Sins Loom: The Unwilling Weaver

Cecílio wakes up with a start, breathing rapidly. He sits up, pressing his hands against the hard wooden floor. He looks around vigilantly but is unable to make out much in the darkened room. This isn’t where I fell asleep. After killing that man, Cecílio fled the town in a hurry, quickly hopping from town to town. He’s grown paranoid, always sleeping with one eye open, and only for short amounts of time, to make sure he wouldn’t be caught off guard. Eventually, after crossing the border, he relaxed slightly, allowing himself to rest properly.

Where the fuck am I? Getting up off the floor, he scrounges around, trying to find the light switch. Making his way to a wall, he eventually finds it, flicking it on and casting the room in a dim yellow light. The room looks dreadfully familiar to him.

“No, this can’t be happening. Why am I back here?” It is only at this moment that he feels the collar around his neck. Putting his hands up to it, he feels the cold metal that’s wrapped around his neck. What is happening? He slips his fingers between his neck and the collar, trying to find a way to get it off him. Unfortunately, all he can find is a keyhole on the back.

“Good morning Cecílio. You have been on a very difficult journey. You were rather careful and vigilant, but you knew that eventually you would let your guard down. You should know where you are right now. This is the room in which you strangled a man to death.

Strangling someone to death is a horrific way to kill someone. You were up close and personal, and you had to keep choking him for several minutes to ensure his death. Now it is your turn to understand how gruesome of a death it is. The collar around your neck will slowly tighten, eventually crushing your windpipe, however, you will die long before that. As you have already noticed, there is a keyhole in the back of the collar. That is your only chance at salvation. Somewhere important in this house is the key, as long as you can find it before passing out, you will be able to survive. Good luck, Cecílio.”

The colour drains from Cecílio’s face, the collar slowly starts to close in. Feeling it now pressing lightly against his skin, he kicks himself into action, running around the room in search of the key. Where is it? He upturns the small living room but is unable to find it. At this point, the collar is now sitting firmly around his neck, and he is only able to fit a single finger between it and his neck.

It’s got to be here somewhere. Where could it be? He runs into the little offshoot kitchen, anxiously scrounging through every drawer and cupboard to look for the key. Hidden inside a fruit bowl, he finds a keychain with a few keys on it. Is it one of these? Nervously, he tries each key, trying to twist it in the lock, but none of them work. The collar continues to tighten, now tightly squeezing onto his neck, leaving no gaps between it and his skin. Shit fuck! In frustration, he throws the keys back onto the counter, and runs off into the next room.

He slams the bathroom door open, scanning through the entire room, even taking of the toilet cistern's lid. The collar now starts to dig painfully into his skin. Shit, it’s not here. There’s only one other room it can be in.

Cecílio runs into the man’s bedroom, upturning the entire thing. He searches through all of the drawers in the desk but is still unable to find it. With only one final place to look, he checks under the bed, finding a familiar locked box. His thoughts run cold as he remembers what this man did to his parents. Remembers the photos and videos the man kept of their deaths. How fitting. This is the only place left for it to be. He pulls the box out from under the bed. The collar squeezes tightly around his neck, choking him slightly. He tries pulling on it to alleviate the pain, but it doesn’t budge at all. Damn it. I need to open this box fast. Remembering that one of the keys from earlier would be able to open it, he holds the box under his arm and runs back to the kitchen.

He starts panting as he reaches the living room. His vision going blurry. He stumbles into the kitchen, the box growing heavy in his arms. Dumping the box on the counter, he picks up the keys. Which one was it again? He tries the keys as the collar continues to choke him out. He hears a click as he turns the third key. The box opens.

He falls to the ground as he tries to open the box, pulling it down with him. Hitting the ground, the contents of the box spill open. A photo falls in front of his eyes. Through his blurred vision, he can vaguely see a person tied down, bloody and bruised, with torn and bloodied clothes. His eyes lock on the photo, refusing to look away, even as the key clinks along the tiles. His eyes close as he falls unconscious, his thoughts starting to fade.

“Was your revenge worth it Cecílio? It may have felt satisfying, but you spent the rest of your short life on the run, never being able to walk out from the shadow of what happened, unable to experience the joys of life. Instead, you wound up back here, where it all started. You have now experienced what it feels like to die in such a manner. You tried so hard to escape, only for the last thing you see to be the tortured body of your mother. So let me ask you one more time. Was it worth it? Enjoy Hell, Cecílio.”

The collar continues to tighten, eventually crushing his windpipe.