I had a dream that night. I was high, high up in the air, in a balloon, or maybe in the mouth. It was night, it was freezing. There were so many stars in the sky, so many that it was blinding. And I was being chased. No. I was being caught. It’s only a chase if one can escape. I was being caught by something that moves below. By something from down there. It was cold, the stars were blinding. Something down there. Down. Down. Down. Down. Down. Down. Down. Down. Down?

I was awoken by my cage flooding.

The inquisitor stepped back, set down his bucket. “Wakey, wakey, freak. The Confessor will be seeing you soon.”

“Wow, rude! You could’ve donated that water to Africa. Insensitive prick.”

“Shut up.” He set a tray of brown sludge in front of me. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

I inspected the tray of shit in the dark after the watery inquisitor left. It had the chunky, liquidy texture of sewage, and smelled like my aunt’s diarrhea. Disgusting. The hospitality in the dungeon was far from satisfactory, and the food was nauseating to my refined palate. And they didn’t even provide any cutlery. How was I expected to eat this?

“Psst. Hey, new guy,” whispered the infinite darkness to my left.

“Oh, hey, what’s up?” I answered, in the general direction of the voice.

“Probably torture and death. You?”

“Oh cool, same.”

“I tried to get your attention last night, but you fell asleep like freakishly fast.”

“Yeah, I fall asleep really fast in the dark. Mom says I’m like a parrot or something. Doctor says it’s a life-threatening condition. What are you in for?”

“The usual. Heresy, witchcraft, murder, grand theft auto, shoplifting.”

“You did all that?”

“Of course not! That’s what makes me so angry, you know? Why would I steal a car? I don’t even have my licence.”

“Dang girl, I feel you. People are so prejudiced these days. It’s 2015, you’d think people would be more accepting by now. Turns out you can’t even be a deformed troll-like creature in public without being arrested. So much for progress.”

“Right? By the way, I never got your name. I’m Kaitlyn Gonehome, investigative journalist and professional witch. But you can call me Katie.”

“Oh, right. I’m Brad, imminent genius and underappreciated personality. I’ll probably be famous later. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice meeting you too! By the way, are you gonna eat that?” The infinite darkness known as Katie probably gestured toward my tray of diarrhea. I don’t know, I couldn’t really see anything at this point. “The Confessor’s trying to starve a confession out of me, and I’m tired of eating dust and my own hair.”

“Oh no, go for it. Careful though, the food here’s pretty sketchy. Don’t blame me if you get food poisoning.” I inched the plate along in her direction through the doors of my doggie cage.

“Thanks man! Not really worried about food poisoning right now, but I appreciate the warning.”

“No worries, just looking out for you. That’s what makes me so kind.”

Katie dove into the sludge like a starving buzzard to my pet cat Daffodil who got run over by a car last summer rest in peace Daffodil you will always be missed. “Hey, can I ask you a huge favour?” said Katie between loud gulps of diarrhea.

“Of course! I’m incredibly giving and selfless, after all.”

“Even better!” Katie took another slurp. “So, if we ever get out of this dungeon alive, could you marry me?”

“Sure. But I’ve never been married before, you might have to show me the ropes.”

“Oh no problem, it’s super simple. Gets easier with practice obviously.”

“Cool, cool. So, why do you ask?”

“Long story, but I’ve been cursed to marry the first man to show me kindness. I’ll tell you more if we get out.”

Just then, Katie was interrupted by the closet door slamming open. My eyes, adjusted to a life without light, screamed in agony. “Get up, freak. The confessor wants to chat.” He unlocked my cage and chained up my hands and feet. Then he saw the licked-clean tray. “Wait. You ate that?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I did. Eat all of that. By myself. Why, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, uh, nothing.”

“I love you,” whispered Katie from the darkness.

“I love you too.” The inquisitor gave me a weird look, but what did he know of love?

The room was pretty bland as far as torture chambers go. It was mostly empty save for a table full of surgical equipment, two braziers, and a recently dead horse decomposing in the corner.

“The Confessor will see you soon,” said the inquisitor as he tied me to the surgical table. Then he left.

Confessor Killy resembled a rotting crab-apple, both in size and appearance. She smelled like old books and had a voice like settling oaks. When she was wheeled in by a masked servant, she smiled at me like grandmothers do. “Well hello dear, I’m so glad to finally meet you!”, she said, “This might sound strange coming from your torturer, but I’m a big admirer of your work.”

“A fan, huh? Well, you’re not the first, lady.”

“Well gee, I’d sure hope not! The ways you killed those people were brilliant!”

“Excuse me?”

“I never even thought to hang someone by their own trachea before! Devilishly ironic! You give an old woman hope, my dear.”

“Whoa, wait. First, pretty sure it’s not physiologically possible to hang someone with their own trachea. Second, I didn’t kill anybody!”

“You don’t need to lie around me, dear! Nothing wrong with a few murders now and then. It’s horrible the prejudice against murderers these days.” She picked a syringe filled with yellow solution off the table. “Such a shame, you might’ve gotten away with it too had you not been targeting testicallers.”

“I didn’t target nobody, lady!”

“Well, we’ll see about that. Now pay attention, this is how this works. You are in my dungeon, dear, and you will stay here until you confess your murders. If you confess, you will get to leave and meet a relatively quick death.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“You will be impaled through your rectum to your mouth, and set out in the courtyard for two days. Then, your still living body will be burned to the bone. Your burnt skeleton will decorate the courtyard for the rest of time, as a testament to your failure.”

“Never mind, I don’t like that very much. What’s the other option?”

“The other option is you stay silent, and we sew you into that horse.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“You will stay inside the horse for the next week or so while it slowly rots around you. Maggots will burrow into your paralyzed flesh and eat you from the inside out. Your exposed head will be slathered in milk and honey and laid next to a colony of red ants.”

“Actually, I don’t like that either.”

“You will be kept fed and hydrated via intravenous injection. A cocktail of medications will keep you conscious at all times. You will be staying in the horse until you confess, at which point you will be impaled, burned, and displayed.”

“Okay. So that’s not much better than the first.”

“It’s objectively worse, I’d say,” said Confessor Killy.

“What if I’m innocent? What if I didn’t kill anybody?”

“We both know you’re not innocent, dear.” She shot me a wink. “I know a murderer when I see one. So, what will it be?”

“I don’t know what kind of vile scum you deal with, lady, but I’m a man of principle and honor. I killed nobody, and I’m won’t conform to your or society’s standards.”

“So you’re staying silent?”

“Bitch, you better just kill me, because I ain’t saying shit.”

Confessor Killy laughed. “Well, aren’t you a feisty one! Almost a shame I have to break you. Eugene?” The masked servant stood the attention. “Be a dear and shave his left forearm for me? Anterior, please.” The razor clicked on and minutes later there was a patch of black hairs on the ground. Confessor Killy swabbed my naked arm with rubbing alcohol and injected me with the yellow solution. Applied a band-aid. I felt my arm grow slack almost immediately. Soon after, the rest of my body followed. “You’ve just been injected with Barbas extract, a favourite of mine. The natives indigenous to the area used it to hunt cougars. It paralyzes skeletal muscles but leaves afferent neurons untouched. You’ll be able to hurt and scream all you like, my dear.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“So, when’ll you be sewing me into the horse?”

“Oh, I won’t be sewing you into the horse.”

“Really? Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah, arthritis is a bitch, I’ll tell you that! No, my assistant will.”

Her assistant entered the room. He was eight-foot-tall and wore nothing but a pink latex thong, mask, and some tassels clipped to his nipples. “Prisoner, meet my assistant, Lucifer.”

Lucifer cracked his whip and licked his lips. “Hope you like pain, bitch.”