hope.......36

to be continued.....37