Drapetomania | Creepypasta

21.

??, ??, 2017

The passage of time became a blur in that wretched cellar. I lost count of the days, unable to discern reality from hallucination. The only constants were the unrelenting torment and the ever-present dread of Jeff lurking above.

My attempts to hide from him had grown increasingly desperate. Boxes, once used for storage, now served as makeshift barriers to shield me from his view. My blanket, once a source of comfort, was now a tattered remnant of what it used to be.

My physical state deteriorated in tandem with my mental anguish. I couldn't sleep, and my persistent nausea left me unable to eat. My throat ached from the constant screams that had long since fallen silent. My clothes, like my socks, had succumbed to the filth and decay of that wretched cellar.

As my mind unraveled, the hallucinations grew more vivid. I heard voices—phantom echoes of those who had once been a part of my life. I saw people—friends and strangers alike—flicker in and out of existence. Reality had become an elusive concept, and I clung to the last shreds of my sanity.

Despite my desperation, I lacked the means to escape. The chain that bound my ankle to the wall remained unyielding, a symbol of my powerlessness. It seemed that death might be the only escape from this never-ending nightmare, but even that prospect felt like a distant dream in the abyss of the cellar.

The voices from upstairs continued to echo in my prison of darkness. I strained to make sense of the words, desperate for any information that might help me survive this ordeal. My own voice was barely a whisper now, parched and weakened by days without water.

Jeff's bellowing always cut through the eerie silence, and I found twisted comfort in his loudness. It meant I could eavesdrop on their conversations, their twisted plans, and perhaps find a way to outwit them. Jeff's aversion to showers was another eerie detail that filled my thoughts. It was surreal to ponder such mundane habits in the midst of this nightmare.

Days ago, I had thought I heard Masky's distinct presence, a beacon of hope amid the madness. But the memory of that possible encounter had begun to fade, leaving me unsure and desperate for any sign of help.

Once more, their voices erupted into argument, making my heart race. Jeff's defensive stance and the mention of "the boss" sent shivers down my spine. The stranger, sent to check the basement, was an unwelcome guest in my living nightmare.

The cellar door creaked open, and I instinctively retreated to my hiding spot, clutching the blanket in my trembling hands. "why the fuck do you need to check my basement! ben got rid of that fucking bitch weeks ago!" The footsteps on the stairs grew closer, a menacing presence that seemed to circle me like a shark closing in on its prey.

"I'm telling you. She's gone, look at the bloodstain," Jeff's voice echoed through the cellar, his twisted pride evident.

"She isn't who we're after," the stranger countered, and a cold dread enveloped me like a shroud. They were talking about me. They knew I was here, and my heart raced in panic.

"Well, she's the only one. Ben disposed of her after I had my fun," Jeff insisted with a sinister glee.

"I don't think she is," the stranger's voice grew closer, inching toward my hiding place, and my thoughts raced as I struggled to prepare for whatever horrifying fate awaited me next.