The Lockdown...

Dear Readers,

A mental asylum was built with impenetrable walls of reinforced steel, locked doors that could withstand even the strongest blows, and guards trained to handle the worst of the worst. Even the Joker couldn’t Escape.

But….

Yet, on that cold November night, something changed. A storm raged outside, cutting off all communication and power. The asylum went dark, its fluorescent lights flickering before plunging into pitch-black silence.

The inmates stirred in their cells, some laughing, others screaming, and one… waiting. I sat in the corner of my padded cell, my scars illuminated by the occasional flashes of lightning through the narrow, barred window. The guards called me The Weaver because of the stories I spun about the things I could do if anyone ever underestimated me. They thought I was mad. They were wrong.

The emergency locks disengaged during the power outage. Cell doors creaked open, and chaos erupted. The guards scrambled to restore order, but I didn’t move with the other inmates. I stayed in my cell, waiting.

When one unfortunate guard opened my door, my lips curled into a grin.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I whispered.

The guard lunged with his baton, but I sidestepped, my movements unnaturally fast. In one swift motion, I grabbed the baton, twisting the guard’s wrist until it snapped like dry wood. The scream that followed echoed through the hallway, drowned out by my words:

“Don’t worry. You’re not locked in here with them. You’re locked in here with me.”

Then the Hunt Begins, I moved through the asylum like a shadow, unseen and unstoppable. I had waited years for this moment, memorizing the layout, studying the guards’ routines, and listening to the inmates’ darkest secrets. I turned their fears against them, whispering in the dark, luring them into traps.

One guard found himself cornered in the cafeteria. The room reeked of rotting food, and the long tables overturned. A single flashlight beam illuminated me standing at the far end, my face half-hidden in shadow.

“I always wondered,” I began, my voice low and venomous, “how brave you’d be without that uniform.”

The guard fired his taser, but I was already behind him, whispering, “Not brave enough.”

By the time the remaining guards barricaded themselves in the control room, they were drenched in sweat, their hands trembling on their weapons. The security cameras showed nothing but empty halls and flickering lights. One by one, the feeds went dark.

“Where is he?” one guard stammered.

As if in answer, the lights in the room cut out completely. A low chuckle echoed, chilling them to their cores.

“You thought you could lock me away,” my voice hissed from everywhere and nowhere. “But you only gave me a playground.”

The door burst open, and I stepped inside, my silhouette backlit by the dim red glow of the emergency lights. I held a jagged shard of glass, its edge stained dark.

“You can’t escape,” one guard screamed.

I smiled, stepping closer. “Escape? Oh no. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

When the storm cleared and authorities entered the asylum, they found nothing but silence. Blood-streaked walls told the story of a massacre, but no bodies were found. I was gone, leaving behind a single message scrawled in blood across the control room wall:

“You’ll never lock me away again.”

Reflection

The story of Mr. Jacque is a grim reminder of the power of the human psyche, twisted and unleashed without restraint. It begs the question: what happens when we underestimate the capacity for evil within someone? Jacque wasn’t born a monster; he was forged by a world that ignored the warning signs and confined him in a place where his rage could fester.

The phrase “I’m not locked in here with you; you’re locked in here with me” encapsulates the horror of realizing too late that the roles of predator and prey have reversed. It speaks to the primal fear of being powerless against something you cannot control.

This tale serves as a cautionary reminder that some threats are far greater when confined, and the most terrifying monsters are those we inadvertently create ourselves.

Be careful…

Everything or Something Goes Bump in the Night…

Jacob M