The Attached

Together

Eight years ago...

  "Help!"

  "Help us!"

  "Somebody! Can anyone hear us?!"

  "We're stuck in here! We're trapped! We can't get out!"

  "HELP US!"

  The boy named Noah and I screamed and shouted as loud as we could, until our throats began to swell up and hurt. Screaming at the top of our lungs, shouting at the ceiling above us in the dark bunker, trying to get our voices heard. Trying to get someone to hear us. We had no clue where this underground basement was, if it was in a house or outside. Hoping desperately it was somewhere outside, and a passer-by would be able to hear our cries for help almost immediately. However the longer we screamed, the more our hope diminished, as our calls went unanswered.

"It's no use. No one can hear us," Noah sighed hopelessly, resting his arms on top of his head as he paced away from underneath the bunker door, back towards the safeness of our beds sitting on the floor at the back of the room.

"Maybe we're just not yelling loud enough. We'll keep trying, it has to work—"

"It's been two years Matthew! We yell almost everyday and no one ever hears us! Forget it! This place is soundproof!" Noah interrupted me as he shouted louder, letting his frustration out as he kicked the sofa in anger before grabbing his foot. I stood there dumbstruck for awhile, watching him become apart as I walked back with him, and he collapsed onto his mattress as if giving up. He was right though, two years had gone by in this hell hole, and still no one knew we were there. Two years of isolation. Two years of hopelessness. Two years of doubt beginning to grow. Two years of torture, the memory that came back to haunt us everyday. Ourselves being put into full holt and alertness when the creak of the bunker door opening, watching his fold-up ladder untwine and dangle down beneath the ground as Michael would visit us. Scared stiff, not being able to move as we saw his grimy face, that sick look in his eyes as we knew what was coming next, but always hoped it wouldn't. The shear terror that bolted us like lightning, only seeing Michael come to pay his captives a visit. The hours some days he spent down there, our cries for help going unanswered, as if no one cared we were down there. Two ten year old boys locked up, suffering through pain no one should have to experience, let alone kids. The hours Noah and I would spend comforting each other when Michael left, talking things through, sharing our hurt with each other. Sharing that pain with each other, taking some off, and caring each other's hurt. And I was thankful for at least having Noah there, not being alone in this disturbing place.

Noah remained lying on his mattress that was pushed next to mine, his new sweatpants Michael had gotten him dragging behind on the floor. I too joined him, plunking down on my bed, leaning my head against the concrete wall. The two of us lied there for a long time in the silence, the blue lighted lanterns glowing along on a hook attached to the ceiling, and some placed around the room. Michael had given us more recently, realizing the place was still rather dark for us with only four or five lanterns. Although even if we did brighten the room up down there, the darkness from the past two years didn't go away like in the room. Not even close. You couldn't erase the memories, the haunting and excruciating recollection of the occurrences that happened in this wide room underground. There was no getting rid of the thoughts, the feelings of the room. They were stuck with us, like how we were chained to this very isolated bunker.

The two heaters blasting in corners of the room, much needed warmth we desired. Michael had installed the plug-in heaters in the bunker awhile ago, realizing just how cold it could become down there. With the two heaters, or at least one running at all times, the room was much warmer, the heat comforting in its tiniest form, however the basement was still nearly not as happy, or comforting as my life I once had back home. Empty rat traps were placed in the corner of the rooms, just waiting for the mice I knew were present down to be lured in, killing them instantly. Something I had become obsessed with lately. How unfair that those mice and rats can be taken out of this hole so easily, by a quick process, and their death came soon. If Michael was going to kill Noah and I, why didn't he just get it over with? That way, we wouldn't be suffering these long days, no ending in sight as the days dragged on, some longer than others as he would come down here, damaging us beyond repair. His touch burning and his presence scorching all on its own. The devil himself almost, as no soul was present behind those dark eyes of his. He wasn't even a human being. More of an animal, with sick needs and games he thought were fun, only to him. Noah and I holding in our tears until he left, ourselves there to pick up the pieces of our destroyed childhood at the end of each visit, on days he was feeling more needy. Why was he like that? Why us? Why Noah and I? What made us so special to him? Why couldn't he just let us go? Why couldn't he be like a regular, normal human being? Why couldn't he be sane? How could he do the things to us, not feeling the slightest bit of guilt at all? What was wrong with him? How could a man in his thirties find so much delight in ten year old boys? What made him this why? Why did he have to hurt us? What did he get out of all this? What were we to him? What did he think about when he peered at us? Were we just some random kids he plucked off the street like flowers? Random kids to do whatever he wanted with? Or did we mean something to him? Would he ever get rid of us? Or would we be locked with him forever?