Mr. Hades | By: Anni Miglita | | Category: Short Story - Dramatizing Bookmark and Share

Mr. Hades

Mr. Hades

                I wince as he rips the locket of my neck. I fumble around the kitchen, looking for an object that can potentially be useful. He pins me against the wall, grabbing hold of my neck.

                “D….derek…….stop.” It comes out in whispers.

                “STOP? Hmmm? I couldn’t hear you! Maybe you should speak louder.” He smirks as he holds on tighter. His ring is cold. His hand his cold. His eyes are cold. The ice you can see forming in them. The monster that he has become.             

                I scratch him on the left side of the face, causing him to loosen his grip. I reach down quickly and pick up the locket, shoving it in my pocket. He gains his composure, and punches me square in the stomach, causing me to double over onto the floor.

                “Awwwww. Allison. What a shame! You might have been able to run away, and yet, instead you save your little locket.” He giggles as he pins both my arms to the floor.

                He drags me up by my head with one hand, while the other hand is holding my two hands behind my back. His hands are five times bigger than mine. I always used to giggle as he would try to hold my hand, then retreat his hand back into his pocket for he was scared he would crush my fingers.

                The memory makes me shiver.

                “Is it too cold in MY kitchen, Allison? Is MY heat not on high enough for you?”

                He punches the wall, leaving a gap the size of my head. He lifts me up, and brings me to the couch. The rope is lying on the table, ready with a knife and camera. He grabs the rope, and wraps it around my hands. I struggle and kick, but it’s no use. The rope is tied.  He pushes me towards the couch, motioning me to take a seat. He reaches his camera, and presses ‘Play’.

                “Oh, shit. I forgot the tape.” He sets the camera down back onto the table.  He reaches in his pocket and then pulls out a small roll of electrical tape. He rips off a piece, and tapes it over my mouth.

                “Hey honey. Can you tell me why you love me?” He grins.

                “Hmph yumphgimph!” I say. The tape is on too tight.

                “Good.” He winks. He picks up the camera and turns on the lamp. I recognize that lamp. The lamp I got him for his birthday a week ago. It adjusts to the angle you desire. He always complained that it was too dark and the old lamp just shined a light on the ceiling, which was pretty useless.  I glance around the room. Was it always this dirty? The entry way to the kitchen has scratches running up the side of it. The TV was on the floor. The couch I was sitting on was worn out, with a couple of holes on the side.

                “Smile, babe!” He pushes the button, and the red light starts blinking.


Was this one of his sick games?  Kill people and then take pictures for the world to see? If I knew who he was before I went out with him….I would have never been here.

                He leans away from the camera and mouths the words ‘It’s a video.’

                “So, Allison. Tell me what you do for a living. Let the people watching know.” He zooms up on my face.

                “Guphm humph.” I try smiling, hoping that the tape will fall off. No luck.

                “Oh, right. You can’t.” He laughs. “Since she can’t, I’ll tell you folks.”

                He aims the camera at his face.

                “That’s Allison. She’s my girlfriend. …WAS my girlfriend. She was born September 27th, 1989. Her dad left her and her mom when she was 4. She likes spaghetti and Lobster. Oh, god! I’m getting a little off track here! Silly me. I’m here for one job and one job only!” He looks at me and cocks his chin. “Mr. Hades, this is the girl!” He yells. He turns the camera back at me.

                Mr. Hades? Why does that sound so familiar?

                A shadow starts to appear on the left side of the room. A man in a dark coat walks from behind the entryway to the couch. Towards me. His burlap hat hangs over his head, concealing much of his face. His long black trench coat drags on the floor, his shoes scuffling on the wood. His left hand is in his pocket, fiddling with something the size of a pen. I glare at him as we walks closer. In an effort to try and make him reveal his face, I wiggle and squirm and make ungodly noises. I glance back at him, and scream.


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