Mind Labyrinth, Book 1, Chapter 3 (Part 1) (Patreon)

Chapter 3: Madness

Warnings: An adult sexually abuses a minor, allusions to previous experiences with that, depression, self-harm. No explicit details, but plot relevant. To everybody new here, if you're interested, my other writing is in the tags. This is a horror story with heavy abuse and not pornography. Rest assured it's handled with care, everything follows Patreon's TOS, and not objectifying in any way!

Heather O’ Malley loved science from a young age. Her mother had warned her: too many thoughts can rot a young woman’s uterus, but Heather didn’t believe in superstitions. She had always been fascinated by metal works and engineering. The greased cogs and seamless machinery of the Americans’ Industrial revolution propelled them into the future! And here England was, stuck with its coal mines and dated technology.

Heather aspired to be the Nikola Tesla of her age. Her inventions controlled light, sound, and electricity. Many of her peers considered her a witch, but she understood that laurels for brilliance were often rewarded posthumously. She didn’t desire the approval of her peers. Their brains were rotten from tradition. No, what she aimed for was the future.

As she pointed her new machine outside the window of her room and turned it on, she never anticipated what happened next.

She opened a rift that tore through time and space.

***

My dearest Vincenzo,

You must think me desperate, with how often I send you these.

Truthfully, I am.

Finding you was like finding an oasis in the dark. I don’t believe someone as perfect, as pulchritudinous, as you would understand what it would be like to be mortal. Let me paint you a picture, an awful one, but one that is true — 

This world is full of demons. You may have been caged in this gilded palace that is your school, but outside, you will find the plainest, most banal, and desperate sorts out there. Nobody thinks of morals or beauty anymore. Everything comes down to materialism and social climbing. I have never found them in you. You remain leagues above every wretched soul I have ever met.

What happens behind those sharp violet eyes? You always seem so exhausted by the world around you. I spend all day contemplating the true depths of your character, but it is an ocean too deep for me to sink in. You tantalize me with your mysterious nature. You’ve proven to me that heaven does exist, because you are nothing short of sculpted by God — handmade in his image, like all the angels amongst the clouds.

I think about you everyday. Never have you said more than five words to me, but I understand it’s because you are sensitive and demure. Just your existence fills me with joy and purpose. I will love you ‘til the end of time.

Sincerely,

X

***

Go to hell.

Vincenzo coughed, throat irritated from how badly it had been abused. He looked up to his captor with lidded eyes. His vision hasn’t been the best as of late, but he could recognize that damnable silhouette anywhere.

“Very good of you, Walter. Everybody knows throatfucking gets worse for the victim the more you do it. That’s why people hate blowjobs so much.” He laughed hoarsely. “When are you gonna get new material? Come on! Give me something good!”

“You…!” He grabbed a fistful of Vincenzo’s hair and got in his face. Vincenzo could see it now, the twitchy, feral energy in his eyes. “I thought punishment could get through you, but it only made you worse. And the worst part out of this? You made me worse! I can barely sleep because of what you made me do to you. You’re doing this intentionally, aren’t you? Your words are like a plague!”

Vincenzo cackled. “I made you do all that? I forced you to tie me up and rape me for days? Piss down my throat? Beat me within an inch of my life? What would I even get out of that? Did you think I made you use me like a human toilet just because I wanted you to feel bad about it? You fucking idiot. How you survived for sixty years is beyond me. Maybe you did it yourself because… I don’t know! You wanted to? Face it. There’s only one devil in this room, and it’s not me!”

“That’s enough!”

In a flash, Walter clambered on top of him with practiced ease, squeezing a tremendous amount of pressure in his chest. He threw several punches at him — one, two, three, each blow worse than the last. Walter was, by no means, the world’s most athletic man, but in Vincenzo’s delicate state, each blow was more devastating than the last. He felt delicate, like glass, but without the decency to shatter already. 

There was a knock on the door.

Walter froze. The change of expression on his face was instantaneous. It went from hateful to wide-eyed and afraid, like a cornered squirrel. He raises his fist in a threat to Vincenzo.

“Don’t you dare make a sound,” he said, before sliding off him. He straightened out his clothes, pushed back his hair, and answered the door. Vincenzo could barely see who the other figure was, because Walter blocked the line of vision into the room. He swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate so he could listen in on the conversation.

“Hello, sir,” Walter said. “What can I do for you?”

“Ah, you see, sir… people at the hallway have been complaining about a very pungent smell in your bedroom. We heard that you haven’t allowed the maid to come in and do a quick scrub, so we wanted to check if everything was alright.”

Vincenzo opened his mouth, trying to squeeze something — anything — out of his dry throat. It didn’t need to be coherent. It just needed to be heard.

Walter scratched his neck, looking like the picture of innocence. “No problems here, no sir. Everything is spick and span, right in their proper place. I’m gonna be honest, sir, I think it might be the dumpster outside. I hear all sorts of rats and vermin scratching outside the window every night, it’s a bit of a cause for concern, to be honest...”

“Vermin!”

“Yes, sir.”

“At the third floor window?”

Walter nodded, and shrugged.

“My word…”

Vincenzo croaked. “Help…”

The conversation stopped. 

“Did you hear that…?”

Walter shook his head. “You might be imagining things… you know what, the traffic outside must be getting to you. Let’s talk in the hallway…”

They stepped out to the hallway, with Walter ushering them outside. Their conversation was largely muffled with these walls. Vincenzo, as much as he could raise his voice, screamed for help over and over, but nothing came. Eventually, he heard footsteps down the stairs, and that was that.

Walter stepped back into the room. A quiet, humiliated rage burned behind his eyes. They stared at each other from across the room, like two wild animals assessing each other’s threat level, and Walter knew that he was the predator.

“What did I tell you?”

He pounced on Vincenzo. His soft hands clamped around his neck. Vincenzo’s eyes lolled back, and in those last moments, he fantasized about dying.

***

Death.

People had such a brutal way of viewing death. The ultimate act of violence one could do to a person! One of the most heinous crimes to ever exist. But, he always disagreed with that. To him, it seemed more like a kindness.

Picture this scenario: a strange man traps you in a damp basement for a hundred days. No sunshine, no toilet, no amenities that made life bearable. While you’re trapped, he does every act imaginable to hurt you and violate you, reduce you to nothing — no, less than nothing. You turn into contemptible monster, feeding on nothing but shit and hatred. And then, something completely outside the man’s plans happens: your body’s slumped over to the ground, entirely lifeless.

Is that not mercy?

Is that not love?

He used to be so afraid of it. He remembered the festive goat being slaughtered, to be eaten and shared. He remembered his mother’s corpse on the floor, hair disheveled and brains splattered all over the carpet. When he thought of death as a concept, he always visualized the last, desperate kicks and gasps of breath before the life oozed out of their body like an exorcism. But what about after? How would he even begin to imagine it?

Christians had such a funny way of looking at it. You die, and suddenly a man with a great book that holds all the world’s secrets decides if you’ll be rewarded with heaven for all of your wonderful gold star behavior, or if you’ll be cast out to hell because of your pathetic mortal failings. How do they decide what’s good and what’s bad? By the words of hypocrites and pedophiles posing as moral authority? Or through the bible itself, which was as vague as it was irrelevant?

It was a pathetic attempt at coping. By its very nature, it wasn’t supposed to make sense. The nerves in your brain stop pulsing, and then you stop… being.

***

The woods behind St. Michael had an otherworldly aura. It was jarring next to the manicured lawns and gardens the institution had. At night, wild beasts watched passersby with unwavering gazes, their eyes glowing between the tree branches and atop the tree trunks. Air so fresh and chilly, it was like stepping into a different world entirely.

Imagine a young boy splayed out on the lush grass. Its blades tickle the edges of his skin. Time has passed now, and the blades grew taller as it reached for the elusive sun. His once fair skin that was the envy of many has shriveled into a ghostly gray. His insides have been hollowed out and eaten, first by maggots, then by other opportunists. And his face… his face…

Who was he again?

***

Vincenzo woke up with an alarmed gasp.

A quick survey: the interior of a shitty car. Fast food plastic on the dashboard. Below his head, a pool of his own vomit. It reeked. In front of him, the back seat with a terribly familiar tuft of white hair. His head was pounding like crazy, and this ride was making it worse. Immediately after his quick survey, he vomited onto the floor of the car. It was mostly water and blood. Walter sighed.

“Where… where are you taking me?” Vincenzo hated the sound of his own voice. It was weak, and it croaked. 

“Back where I found you.”

“I’m burning up… take me to a hospital. I don’t think I’m going to last. I feel sick.”

Walter gave him one glance with the front mirror. Vincenzo couldn’t help but note that he looked odd. The circles underneath his eyes were very dark. “And who’s going to pay your bills? Dear old dad? Didn’t you tell me he abandoned you? Let’s face it. The school nurses are the best healthcare you’re going to get.”

The reality of the situation started to dawn on him. His eyes reddened, but no tears came.

“Why even bother with this? This seems like such an absurd turnaround. I know you don’t care. Walter, just… just kill me already. End my suffering, and bury my body in the snow. Nobody has to know.”

Walter didn’t flinch. Vincenzo watched the snowstorm rage outside until he fell back to sleep.

***

When Vincenzo next woke up, it was pitch black with nothing but the moonlight from the overhead window illuminating the outlines of his surroundings. He was on his bed. Scraps of romantic letters dug at his back, and the smell of mold festering in the fabric of his bedsheets filled his nostrils. It was familiar and alien at the same time, like his body and his mind. His chest twisted into tight knots. He needed air. He could barely breathe. He turned to his side, clutching the sheets underneath him tight in his trembling fingers.

He was raped. What a loathsome sentence. Raped. Like a woman, like a weakling. He used to think the concept of it was hilarious. How does an able bodied person, fully in charge of their mental faculties, get raped? The process of being in a secluded location, having their clothes stripped off, and penetrated without their consent… well, that was just one too many steps, wasn’t it? At some point, when do you start taking responsibility for your stupid actions? 

It wasn’t rape, then. He put himself in that situation to escape. He knew it was dangerous and manipulative, and that there was a chance of failure happening. That was it. The bad outcome. The one he knew would happen. He consented to it long before it happened —

So, why couldn’t he accept it?

Maybe he didn’t want to be one of those pacifistic, spineless fucks that just accepted whatever came to them. Maybe he was sick of being docile and adaptable. Maybe — no, he wanted to be angry.

He feels his entire body loosen up as the realization sunk into him. That was the missing puzzle piece that made sense of it all. He didn’t want to escape and be happy as much as he wanted to hurt them. He didn’t care about his own life, not really. He just wanted to take them all down with him. He sat up, and as soon as he does so, a black, viscous liquid dripped down the curve of his cheek. He tilted his head up to face the dark, dripping spot on the ceiling. A million eyes were watching his every move, he could tell, but he couldn’t see them yet.

He cleared his throat. “Algrogath… Algrogath, right? I know you’ve been watching me. I’ll make a deal with you… I know you’re a creature of tremendous power. Help me get my revenge. And I’ll give you what you want.”

A million voices started yammering away inside his mind. The sounds were out of step, lilting up and down in nauseating waves. Vincenzo slammed his ears with his palms. All of them shouted in the same voice: IT SHALL BE SO

There was a change in the air that he couldn’t quite describe. Nothing was altered outwardly, but his room didn’t feel like it was his anymore — it didn’t feel like it belonged to this reality. The cracks between the floorboards turned into swollen gashes, the sides peaking like they’ve been sliced with a sharp blade. Vincenzo gingerly pulled his willowy legs to his chest as he watched his floor bleed and bruise through the middle in fractals, cloying and spreading to… the wall next to his closet.

Heather’s summoning circle.

It should still be there, shouldn’t it? He took the grimoire from his side table and pushed himself off the bed. His knees collapsed as soon as he stood up. He hadn’t realized how weak his body was until he had to use it. How long had it been since he ate? Two days? Three? How long was he in that hotel room, and in that car? He all but crawled towards the wall, staining his clothes further. He looked like he’d been dancing in the mud like a dog. When he got to the wall, it bled too, thicker and faster than the floor. Vincenzo gripped the cracks like he had done so in the past. It was still difficult to peel off, but the blood had soaked through enough that the wall looked like it was rotting before his very eyes. The tip of his fingers burned red, then paled into a horrible white before sizable chunks broke off. Aha! He gripped the holes, pressed his legs against the sides of the wall, and pulled.  

Water filled up his lungs. He laughed and sobbed, and the ringing continued on and on until he only registered them as violent, intrusive sounds, like an animal whimpering as its body understood that it was about to fucking die. Pain! He felt nothing but pain! All his life, just an endless, never ending string of pain with no reprieve! The planks finally broke off. The hole wasn’t clean. It was jagged and sharp, but enough for him to squeeze through. The other side was pitch black. He stuck his hand inside and wiggled it around, trying to feel out if it had any surprises in store for him. Nothing. He took a deep breath.

His heart was beating a thousand miles a minute. Even in his pathetic state, his blood lit on fire, surging through his veins and empowering him to get up. He wiped his face with a sleeve, spreading the black streak across his face. He picked up a vanilla scented candle Walter gave him and lit it up with matches he stole from the groundskeeper. Nursing the flame with his hand, he approached the entrance again. He held it up to the darkness. He saw the outlines of the summoning circle on the ground. He felt a bit giddy at that. It was exactly the same as the one in his dream, but worn down with time. He wasn’t going crazy. He placed the book and the candle inside, before sliding in himself. The jagged edges dug into his stomach and thighs, making him flinch. When he got there, he couldn’t help but note that it smelled atrocious. The floorboards were so tender, it looked like it could cave in at any moment. He sat crisscrossed, and immediately hit the diagonal roofing. It was very low in here. He felt it out with his hands.

“How do I… What do I do…?”

He consulted his book. Sheets of paper with translations came out. In the earlier pages, there were a lot of ugly corrections, but the further it went, the handwriting got neater and more confident. He was halfway through translating the book before he decided to escape himself. Time to finally test it. He picked up the scraps. He realized then that his entire body was trembling. With a dry throat and cracked lips, he read the incantations aloud. The entire room burst into purple light, and then…