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“No, I’m not ready to die! Please,” Evan begs.
Gruesome ignores him and flips the switch to activate the chair, and Evan screams and pisses himself. I can’t actually let him die; when you die in a dream, you wake up. But I can scare him more than even Libra knows. She’s too kind-hearted to actually let any of these devices hurt him, but I don’t mind letting him think a few jolts of electricity have run through him. Physically, he’ll be fine when he wakes up.
“Make it stop!” he shouts, his teeth chattering, and I relent before it goes too far.
Gruesome disappears with another cackle and a woman strolls into the room.
She’s wearing an old-fashioned red dress, complete with a ruffled skirt and a bustle. Her dark hair is pinned up in an elaborate confection, and from behind, she seems like a beauty. But when she turns to Evan, his face goes pale. I snicker, because I know what he’s just seen. Grim’s face is a blank, a vast blackness where her features should be.
Without a word, she unties him and takes his hand, leading him to the adjoining room, where the pendulum awaits. As soon as he sees it, he begins to struggle against her, but he’s no match for Grim’s strength. Despite his wriggles, she buckles him to the table beneath the swinging axe, makes sure it’s activated and lowering by degrees, then waits.
“Let me go!” he shouts.
Grim’s voice is a hollow echo that suits her blank face. “Why? Will you atone?”
“Atone for what?”
“If you do not know your sins, I cannot help you. You are alone here, to reckon with your fate.” She points at the axe and then walks away without a backward glance.
“What is that thing?” Libra whispers.
“It’s designed to slowly lower down as it swings, slicing into his torso. Eventually it will completely sever him, but it takes a while for that to happen. Of course, we won’t actually let him die here. There are too many other rooms for him to experience.”
“Like what?”
“Whatever you want. Name some forms of execution.”
Libra thinks for a moment. “Lethal injection, firing squad, gas chamber. Crucifixion. Stoning. Hanging. Oh, guillotine!”
I stare at her, impressed. She has quite the mind for horror.
Evan is shaking and sweating, calling out for help. But I’m in control of this dream, and help won’t be coming. The only ones to answer his pleas are the demons. His fear is delicious, enough to feed me and my minions with this one nightmare.
Right on cue, Grotesque appears. Her body is that of a hippo with human arms, and while her face is human-like, it’s covered in hundreds of lethal spikes. Her eyes are red, her claws are sharp, and in general, she dislikes men.
Evan is no match for her.
“You called?” she says.
“Did I?” Evan looks terrified.
“You asked for help. I was the only one to hear your plea.”
“Yes,” he says eagerly. The axe has lowered enough now that it gives him a tiny cut with each loping swing. Dots of blood are beginning to seep out, like a particularly grisly red belt. “Get me out of here.”
“If I help you, what will you give me?” she asks.
Evan looks at her and tries—unsuccessfully—to keep the revulsion off his face.
“Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want. Just undo me!”
Grotesque cocks her head like a curious bird. “You should know better than to make an offer like that. Especially to one of my kind.”
“I don’t know what you are. You said you were here to help me!”
Grotesque laughs, a truly off-putting sound. “No. I said I was the only one who heard your cry. Those are not the same thing.”
“Please. I swear I’ll give you anything!”
