Page 32 of How Does It Feel?

The Dungeon

Callie

It has been two weeks since I woke up in the dungeon. Unless my calculations were off. I was going off tally marks on the wall and tracking the guards’ shift changes.

At first, all I did was cry. I must’ve sat at the large iron bars of my cell and cried for days.

No one came to save me.

The police never came.

Earl, Cecelia, and Cliff never barged in, knocking down iron bars to set me free. My family never burst through the stone wall of my cell to get me out.

I never rose up in a sterile hospital bed to find my family surrounding me.

Deep in the marrow of my bones—something instilled in me since I was a child—assured me that someone would come and save me. That some type of guardians would come to help me, the police or firemen, the army or the FBI, perhaps a hidden sector of the government that I had never heard of before.

Someone would show up to help me.

A familiar face would suddenly arrive and draw me into a firm hug. My nose would fill with scents of comfort and safety from being smashed against their shoulder hastily. They would wipe my tears and tell me everything would be okay, that I would be safe. They would squeeze me tightly. The very moment their arms circled me, the tension would wane from my muscles because I would know that I was safe and that they would take care of me—that no one else could hurt me.

But no one ever came.

Sitting in the dark, alone in the small cell, I thought my mind had left me. That I had gone mad like Earl.

Days on end, I fasted, refusing myself the small meals of rice and bread I was given in the glorified hope of detoxing my body from whatever hallucinogen must be in my system.

Maybe I just hadn’t woken up yet?

I wouldn’t give up. For the family I still had, I would do whatever I needed to so I could return to them.

My name is Callie Peterson. I am a proud environmentalist and biological technician. I was walking through the forest to get my microscope when I stumbled upon an anomaly of luna moths and a perfect circle of destroying angel mushrooms. After stepping into the ring of mushrooms, everything else became . . . less real. I live at 4313 Sassafras Road, Willow Springs, Michigan. My name is Callie Peterson. Proud environmentalist and biological technician, walking through the forest to get my microscope, when I stumbled upon an anomaly of luna moths and a perfect circle of destroying angel mushrooms. I live at 4313 Sassafras Road, Willow Springs, Michigan.

I’ve repeated this back to myself hundreds of times a day, needing to be certain I would remember when I woke up in the hospital and they asked me what I remembered last.

I pressed my back against the cold stone of the damp dungeon wall, and the rigid rock dug through my filthy black dress and into my skin. I closed my eyes with relief at the feeling. Any feeling other than fear and worry.

My hands had been chained together by large iron brackets with a long, heavy chain that hung to my knees in between. The always cold metal bit into my wrists painfully, but again I welcomed the pain as a reminder that I was still alive enough to feel something.

There were no windows, no cracks that enabled me to see the sunshine outside, though a part of me doubted the sun would ever bother to shine here. Everything I had seen and heard reeked of gloom and darkness.

The dungeon was an accumulation of small cells with dirty stone and brick walls, each sealed in with a set of foreboding iron bars. Inhuman cries and noises echoed from the neighboring cells every hour. No one but the guards spoke. Everything was filthy and covered in a grimy brown tinge. The space was so dark you could only see a few squares of amber light on the stone floor as the hall torch shone through the bars of my cage. The only light in the cell besides that was a tiny sliver in the brick. The small fissure appeared to lead to a hallway or other room with a fire or torch of some kind that lit its interior. It was a small break in the wall, and the most I could see was a flickering change of light if I pressed my eyes against it long enough.

Shortly after I had found the crack, I was determined to find a way out. I spent all my time devising plans and working out theories on how I could tear down the wall and escape.

The only people I ever saw were the guards that commanded the dungeon or put the food plate in my room. If they hadn’t decided to eat it in front of me that day.

Most of the time, they wore thick black armor that almost covered them completely like reapers and solid boots that beat loudly against the stone floor as they walked up and down, occasionally pissing or shouting into the cells. The cries and curses of the others would quiet in a slow wave as they passed the cells, the cries growing louder once they passed.

A few would regularly stop and stare into the bars of my cell. They never spoke to me, but I heard what they said to each other. From what I had gathered, they were Fae but not the good kind. It sounded like they were closer to hell as far as the fairy realms went. I had only heard mention of the Seelie and Unseelie Fae realms, which is where I was, and as far as I could tell, they despised each other. The Unseelie seemed to hate the Seelie Fae even more than they hated humans, though, from a few conversations I’d overheard between two of the younger guards, no one hated humans more than the Smoke Slayers—the prince and queen of the Unseelie court. From my eavesdropping, humans were even seen as an exotic sexual delicacy by several of the other royals. Lovely.

One night I was startled awake by a snarl.

One of the guards stood outside the large wall of iron bars, nothing visible but a giant silhouette that peered into my cell. At first, I thought the snarls had come from him, but immediately two other guards flashed to his side, appearing out of thin air to grab his arms and pull him away.

I noticed the short guard from the day prior lying on the floor in a heap of armor, snarling wildly in pain. That had been the sound that roused me.

The guard that towered outside my cell cried.