Punishment Halls

PUNISHMENT I

ASHES

The heavy slam of a door, followed by the intense stomping made by two sets of feet abruptly shattered the prior tense silence, with a couple of nervous gasps and the audible displacement of the living room’s furniture made the small child hidden under the covers of her bed clutch onto Toast, who proceeded to meow moodily in response, unaware of how anxiousness had brought the girl to shut her eyes tightly and hold onto her breath in between firmly pressed lips.

He wasn’t exactly done with the mayhem either. Having already pushed Lieta aside, and with his mind still too overtaken by adrenaline to keep a proper handle on his own forcefulness; Narguile Ashford opened the bathroom door with another loud bang of his fist, not bothering to turn on the lights, nor caring about the set of footprints that his shoes left on his way there, remnants of the downpour still going on the streets outside the small apartment clinging to his soles.

The first thing the man did once he was surrounded by the sterile ceramic walls was let out a large, deep exhalation. Leaning over the bathroom sink, his hand found a natural resting place covering the entirety of his face, the hot currents of air escaping from his lips providing a hard-to-ignore sting on his gashed knuckles.

Letting his shoulders release at least some of that head-aching tension that had his neck tied in a knot, his first instinct was to open the faucet, the sounds of freely running water offering a much needed respite from the rhythmical throbbing his brain kept making against his skull.

Still breathing slowly, he allowed both his hands to rest under the stream, rubbing his hands with his parted fingertips to make sure he got rid of all the blood staining them. His skin was still numbed, enough for the pain to remain almost exclusively as a distant shadow, but he knew he was hurt nonetheless. His dry mouth produced a series of sharp noises every time his lack of care opened his wounds just a bit more, yet he was more preoccupied by a different matter altogether.

Just… How much of that blood was his?

Reflecting on such a thing helped Narguile to slowly bring down the levels of agitation still being pumped wildly across his system, however, soon enough it came to be replaced by something far darker. Worry, and guilt, weighing down on his shoulders as if they had suddenly gained a physical mass, forcing him to raise one of his still-soaked hands to hold his head. He certainly needed to do so in order to prevent it from falling over and strike the mirror in front of him in both anger and frustration.

Unable to completely tune out from his own mind, no matter how much he wanted to, Narguile delivered a long sigh as the sweat running down his forehead clashed against the cold water brought by his fingers.

It’s not like this was the first time he had done something like that. Back at the foster group home, he got himself into fights incredibly often, even before Lieta appeared to become part of his life… However, he didn’t really need to continue that line of thought to realize that what he had done today couldn’t be truly compared with childish brawls that had only bruises or getting grounded as collateral. To even try to do so wouldn’t be unlike an immature attempt at a poor excuse.

As his eyes fell onto his hands, and unavoidably looking at the bloodstains on his shirt’s sleeves, he wondered… Had he killed that man? He had no doubt he deserved a beating, such a hesitation never quite reached his head, but the still raw memory was creeping into his conscience like a haunt, repeating itself on his hands which were rapidly getting sore, the torn skin feeling like a live fire that didn’t go down no matter how much water he poured over it.

The way his knuckles sunk on his face, loosening teeth and displacing nasal bones. How he lost sight of everything around him as he drove his skull against the asphalt multiple times. Even the gargling noises of his throat filled with blood and the distant pleas from Lieta, urging him to stop…

They all took their own part in a macabre echo chamber inside the young man’s head. Losing all inhibition to allow every primal impulse to take control was as exhilarating as frightening… Yet, not even that was entirely the reason why he was now being assaulted by regret.

What his wife had witnessed that day wouldn’t be something that could be simply unseen. He figured that the visage of the person you trusted your life being reduced to a savage instrument of violence would come back anytime he held their daughter in his arms; and the prospect of being seen with fear in their eyes was enough to break his heart.

Such concern was the emotional, irrational side of him loudly speaking; but logic would swiftly peek its ugly face to similarly become a thorn inside his chest just as well.

He might have left a corpse in the streets, one murdered with his own bare hands. What if police came to the house for questioning? What would he say then? Should he confess right away and turn himself in? But if he went to prison, what would his wife and daughter do afterward?

In such a state of turmoil, Narguile couldn’t stop his own heart from rapidly start beating louder. He raised his eyes towards the mirror glass in front of him, perhaps in the hope of calming himself with the reflection of reality; perhaps to laugh at himself pathetically being pushed into a growing sentiment of dread.

And it was then that he saw it for the first time. That… Thing. He had never believed in ghosts, demons or monsters of any kind —Yet there was no other way to call it.

Towering behind his back there was a large shadow, a half-translucent spectral being of sickly greenish-black skin tone, its flesh torn and ruptured all over, allowing a disturbing sight at slimy patches of its insides that didn’t bleed over. It had a bloated body lacking any proper sense of proportion, a hulking mass of fat under a thickened hide with grotesquely long arms that fell well over its obese waistline, faintly disappearing into nothingness.

Yet it was the creature’s face to where Narguile’s eyes couldn’t move from, turning every other detail into the back of his mind. Momentarily paralyzed in position, a cold numbing sensation traveled down his back, making it feel like the fingers of death itself were firmly grasping his spine as both their ‘gazes’ locked.

The unspeakable abomination had a large, wide and abysmal maw; darkened and putrid yellow teeth drawing an uneven, repulsive smile. It seemed as if it was having the time of its life, cruelly pleased beyond belief at how utterly helpless and appalled its soon-to-become prey was.

Yet aside from that horrid grin, it lacked most features that a human should. Its round, swollen face was devoid of nose, ears, and any semblance of hair. The rough texture of its skin was alien in nature, however, it was one disturbing trait that triumphed even over that malignant expression of evil satisfaction.

Where the demonic specter’s eyes should be, two sunken gaping orifices stood instead, a blackness denser than darkness itself residing inside them, and thick wrinkles surrounding the emptied holes, shaping them into an abyssal expression of morbid joy that was easily ascertained even through the mirror’s reflection.

Because, despite its apparent lack of sight, it seemed watchful, aware not only of every single drop of sweat running down Narguile’s forehead, but also of all the fight-or-flight impulses barely being held back from impending collapse.

Narguile’s already disorganized black hair was shaken down even further as he abruptly turned around to face the monster face to face, despite every fiber of his being yelling at him not to do so; and in doing so, his eyes widened in fright once again.

It wasn’t a trick of the light, or an illusion served by his unstable mental state.

Despite the way its silhouette seemed to fade into the darkened atmosphere of the bathroom, faintly illuminated by the artificial lighting coming from the hallway behind the partly opened door; that thing, that... monster, was undeniably there.

No matter how fervently he wished to deny it, how much nausea he felt by seeing it directly, and how difficult it suddenly felt to breathe, he couldn’t help but to accept its repellent presence even more. Having it so close before him was suffocating in multiple senses, straining a sanity he had never doubted even once before.

In that nerve-wracking silent stillness, Narguile’s examination of the disrupting entity continued amidst shallow and labored intakes of air. Around its round, deformed head hovered an ornate headpiece, giving shape to the formless dread that seeped from every pore of its spectral being.

The headpiece was very similar to a crown of antlers and thorns, coated erratically in what appeared to be rusted steel and tarnished silver. It grew and twisted in a manner that resembled an overgrown vine, writhing around its head until it sunk into the space in between skin and bone, its shape visible on the spots where flesh gave way to decay in a visage of putrefaction.

“Why, such splendor… Your majesty.” Despite the way he felt his eyes growing dizzy and his line of sight blurry, Narguile forced his lips into a snarky smile. “I’m afraid to say it’s a little bit wasted, considering how fucking ugly you are.”

Sarcasm that was met with no direct verbal response, but the inclination of the abomination’s head as it tilted itself towards him in what perhaps could be construed as curiosity —Or perhaps amusement towards his evident discomfort. Even without eyes to see, or ears to hear, everything was communicated straight into his being with sheer oppressive malice.

The thick, bony thorns seemed to pulse lightly, a gesture subtle yet sinister; and every time they did so, Narguile could feel his brain throbbing against the confines of his skull. Despite the lack of a tangible stench in the bathroom, his stomach churned when he couldn’t help but stare back into those gaping pits where eyes should dwell, now appearing as windows into endless nightfall, adorned by the pulsating coronet.

A hard swallow went down his dried throat, as he closed his eyes in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over his scattered senses. He didn’t need to throw a punch to understand it was a futile endeavor… But then… What else could he do? Why was this monster haunting him? And what was it doing to him that made him feel so… Sick?

“What… Do you want?” His voice came out defiantly even though everything within him screamed not to do so. But he needed to. “Are you here… To take me? For what I did?”

His family was just beyond that bathroom door. If the devil himself had pursued Narguile there over the crime that he had just committed, it was his duty to destroy him right there and then, no matter the cost… For their sake.

A low gurgle escaped from the greenish creature’s maw —A sound most would associate with a guttural mockery of laughter if it didn’t carry such a chilling resonance. It stood before Narguile yet it seemed to envelop him completely in its presence, like a cold blanket of despair, menacing to consume him just as much as the worry and concern he had experienced right before seeing him.

But even at that time, it wasn’t his own well-being that was tormenting him. He didn’t care whatever retribution may come his way. If that… beast, that ‘Punisher’ of sorts wanted to devour him for his crime...

Then he didn’t mind that his flesh could serve as a sacrifice just so that Lieta and Aria could continue their lives without further danger.

It was as if his acceptance, when all he could see was the semi-transparent flesh of the hideous abomination before him, triggered something inside himself. His headache became more unbearable, keeping him from being able to even look straight.

As his legs lacked the strength and stability to keep him standing, Narguile collapsed to his knees as he bluntly slammed the door before succumbing to the floor, a dreadful sense of uneasiness running through his veins as the last he saw before losing consciousness was the sightless pit of that cruel entity staring down at him, perhaps entertained by his willingness to give himself up to protect his wife and daughter.