creepypasta origins

The Cage

WARNINGS: RITUALISH

The cage has been passed down since before written record. It moves from mother to daughter in a silent ceremony. The bars of the cage still glisten with what gold remains untarnished. The rest has fallen victim to that serial murderer known as age. The lean door still opens and closes; dust from ancient beings loosed from its hinges. Dust, after all, is just the cells of dead skin. And the cage has seen many deaths.

Right now the cage is waiting for Amelia. Amelia has barely grasped the concept of life outside herself. Her world is full of familiar rooms and hallways. She is occupied by the faces of her family, and the three husk dolls she plays with. Their names are Squeak, Bite, and Dry. A sheltered life is all she has ever known. It is better this way. It makes it easier.

Amelia has left her room. She takes Squeak with her. Bite and Dry gaze enviously out of their vacant, dead eyes. The hallway is softly lit by candlelight. It flickers against the white satin of Amelia's gown. This is the most extravagant dress she will ever wear. It falls plainly like a sack against her body.

I am awake and sitting in the pitch darkness of the living room. This night has been long in the making. I sit the way my mother must have sat, alone and aloof, awaiting the presence of her daughter. I both dread and welcome this night. I live with the contradiction as so many women have before me.

Amelia enters. She stands in the blackness.

"Are you ready?" My voice does not quiver.

"I will do as the prophet wishes." She clutches Squeak close to her chest.

"And if the prophet wishes for you to die?"

"I will do as the prophet wishes." Amelia knows these words by heart.

I rise from my position and light a lantern beside me. The room erupts in orange light. It bathes Amelia in a harsh glow. Her plain gown seems almost alive as it reflects the licking fire. She has turned Squeak's head so it is looking at her face. I feel a stab of pity.

The cage sits on the floor of the room. It is only three feet high and half that wide. It might be confused for a dog kennel if it weren't for the ornate gold bars. In the many generations before me this cage must have been a marvel. It must have glittered and gleamed. But now the pageantry has been dulled. The years have carved their initials onto the beauty that once was.

Even still, it is a sight to behold. Especially for Amelia.

The lantern light has beckoned to my husband and the young man he has with him. They enter the room with greedy smiles. My husband has waited so long for this ceremony. He does not try to hide his excitement. The boy is less sure. He is about 20 or so. He is completely clean shaven and wears a wide brim hat that does little to hide his nervousness.

I light more candles so the room feels warm. Amelia still holds that husk doll as though it might change what is about to happen. She has turned Squeak's face so it is now staring at me.

When I speak, my voice is clear and unwavering. "I have asked the girl if she is ready to do the prophet's bidding. She has agreed."

The boy shifts uncomfortably. My husband places a heavy hand on his shoulder.

I speak again, "Now I ask the boy. Are you ready?"

He clears his throat. "Yes."

"You wish to wed this girl?"

"Yes." His face becomes bit hungrier now. He can see Amelia's body beneath her gown. He has heard couples making love. The boy can still hear the cries of ecstasy. He wants to add his voice to those of the lovers.

I brush my hand along the cage. "This cage represents the bonds of marriage. They are unbreakable and can withstand even the thickest storm." I open the cage door. It makes a low rumble as the bars free themselves.

The boy starts to shake with anticipation. "How long must she stay in there?" He is new to our village. He comes from Amish country to the north. We receive many former Amish men looking for a place similar to their homes. We welcome them. They make perfect husbands.

"The virgin shall remain in the cage until the time of consummation." I beckon to Amelia. She steps forward. "Do you wish to please the prophet?"

"I will do as the prophet wishes." She has turned Squeak's face so it now glares at the cage.

"And you?" I turn to the boy, who is pushed forward by my husband. "Do you wish to please?"

"Yes," he says breathlessly. "Yes."

I put my arms around them both, feeling their individual heartbeats. "Then let the prophet's will be done."

Carefully I release my grip on Amelia and use both hands to shove the boy into the cage. Before he can protest I have closed the door and locked it. This is not my first time.

The cage is just small enough where the boy cannot stand but he also cannot sit. Instead he crouches awkwardly, pressed against the bars. He is angry. "What is going on?"

"The cage represents marriage," I say smoothly. "The virgin will be released upon consummation."

"I thought SHE was going in here! I am the man, the husband."

"You are the breeding sow," I respond. My husband falls to his knees, tears in his eyes.

"Is this the one?" he asks. "Am I free to go now?"

I regard my husband carefully. He has been a good slave all these years. He has given me Amelia. He has brought her three previous suitors. Once she has selected a husband for herself, he will be a free man again. Perhaps he will find his way to the place of his birth. But until Amelia has picked a man, he is bound to me.

I remember when it was him locked in the cage. It took me two years to decide that he would be my husband. Two years in the cage made putty of his legs and mind. My own mother would feed him scraps from the table. She would poke him with sticks from the fire, laughing at his agony. I remember my father's impatience. The same impatience I see in my husband now.

The boy is crying and pleading with me, but I only have eyes for my daughter. Her three previous suitors were not to her liking. As is tradition, we made offerings out of their flesh. They were turned into three husk dolls for Amelia to play with. Her favorite, Squeak, was starved to death inside the tiny prison. At the end he could only make small whines to protest his death. But, like the others, he died behind the faded golden bars.

Amelia studies the boy. "He looks strong," she says causally. "He has a pretty face. Almost like a woman's."

"Could you stand looking at that face for many years to come?" I smile at her. She reminds me so much of myself. I too was picky when it came to my husband. In my bedroom sit nine husk dolls similar to the one in her arms.

"I think so, but I'm not sure." She looks to me. "Might I wait and decide?"

"You can wait as long as you need." I stroke her hair lovingly. "If he dies before you decide then we know it was not meant to be."

My husband is softly crying, realizing that his prison sentence will not be lifted on this night. The boy is pounding at the bars and screaming. I blow out the candles and leave the men to their sorrow. I walk Amelia back to her bedroom.

She sets Squeak on the shelf next to the others. Then she climbs into bed. I kiss her gently on the forehead.

"Is the prophet pleased with me?" she asks quietly.

"Very pleased," I respond.

She sighs happily and closes her eyes. I tuck her in and leave her. I can still hear the howls from the boy and the soft whimpers of my husband. But my mind is set in the future, when I am gone and my daughter will lead this congregation. I have no doubt she will make an excellent prophet, just as my mother was. Just as I am.

Author: Unknown

A/N Sorry i have not updated in a while!