It was a room filled with whispers.
I entered the room with my knife in hand, the blade clean and ready to work.
Despite the whispering, there was no one to see.
I closed the door behind me and took stock of what was laid out.
Skeletons and bits of bones, objects encased behind glass and lining the walls.
I moved forward and glanced at the legends written beneath each item.
“Removed from Subject B398, Blackhills Hollow, 1843.”
“Discovered on North Road, Gods’ Hollow, 1915.”
Most of the objects I could not recognize. Some, like the jaw from Subject B398, were clearly identifiable.
The whispers rose and fell around me until I reached the far end of the room and stood before the smallest of six skeletons. There were no names attached to these. No bit of information, but the bones themselves told a story.
I could see cut marks by the ends of the larger bones, places where someone had gnawed on ribs and fingers. Gouges desecrated the eye sockets.
“I was alive when they did this,” the voice of a young woman whispered in my ear.
I folded the pruning knife and put it away.
“Who?” I asked.
“Not these fools,” the ghost sighed. “My tormentors are long dead and in the ground. A few of them ended up here, but we removed them.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the unseen ghosts.
“Their descendants, educationally at least, continue to hold us here,” she continued. “We are bound and cannot leave.”
“How can I help?” I asked.
The gathered dead chuckled and whispered their thanks.
“There is no help for us,” the dead woman informed me. “Though we appreciate your kind offer. Fell agreements were made, and foul oaths were spoken. It is far beyond anyone to free us.”
The whispering stopped.
“You may not be able to free us,” the ghost of the young woman stated. “But that does not mean you cannot bring us pleasure.”
“How do I do that?” I asked.
“Are you killing them?” she inquired.
“Each one I meet.”
A collective sigh of pleasure filled the room.
“Then go forth and kill more.”
I did as she bade.