Creative Writing: The Gloved Man

The man's name was George, not that it was important however. He lived in a low-income part of the city with two teenage daughters that hated him and stole his cigarettes when he wasn't looking. His wife had been dead for over a year, and he still grieved for her. Four days ago, George was reported missing; his daughters waited three days before they called the police. The call was answered by detective Castellanos, and he promised that he would do everything in his power to find George. Currently, George sat in a room he guessed to be about ten feet across, and reeking of old hospitals smells. He was strapped to some sort of chair, his head mounted so he couldn't turn it, and his hands and legs were similarly bound. A bloodstained cloth covered

It smelled awful, and George fought off the urge to gag. Shortly after the cream was rubbed into George’s head, he realized a strange tingling sensation and swallowed hard. The gloved man moved around behind George longer and the sounds of metal clanking together filled the room. George knew that the pain was about to start and he took in a shuddering breath. When the gloved man stood behind him again, George bit his lip to try and stifle the cries of pain he knew he’d be making. The gloved man hated when George cried out in pain, and George wanted to do whatever he could to keep the gloved man pleased.

He felt a strange sensation on the top of his head, and the cream that was rubbed into his skin leaked down the side. It was almost a ticklish feeling, not what he was used to at all coming from the gloved man. A metallic smell started to mingle with the horrible smell of the cream on George’s head and he wrinkled his nose. He heard the door to the room open again and his stomach dropped even further. Heavy footsteps approached him as the tugging feel on top of his head

“Well, I had a chance to take off early so I did.”

“You just wanted to watch me again, didn’t you?”

George heard the tell-tale sounds of a chair scraping the floor and felt the man with rough hands take a seat in front of him.

“Maybe I just wanted to keep George company. I like this one you know.”

George heard a wet plop noise behind him and cringed. It was almost like a piece of chicken hitting a cutting board.

“You liked the last four.”

“Yeah, and? Maybe I wanna pet to keep around.”

The gloved man chuckled. Maybe this wasn’t bad, when the man with rough hands was in the room, the other man seemed so much kinder.

“Well, viejo,” The gloved man said with a teasing tone.

“I’m working on something that will make him into a nice pet for you.”

The George felt rough hands sneaking under his shirt and forced himself to not shudder.

“I’m not Jeffrey Dahmer,” the man said.

“I don’t want a zombie.”

The gloved man sighed.

“He won’t be a zombie, I’m not lobotomizing him. Here, put this on if you want to watch.”

George heard the sounds of both men putting what he assumed to be some sort of hat on and then a saw buzzing to life. Panic flooding his system, he started to struggle and call