“Forty Days” by Shayley Stager

Day Forty

I couldn’t take it any longer. She has gone too far this time. I hit the glass separating us. Nothing. I struck it again, and again, bruising my knuckles until they started bleeding. The glass broke and I reached in and grabbed her hair, then her neck. With every curse my grip grew tighter. Never again. I won’t take it any longer. I lost my hold and she fell to the floor.

“Dr. Blake! Dr. Blake!”

I screamed. They were grabbing me and dragging me across the room, with their slimy hands all over my body, shinning their lasers into my eyes, blinding me. All I could see was white. And red. Red blood.

“Dr. Blake! Dr. Blake!”

They must have thought I was Dr. Blake.

Day Thirty-eight

“I hate you! I’ve always hated you! You think you help people. Just look at you! You can’t even help yourself! You’ll never amount to anything. You don’t matter! You’re pathetic! I hate you! You hate you.” She had finally finished, and was panting as she looked at me through our conjoined window. She was lucky there was a thick wall separating us or I would have—

Wait, Mary. Breathe. Breathe. She laughed at me, revealing her ugly, yellow teeth. I cringed. Her words were familiar, reminding me of childhood. And my father. I hated him.

 Day Thirty-four

I traced over the engraved message on the dingy white wall of my cell.

Mary Anne Blake

Age 27

Psychologist

Abducted

Tortured

The girl in the window started screaming.

I covered my ears, but it didn’t drown out the shrill of her scream. Make it stop. Make it STOP. I was thankful, knowing that her voice would only hold out for so long. I banged on the window several times. She had no right. I had been a captive longer. I had more to scream about. But I had not allowed myself to give in to that. You can do this Mary. Remain calm. Breathe. Breathe.

I stared into the window. Her voice died out, but she had started throwing herself against the wall. Stop! Remain calm! It would do no good. They had broken her. They. The creatures.

Day Thirty-three

They were shape shifters, I was sure. They were horrible, slimy creatures. I had not actually seen them, but I knew. I could hear their awful laughing in my ear. The sound would make my stomach tighten and my chest hurt. Stop! How I wished I could break their necks and escape from this hell. I looked around me. The walls were white, and cracked. Spiders hung from the ceiling, watching my every move and mocking me with their freedom to come and go as they pleased. I didn’t trust them.

Screaming interrupted the silence. I tore my fingers through my hair. Oh! Would it ever end?

To keep myself sane, I started scratching out some notes of a psychological study I had started before I was abducted and brought here. That was years ago.

Day Twenty-six

Today I met the girl in the window. Funny thing is, I hadn’t noticed the window of my cell before then. In my defense, it was in the strangest location. Three feet above the ground. I was elated. I wouldn’t be alone anymore. The girl looked tired. I studied her for several minutes, until she stalked towards the window and stared right back at me.  Her hair was matted, her skin dirty and blotchy, there were scratch marks all over her body from her nails, her clothes were torn.

“Hello.” My voice sounded foreign. When was the last time I had actually spoken aloud?

She continued to stare.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hello, my name is Mary. What’s yours?”

 Day Twelve

How long have I been here? Weeks? Months? Years, even? When would it end? I could feel my mind slipping from me. Just the other day, I saw an apple tree, growing right out of the floors in the middle of the room. Several others started to sprout up. The fruit looked amazing, and I was tired of the same, old food packages I had been receiving. With every step I took towards the beautiful grove, the trees would shrink inside themselves. Eventually, they withered and then completely disappeared as soon as I got close enough to almost touch the fruit on its now, spindly branches. I cried for several hours afterwards. When would it end? When would it ever end?

Day Six

They transported me from earth and brought me to some strange alien planet. There aren’t any windows, so I can’t prove that it is true. But I am sure of it. From the first day I could smell it. I was also sure that I was no longer breathing Earth oxygen. This was something different. Thinner, and it tasted like the color red. It burned my throat. I tried yelling to the aliens from outside, but I don’t think they could hear me.

“Hello! I know you’re out there. I come in peace.”

Day Four

There’s been this strange, high-pitched buzzing sound in my ear all day. I’ve tried everything to get rid of it, but it just won’t go away. And I think the room has shrunk a couple feet. I could tell because it normally takes me exactly twenty-two steps to reach the sink from my bed, but today it only took me nineteen. I did this several times to make sure. Nineteen. The room must be shrinking.

Day Three

I hate this. I knocked on the slightly camouflaged door in the wall.

“Okay. I get it. I’m done. Let me out. I’m sorry I couldn’t last more than three days, but I’m done.”

I won’t be able to go, however. I have signed my life away for the next forty—well, thirty-seven days now. There is no escaping this.

Come now Mary. You’re a psychiatrist. You’re better than this. Just breathe.

Day Two

I didn’t make any progress on my book. All I could do was stare at it. It is too quiet here. I tried to detect any hint of noise from outside. Nothing. Just myself surrounded by whiteness. Everything was white, except the mirror.

Day One

The room is small, but clean. There is a small bed in one corner; in another is a toilet and sink behind a curtain for privacy; one door, no windows. I also noticed a small dingy mirror on one of the walls, about three feet above the ground. This will be my home for the next forty days.

This should be good. Forty days with good pay. I’ll be completely alone, which should be fine. I’ll be able to work on my book, and catch up on other reading.