The October Music: Second Verse - Day 21

Sledgehammer
            Clank. Clank. Clank. You hear the heavy metal echoing through the brick of the walls around you. Something is being struck or dragged. No, not dragged. It doesn’t sound quite like that. It sounds like someone is breaking rocks, perhaps. It’s curious that you are so interested in identifying the sound, given the predicament you currently find yourself in.

            You woke up here with no recollection of how you arrived. Cliché, of course. Drugged? Kidnapped? Does it ultimately matter at this point? You are strapped with thick leather bands to a chair that is less rickety than you would have preferred. Well, you would have preferred to not be here at all, but we can’t always get what we want, can we? The room around you is dark, dingy, cold, and smells faintly of antiseptic. Not like a room at a hospital that is always sterilized. More like a room that is…cleaned after usage.

            No use thinking like that right now. You don’t need to panic more than you already are. It’s tough to fight back the swell in your chest, but you have to try. You have to think. Where are you? Why? How do you get away? These are pressing questions, all of which need answers immediately.

            You hear the clank again, but this time it doesn’t sound like it hit rocks. It sounds like it hit something more organic and you hear a scream pour into the room. That is significantly worse than you first thought. If it were just you being held, there was probably a ransom in play. From whom, you would have no idea. Nobody you know is anywhere close to rich, even in more intangible qualities. Still, a ransom could be justifiable. If someone is being hit and screaming, that makes the situation seem more random and, thus, more terrifying.

            You hear the scream again and it sounds like it’s getting worse in that room. Another slam of whatever is making the sound and now you hear a splatter of something on the other side of the wall. Definitely worse. Definitely need to get out of here now.

            You start struggling, fighting with your bonds. Maybe, just maybe, the chair is not quite sturdy enough to resist against constant pressure. You rock back and forth, forward and back, trying anything to get the chair arm to break. No result. Whoever put you here thought of everything, including well-kept furniture. Bastards.

            The clank in the next room starts another scream, but this one cuts off mid-shriek with a wet gurgle. Damn it. You strain and pull, trying desperately to get away, but there is no use. You are attached to this chair as tightly as you’ve been attached to anything else in your life. You hear the sound of the metal being dragged now – this time it is dragging – as it approaches the door. Ice freezes your veins as the door, heavy and rusted, creaks open.
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            You see the hammer first. Covered in blood.