Knox had been imprisoned for eleven years. He sat up in his cot staring through the cell bars. He became focused on the door lock, imagining he could shrink himself down so small as to stroll right out. There would be no need to break the lock. His focus sharpened and he noticed a rivet was slightly protruding from the plate around the lock. Knox walked up to the door. As he grabbed the rivet, a black cat bolted through the hall and cried. The startle caused him to cut his finger on the rivet and blood dripped rapidly to the floor. He returned to bed. He thought, if the cat was real, then, there was a way out. Knox drifted off to sleep. When he awoke, there was no blood on the floor. However, within the space between the door and the floor, rest a pair of lineman’s pliers.
Guards come and go. Prisoners stay. Some stay for life. So when L-wing reopened after thirty years, talk of the prison section being haunted spread faster than chills down a spine. The administration had only been in charge for two years. When they inspected the vacant L-wing it appeared rather clean and organized. The prison was overcrowded and they were pressured to make the move.
Transferring the prisoners was routine and time consuming. At the end of the day, Archer Wakeman, the chief prison officer, retreated to his new office. He noticed a small box on the shelf. As he walked over, he stepped on some loose linoleum tiles that cracked beneath his feet. He grabbed the box and opened it to find a skeleton key. He knelt down on the floor to inspect the cracked tiles with the key in his hand. As he fumbled with the tiles, more came loose. Archer noticed a seam bordered by gold trim. There was a trapdoor. Removing another tile revealed a keyhole. His curiosity overcame his reason as he inserted the skeleton key. The trapdoor dropped about two inches, sending a rush of dust into the air. He was frightened and wiped the sweat off the back of his neck. Archer sneezed not once, but twice. Just as the second sneeze finished he thought he heard, “Blesssss”, hissed by something unknown. Suddenly, the trapdoor slid left. He met the yellow eyes of a sub human creature with pale white skin and sharp bicuspids barely protruding from its mouth. The creature grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him down into the void.
The inmate stared down at the pool of blood. The building shook as if a low-flying airplane passed overhead. Little white flakes of paint fell into the pool making it appear as some sort of melted strawberry shortcake ice cream. The inmate pronounced he was El Castigador to the dead cellmate as he retrieved his shank from the victim’s neck. The wall on the far side of the cell began shaking. The inmate walked over and traced his fingers over the crude letters etched into the block. “El vacio,” he whispered. The concrete blocks were moving in and out until a hole in the wall formed. As the dust settled, the inmate thought he saw a shadow through the opening. He turned to run but a steel grappling hook pierced him just below the collarbone and pulled him through the wall. The shadow announced he was Ladron de Almas.
Imprisoned in an old chamber, the convict stares at the puddle. His footsteps are masked from the dripping water. He envisions the escape as he crosses streams of doubts dimly lit by the chesire moon. Alas, freedom as his eyes grow wide from a gruesome cracking of neck bone.
A little sample of my flash fiction series in development. I am pushing through my busiest time of year at work. My writing has been sparse but the ideas are now streaming in as more time frees up into the summer. This just stands as micro fiction in itself. Hope you enjoy!