Punishment Halls

Stricken by fear, Callista saw with disbelieving eyes as Officer Konradsson was violently suspended in midair by a completely unseen force. She had never seen anything like this before, and so she ended up paralyzed in place, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as the impossible continued to unfold.

Her mind was racing to comprehend the sight before her, but she wasn’t alone in her bewilderment. Perhaps with a sharper instinct for danger than her, Choccy squirmed desperately inside her arms until he finally broke free, seeking shelter beneath the nearby furniture, scared and whimpering.

With her robust walnut table being reduced to rubble by the vicious impact of the police officer’s large body, the nurse realized that she had to prepare for the worst, even if she continued to assume that her only protector was still alive. But what could she do? She had no idea what was even happening anymore.

Turning away to the door was a temptation that was hard to resist, especially since she couldn’t trust any more help to get there in what could easily become her final minutes alive —but there were two crucial factors keeping Callista from escaping.

First, her body was trembling far too much to retrieve Choccy from his hiding spot, and the distance between her and the intruder still on the floor was too small. She was absolutely not going to abandon her puppy to fend for himself.

And second… Even if she could have brought herself to run, Callista knew that there was nowhere else for her to go. Regardless of how terror continued gripping her heart, threatening to jump away from her chest at any minute now… This was her home. She was going to stand her ground and defend it herself, even if everything else failed.

Forcing her legs to stand upright against the tide of panic, she stumbled from the entrance hallway and positioned herself behind the kitchen counter. Her hands trembled as they frantically searched across the utensils, finally settling on a large kitchen knife. Its cold metal pressed tightly against her chest, she turned to face in the direction of the two men once more.

The tense silence that blanketed the room after the supernatural conflict was suffocating, and with shallow, shuddering breaths, she watched her stalker rise from the floor to look at her. The hood of his raincoat had fallen from his face amidst the conflict, finally revealing his features.

And much to her shock, it was a face she recognized.

“You… You’re Mr. Kimball… From the hospital.” Her words came out under shaky exhalations as her heart raced painfully under her ribs. “What… What are you doing in my house?”

Despite the noticeable differences in his appearance, there was no way she could be mistaken. His patchy beard was shaven, making him look younger than he really was, but the balding spots circling around his dark hair were unmistakable. Those same small, sunken brown eyes were watching her every motion with a hazy and unfocused gaze, one she remembered all too well from her time caring for him at the hospital until one month ago —as creepy as always.

At first, she wanted to believe that his attention came from a desire to be polite and caring, but it was a product of her naiveté and pity. She couldn’t delude herself any longer. The way he savored her with his gaze brought along a horrifying sensation that sent chills down her spine.

But it was the feigned softness of his voice that got to her the most, an effect that had become even more unsettling now that Kimball had invaded her privacy. As he began speaking, she tightened her grip on the knife, her knuckles turning into a white color.

“There’s no need to thank me. Protecting you is all that matters to me.” He said, slowly advancing towards her. There was an unnerving disconnect in his lips and eyes that made him feel like a walking puppet, stripped straight out of a nightmare. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

>> “I’m here.”

“Do… Don’t come any closer!” She tried to warn him, putting the knife as a barrier between the two of them. But much to Callista’s dismay, the threat didn’t even seem to register under his unfocused gaze.

Feeling frozen like a deer in headlights, she was forced to take in every remaining detail of his appearance. Even during his hospital stay, Kimball had given her the feeling that he was unkempt and nonchalant with personal hygiene —but his current state exceeded the bare minimum.

A strong body odor reached her nose, as if he hadn’t bothered with a shower in far too long. Similarly, the heat trapped under his large raincoat made the sweat pooling in his over-worn clothes even more noticeable… And was that… Dried blood mixed in as well?

Yet despite how disturbing and nauseating being this close to him felt to Callista, it was Kimball’s following words that finished shattering every hope she had left to resolve the ordeal in a peaceful manner.

“Shh... Callie. I know everything.”

He… ‘Knew everything’? What… What did he mean by that?

“From the room you like to keep closed and hidden...”

Callista’s blood turned colder inside her veins as her grip on the knife weakened. No… That place was supposed to be for her eyes alone.

“… To the people that wronged you in the past.”

All of that... was meant to stay buried in the dark corners of her past, never to be uncovered by anyone.

“I made them pay for you.”

>> “In the same way that I want to help add to your collection.”

The world around her dissolved into a meaningless blur as her heart grew heavier. Neither the invisible ghost, likely still lurking nearby, nor the unmoving body of the police officer lying in her ravished house held any significance —the only thing that did was the man standing before her, and the secrets he had taken from her without consent.

She had to silence him before he exposed any further.

“Shut up!” Her voice tore through the air in a harrowing scream, fueled by a surge of terror transmuted into fury. She surged forward, closing the already shortened gap between her and Kimball in a single stride. Employing every ounce of her resolve, she fiercely plunged the kitchen knife deep into his abdomen.

‘It’s… It’s happening again.’ Callista’s thoughts echoed inside her mind, in a cacophony of disbelief and regret. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this.’

Tears clouded her vision, streaming down her face, but she didn’t let go of the knife. Her unstable trembles made the blade waver disturbingly against her stalker’s flesh, as she gripped the hilt tightly still amidst her emotional strife.

In the fleeting seconds in which they remained frozen in that position, stretched into what felt like a painful eternity, her eyes hesitantly sought Kimball’s, finding in them a reflection of a crumbling world. It was as though her actions caused his very existence to be torn asunder —in a dissonance from reality that made Callista’s lips quiver uncontrollably.

Lockdown that was brought to an abrupt halt when a manic laughter exploded through the recesses of her mind. The banshee wails felt like icy tendrils slithering their way through Callista’s brain, forcing the nurse to crumble to her knees as she desperately tried to shield her ears from her relentless noise in a futile effort.

The unbearable sound disrupted her thoughts until turning them into a jumbled mess, with her body responding in kind with a sickened paralysis. Her body rocked forward as though all of her insides were being flipped and turned inside out.

‘This must have been what Officer Konradsson went through as well.’ Callista forced herself to think, to keep a trace of focus from being entirely overwhelmed —more out of stubbornness than actual complete cognitive ability. ‘So… What should come next is…’

Her efforts to prepare physically and mentally were cut short as her body was viciously thrust backwards, driving her away from Kimball. Before she could brace herself, Callista collided with the unyielding surface of the kitchen sink, crushed under the weight of an insurmountably yet always invisible force, one whose magnitude she had quaint hope of matching.

Pain coursed through her nerves, accompanied by a sense of vertigo that caused her awareness to spin wildly out of control. It was a nightmare made manifest, stirring a primal fear of being subjected to the whims of something that kept itself beyond her comprehension.

Desperately, she pushed her hands against the oppressive unseen entity, using the rough sensation of a malleable, ragged fabric-like body against her palms as an anchor to keep her consciousness from slipping away into the void —a small but crucial lifeline seeking a chance to escape her hold, no matter how slim.

Hope that would be mercilessly extinguished by the implacable creature that held her down. She felt her neck being gripped violently, with enough strength to suffocate, before being ferociously brought to the floor. The blunt impact was heavily resented by her head, the harsh treatment causing her brain already throbbing in pain to suffer even more.

There was no mistaking it. Whatever this thing was that she couldn’t see, it was without a doubt connected to Peter Kimball. It had intervened in his defense not once, but twice now; and what’s more, he appeared completely unaffected by the mind-bending laughter that had subsumed both her and Officer Konradsson.

But that meant… That she had no hope of fighting back against him. She was completely at his mercy —one she had no reason to expect after stabbing him.

Was this how her life was meant to end? The fleeting question danced through her mind as her vision began to dim, each interrupted breath a desperate fight for oxygen. Fingers, plastic and artificial in their grip, continued denying her air… And yet, despite the chokehold, Callista’s thoughts echoed against the encroaching oblivion.

If given the chance to hold one final regret… It would be the countless days she wasted being worried sick over others’ perceptions of her. From her parents to her peers and superiors, so-called ‘friends’ and mentors —Callista mourned her unyielding devotion to conformity, of hiding her true self out of fear of being betrayed once more.

Yet in the frightening threshold between life and death, Callista also found herself enveloped in a profound and soul-cleansing sense of liberation. No longer would she be bound by anyone’s standards, there was no need to subject herself to whims imposed by others and the judgment of what they deemed appropriate. It was a bitter freedom, attained only by paying the highest price there was —her life.

Her legs ceased their motions, and the hands that had been clutching onto invisible wrists fell limply to her sides. Callista had given up, her mind left to idly contemplate what mystery could be waiting on the other side.

“Stop!” A blood-curling, anguished scream reached her ears, barely audible and overshadowed by the laughter still deafeningly ringing on her mind; however, not long after it thundered across her home, her breathing resumed, interrupted only by coarse coughs. Her throat ached as her lungs filled with oxygen again. “Not her! Anyone but Callie!”

Callista struggled to make sense of what had just happened, her ability to fully interpret the scenario unfolding before her eyes hindered by a profound loss of focus. It was Kimball, engaged in a visceral confrontation with the invisible monster that acted as his guardian —a man lost between the roles of executioner and unlikely savior.

And in a matter of seconds, the gruesome sight of Kimball’s blood pouring from his stomach after he removed the knife Callista herself had lodged into him forced her back into awareness like a sudden bolt of clarity. The surrender that she had so thoroughly accepted only moments ago morphed into an unyielding refusal, clinging to survival tenaciously as if keeping her grip on a cliff-side by the edge of her fingernails.

No, she was wrong. She didn’t want to die, not yet. There were still so many unfulfilled desires still beating within her heart, each one testifying to the life she yearned to lead.

Still gasping for air, her lungs burning with the agony of renewed breath, Callista steadied herself under trembling limbs as Kimball continued grappling back the monster. Crawling back to her feet, she attempted to run towards the shattered wall frame connecting to her backyard. Her frantic and anguished sprint, however, was doomed to fail due to the heavy impairment caused by the nausea still corrupting her senses.

With a cruel twist of fate, a mere misstep onto a stray shard of wood from her shattered table was all it took to send Callista hurtling forward towards the unforgiving ground. Her arms, rendered utterly useless, offered little to no defense as she collided face-first with the cold floor. The impact sent a sharp pain through her already fragile frame, mixing tears with blood and the fear that still gripped her heart.

Whatever distance she managed to build felt too short on her terrified psyche, and it wasn’t aided by how the world never ceased to swirl haphazardly around her. With effort, she turned herself to keep her eyes on the aggressors, finding Peter still there, straining himself as he fought to restrain the invisible creature —at least until he too fumbled forward, as if the monster he had been holding back suddenly vanished into thin air.

Transfixed by his silhouette under dim lights, Callista could only watch as Kimball also seemed to be convincing himself that the unseen creature had disappeared. Her heart raced in her chest, observing every move with dread as he temporarily knelt on the floor, visibly struggling with the pain of his open wound as he fought to steady his breaths.

When he finally looked up and locked sights with her, it triggered a very clear aversion in the nurse. She was terrified beyond belief of his eyes, not helped by the bloodied knife he clutched in his hand. Despite the fact that he had intervened to save her, Callista didn’t want him anywhere near her —Kimball already fully turned into a figure that inherently terrified her.

As he began stumbling towards her under wobbly feet, holding onto his bleeding abdomen, Callista similarly mirrored his slow, agonizing march. Her breath hitched in her chest as she scrambled backwards, her feet slipping on the floor as they tried to push her away from him, at least until her hands landed on something sharp scattered beneath her.

“Callie… It’s okay…” In spite of everything, his voice was still bent into the overly soft pitch that made her skin crawl, now tainted by the sheer insanity gleaming in his eyes. “This?… This doesn’t matter…” He continued glancing downwards to the trail of blood he left behind with every step. “I’d gladly give my life away for you… My dear.”

“I… I never asked for that.” Callista recoiled, her fear and resentment bubbling to the surface. Though she already suspected that Kimball’s words were born from delirium, she agonizingly acknowledged his words as truthful. “If only you had stayed away from me, none of this would have happened.”

But just like the last time they exchanged words, Kimball appeared to be hearing a different message entirely. His lips curled into a sickening smile as he staggered closer, his eyes locked onto hers with unsettling fervor.

“Yes… I love you too, darling.” It didn’t matter how strongly she rejected him. It didn’t matter how much he was bleeding. “Come… Let me hold you… Just this once…”

He just continued forward in his delusion, interpreting her words to his liking. It was frustration what forced Callista’s right hand to seek around the shattered glass resting beneath her for a weapon, but it was darker intentions that compelled her to tighten her grip on a larger, triangular shard.

In the ephemeral silence that reigned in the room, Callista weighed his declaration of love —misplaced as it was. She did at least trust that Peter Kimball harbored no desire to hurt her, and just perhaps… All of the events that had unfolded on that awful night were nothing but a horrid series of unfortunate mistakes.

But all was the same to her. He knew of the things she wanted to keep hidden… More than enough reason for…

Callista could feel the edge of the glass shard digging into her palm, still ensnared and trembling beneath the shadowy veil of refrain. A sharp pain traveled across her hand, and a trickle of crimson warmth timidly made its way towards the cold surface beneath.

Was she truly prepared to make another attempt on his life? Or could she find the will in her to let him live, in spite of all that he uncovered?

With each passing second wasted on hesitation her stalker crept closer, all until his presence loomed ominously over her once more, casting a menacing shadow across her terrified expression, reduced to the floor.

No. She didn’t want to do it… She didn’t want to hurt anyone. Why was life subjecting her to this ordeal, just like that godforsaken night ten years ago?

Good intentions would provide no escape now. Her eyes steeled as Peter began lowering his form gradually and unavoidably, and the pain on her bleeding right hand began to fade. All that was left… Was waiting for an opportunity.

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on her, you vile creep!” The harsh, guttural scream of a man echoed through the living room, hidden from Callista’s view. It was immediately followed by the deafening blasts of gunfire, each one causing Kimball’s body to arch in agony as three shots made him recoil in place.

Blood splattered onto Callista’s face as Kimball flailed, preventing himself from collapsing on top of her only under the support of weakened arms.

That was it. This was her chance.

Lacking any ounce of emotion, she raised the hand clutching the crystal shard from the floor and drove it mercilessly in an upwards motion aimed at Kimball’s throat, not stopping until it was buried completely, being rewarded by the gruesome sounds of resistance that his jaw bone and teeth offered to the outlines of her improvised weapon, as they collided with one another.

She refused to take the risk of the gunshots not being fatal.

He had to die, for her sake, right then and there.

For a fleeting moment, Callista and Kimball crossed gazes one last time, their bodies locked in that macabre intimacy —painted red by a shower of blood pouring on her face.

Summoning the last vestiges of his resolve, Peter managed to lift one hand, uncannily steady given the numerous mortal wounds that littered his body; reaching out to gently caress the side of Callista’s face. Despite the fact that she was the one taking his life, and having stolen from him the chance to ever smile again by mutilating his tongue… She could have sworn she saw another spark of affection in the unwavering, intense gaze of a ravaged man.

At least until it was all swallowed by the cold grasp of death, his eyes finally sliding into lifelessness as he slumped to her side, landing next to Callista who could only sit there, breathing in ragged gasps under an unyielding, harrowing dread. She already knew that the image of his final expression before passing would continue to torment her nightmares for nights to come.

Her eyes then sought those of the police officer, who lay on the floor in a similar manner to her own, giving a knowing remorseful look behind the barrel of his smoking gun. There was blood trickling down his head, and the expression on his face suggested he was still withstanding a lingering, intense ache.

A small sigh of relief escaped from Callista’s lips, as she realized that Officer Konradsson seemed to have heard none of Kimball’s damning words. ‘At least I won’t have to kill him too…’ Were her thoughts, releasing the knot that had formed in her shoulders.

Reprieve that was short-lived. As Kimball settled into a disturbing stillness, a disarming cackle pierced through her ears, drowning out all other thoughts —that same haunting laughter she had heard before, signaling the return of the invisible banshee.

She realized she wasn’t alone in her suffering; as it appeared that Konradsson was enduring the same torment. He clutched his injured head in obvious agony; as every piece of glass in her apartment still in one piece began to shatter under the intense pressure. The force was enough to fry her electronic devices, plunging the room into darkness as every single light source flickered and died.

Without Peter there to hold the specter back, the two of them were left at its mercy. Yet whatever fate awaited them, be it death or judgment… Callista was ready for it to come.

But instead of claiming her life as she anticipated, like the unseen reaper she thought that creature to be, the voice slowly faded away; her laughter turning into wails of sorrow before disappearing altogether.

Caught between relief and lingering dread for the unknown, Callista and Konradsson remained frozen in their position for what felt like ages; her brain still resenting the excruciating throes of anguish that the spectral cries left behind like palpable scars.

As the reality of what had transpired began to sink in, the full extent of their impact began to weigh on her heart, just as much as the gravity of her actions. Could it truly be over? Could she finally leave it all behind and move on?

She knew that she had done what she had to… But the burden of guilt was a heavy one. The blood now staining her hands could never be completely washed away.

Choccy’s barks brought Callista out of her daze, the boisterous sounds that his paws made as he came out of his hiding spot serving as a lifeline that kept the nurse from succumbing to unconsciousness.

Tardy reaction that soon plunged her right back into dread as she looked around, realizing that his frantic energy was not directed towards Kimball’s lifeless husk —No, the dog’s focus was fixed on a new ominous presence breathing down their necks.

Despite having found her desperately needed respite, Callista’s blood froze inside her veins as panic resurged within her. The heavy thud of leather soles echoed through the room, making the field of scattered shards of broken glass crack under their weight.

Step by step, a shadowy figure shrouded by the pitch blackness drew nearer, until finally coming to a halt beside her. Her eyes strained in the dark, anguished to discern at least their silhouette, but it was to no avail.

“So he was unable to control it…” A deep, gravelly voice reached her ears, but her energy was sapped, too weakened to try and raise her own voice. Was this an unending, ever-living nightmare? “A shame…”

>> “Must have been a troublesome Punisher.”

Failing to interpret any of the absentminded ramblings that didn’t seem to be truly intended for her, Callista gradually adjusted to the oppressive darkness, enough to finally make out some features thanks to the faint moonlight seeping in from outside —and another, more unsettling source of luminescence.

It was a man, his formal attire and dark sunglasses smeared with grime, appearing almost too mundane considering all the otherworldly occurrences… But it was the large infant clambering onto his chest that truly unnerved Callista.

The child possessed delicate features, making it difficult to discern their gender at a glance. Their rosy lips curled into an eager smile, revealing tiny, sharp teeth; and their wispy, sparse hair resembled a silver halo around their head. Clad in an oversized black onesie dress that dwarfed their tiny frame, it seemed as though whoever dressed them paid little attention to measurements.

And the reason as to why Callista could observe so many minute details despite the obscurity was the very same that rendered her incapable of looking away. The infant’s expressive, large eyes were colored in a light shade of indigo that emitted a faint, iridescent glow; casting an eerie shadow around them paired with an intangible aura of menace. It was a chilling blend of both mesmerizing innocence and terrifying avidity that left the nurse completely immobile —like prey before a predator.

“Well… No matter.” The older man continued muttering to himself, as he continued to hold the child and recklessly raise a black gun to scratch his forehead with its barrel. “He probably awakened these two during the process.”

Despite having his two hands busied —one with the baby and another carelessly wielding the firearm; Callista felt how Kimball’s body was lifted from her. She couldn’t properly see it under the encroaching penumbra… But she was sure of it. There was the faint outline of a massive, inhuman shadow disengaging the corpse from the floor.

“Don’t move an inch!” It was the strained voice of Officer Konradsson that interrupted the collection, clearly forcing himself to speak despite the fright and incapacitating nausea. His grip tightened around his own weapon, a desperate attempt to maintain a last remnant of agency. “Who are you!?… What is all of this!?”

“Don’t even try it, boy. You don’t have any use to me dead.” The man with the child replied coarsely, turning his back on them as he stepped back into the darkness, followed by Peter Kimball’s lifeless body. “You’ll know soon enough.”

>> “If you don’t follow this fool’s fate, that is.”

And as abruptly and invasively as he had entered their lives, the man similarly disappeared, leaving behind the haunting aftermath of the conflict. Her home now remained violated by the ghastly remnants of violence, marred by blood and broken furniture etching a cruel narrative.

Completely overwhelmed, Callista could only manage to close her eyes, focusing on regulating her breathing as the harrowing experience finally took its toll. Exhaustion consumed her, and she gave in to unconsciousness, momentarily finding solace in the empty darkness, free of any more unseen monsters.