“I want to help you.”I took a step toward the table.
“You’re not well,”I continued, like I was explaining something simple.“We should fix that, don’t you think?”
His breathing picked up again, faster and messier. I reached the table, my fingers hovered over the objects for a second before closing around them. One hand gripped the hammer, the other the ice pick.
That’s when he really started the begging.
Words tripping over each other, tears mixing into it, his whole body straining against the restraints like he could pull himself out of it if he just tried hard enough. I turned back toward him, Zwierek met my eyes first, just for a second, but enough for him to understand, and he gave me a small nod as confirmation. He moved behind the chair, hands coming up to grip the man’s head, holding him in place no matter how much he twisted, no matter how hard he tried to pull away. I walked toward them, slowly, every step made him more frantic.“Please, please don’t, I didn’t, I swear,”
“Shhh…”I stopped in front of him, close enough that he couldn’t lean away any further even if he tried.“It’ll go a lot quicker if you just stay still.”
I raised the ice pick to his eye, positioning the tip up under his eyelid as I spoke.“So…”My voice dragged a little, like I was recalling something from far away, something I’d read a hundred times and never thought I’d actually use.“According to Walter Freeman’s method… the pick is supposed to go about two to three inches in, right through the thin bone behind the eye…”
I raised the hammer and gave the ice pick a firm, controlled tap. He screamed. It tore out of him in a way that didn’t sound human at first, too high, too desperate, his whole body jerking against the restraints like it might somehow undo what had already been done.
“I’m begging you, stop, STOP,”
“Shhh…”I exhaled softly through my nose, almost irritated, my grip steady as I leaned in.“Doctor… I’m trying to concentrate.”
He didn’t stop, of course he didn’t. The sound of him filled the room, bouncing off the walls, crawling under my skin, not in a way that pushed me away, but in a way that made everything feel… clearer. I continued anyway.
“When it’s in place…”I murmured, almost like I was explaining something to a class,“...you move it side to side to disconnect the frontal lobes.”
My movements obeyed my own instructions, the ice pick shifting first to the right, then to the left, as if to ensure a perfect result. The sound he made changed a little before it faded out, gradually, until there was nothing left. I stilled, hand still wrapped around the handle.
“... there we go,”I muttered, more to myself than anyone else, something almost satisfied slipping into my voice without permission.“That’s better.”
For a moment, I just stood there, looking at it, at him, at what was left of him. Then something nudged at the back of my mind.
“Although…”I added after a second, tilting my head again, studying it like I was checking my own work.“Maybe it should go a little deeper.”
A faint breath left me, something that almost resembled a quiet chuckle.
“Just to be sure.”I lifted the hammer again.“Remember, doctor…”I said, voice dropping just a little, almost gentle now.“This is for your own good.”
This time his body gave out completely. The tension left him all at once, like whatever had been holding him upright had simply stopped. I held it there for a second longer before letting go. The tool slid free and Zwierek released his grip at the same time, stepping back as the man’s weight sagged forward, held up only by the chair and the restraints. And just like that, there was nothing left of him.
The Confession
Chapter 27
We stayed in the house, like it had always been ours, like nothing underneath it was waiting, like the walls didn’t hold onto things they weren’t supposed to. And maybe that’s the strangest part of it all, little Ghost… how quickly something stops feeling wrong when you don’t let it.
The bed I slept in was soft. Clean sheets, still faintly warm the first night, like they’d been used recently, like someone had just gotten up and would be back any minute. I slept for hours. Proper sleep, not the kind where your body never fully lets go, not the kind you get in places like that cabin where every little sound keeps you half awake.
We didn’t talk about it much, we didn’t need to.
Zwierek handled everything the same way he always did, efficient in that way that made it seem like it had already been decided long before it happened. Phones, messages, small details that would’ve slipped past anyone else, he covered all of it. They were “sick.” That’s what people were told. A bad stomach bug. The kind of thing people don’t question because they don’t want details. And let’s be honest for a second, who the fuck actually wants details about someone’s stomach problems? Okay, never mind, there are definitely some shady people out there who would, but you get the point.
He texted their colleagues, short answers, believable enough to close conversations quickly. Even the kids, he replied just enough to keep it normal. It worked. Days passed and nothing broke, no one showed up, and everything kept moving like it hadn’t been interrupted. A part of me really wanted it to stay like that. I started thinking about it a lot. What it would be like ifwe didn’t leave. You’d like it there, I think. Not the basement, of course, but the rest of it.
The way the morning light came through the kitchen window, soft enough that it didn’t hurt your eyes when you’d just woken up. The way everything was already there. Food, warmth, space that didn’t feel like it was closing in on you. You’d fit into it too easily.
The smell started after a couple of days.
I don’t think we noticed it at first, or maybe we did and just decided not to pay attention to it. It crept in slowly, like something seeping through cracks you couldn’t see, thick and sweet in a way that didn’t belong anywhere near something living. Not rot immediately, no, that came later, but something heavier, something damp. After that, it changed.
There’s a point where it stops being something you question and just becomes part of the air. That’s what it did. As long as the basement door stayed shut, and the kitchen door too, it didn’t travel far. It stayed contained. Trapped down there with them. Which means they weren’t alone, at least.
