Thieves Never Win Part 2

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{photo credit goes to http://torturemuseum.net/en/the-heretics-fork/}

Anton pulled himself away from the painting. The man’s pain in the painting was almost palpable, as if it wasn’t just a painting, but a man actually being torn apart. Anton went to look where he came from, ready to just get out of this place, when he saw something that hadn’t been there before. Before him was a wall, perfectly solid as if it had always been there.

Anton began running down the hallway, hoping against hope that he’d find a way out of this horrible place. As he neared the end of the hall, he slowed to a stop. Another wall. He was trapped.

He turned to look behind him but began to feel sick. The wall that was behind him had followed him down the hall, blocking his way back to freedom. Anton punched the wall angrily. “Why is this happening to me,” he asked, crestfallen. He sighed and slumped against it, thinking he’d been damned. This is a punishment. I’m being punished for doing the things I do.

After about an hour, Anton looked up and noticed yet another strange thing. He’d ran until only one painting was left. This one, unlike the other horrible things he had seen, was black as night. Anton got up and walked over to it, wondering why it was empty and lifeless. Again he felt that pull, that odd sensation that made him feel like the painting was trying to tell him something.

He sat there staring for what seemed like an eternity. As he stared, he started seeing thing slowly come into view, almost like a camera being focused. The first thing he noticed was the head.  There was no face, no hair, no features to speak of in fact. The mans head was, however, tilted upward to the sky. It was almost as if he was admiring the stars.

As soon as the thought occurred to Anton, his hopefulness was dashed. As the man’s neck formed, a black band appeared around it. A fork shaped iron bar appeared running perpendicular to the band. It had two spikes at each end, the top piercing the underside of the man’s head, beneath his chin. The bottom part was pressed down, jabbing into the man’s collarbone. Anton felt choked up, almost as if a collar was around his neck.

He also noticed, right where the man’s eyes should’ve been, were two bright orange lights, with what appeared to be smoke flying out of them. Anton began to back away. He’d just watched something horrible appear out of nothing. He just wanted out!

He started banging on the wall desperately, hoping that someone would come and help. Behind him, he heard a gurgling sound. He looked back and saw black sludge pouring from the painting. Anton backed against the wall, unsure what to do. He frantically screamed for help. His eyes widened as the sludge took the form of a large black hand. The last thing Anton saw was the black ooze hand grabbing his face, and yanking him into the painting.

 

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