by Jordan
The footage is grainy and the picture unclear. The details of the tiny figure convulsing on screen are difficult to make out, but the writhing agony etched across his face is painfully clear. Our room is silent, but the screams emitting from his grotesquely twisting mouth still reverberate through my bones. His contorted body jolts sideways, and he reaches towards the camera with an arm bent at an impossible angle, as if somehow aware we are watching.
We stand motionless, shoulders pressed together, eyes glued to the outdated technology in front of us. I feel her take a slow, shaky breath beside me. My fingers ache from the tension in my fists.
His spasming body collapses onto the floor, still. We hold our breath. For a minute that stretches into eternity, nothing happens.
“There!” My finger presses against the screen, and we lean in to be sure.
His eyes have opened.
As the body begins awkwardly shifting, she suddenly looks to me and whispers, “You locked that door, right?” Her eyes widen at the look of horror spreading across my face. We turn slowly back to the flickering image.
The room is empty.
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