This is Entry #3 for the GF Records Best Writer contest. ** ** ** ** He was watching her closely, hidden in the shadows, he knew she couldn't see him. Sitting in a chair, heart pounding, struggling to get loose, her shiny black hair was framing her face dancing with her as she wriggled to get free. Sheila slumped back on the wooden chair, defeated. She had been struggling for the past half hour with no success. Her wrists were sore and bleeding from rubbing them against the coarse rope binding her to the chair, her feet were strapped tightly in an angle to the chair's legs with no possiblity of movement. Tears stung her eyes, bluring her vision. "Calm yourself." Sheila mumbled. She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes, wishing to relax to allow calmness to take over her fear. Feeling somewhat composed she straightened herself, took a deep breath and opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings and gulped. It was the first time she realized where she was. A dungeon. A dark, dank, cold stone dungeon. Sheila was sitting with her back to one of the corners of the room. She could feel the cold seeping through the stones to her body and shivered. There were a couple of old fashioned lanterns on each wall behind her, it gave her enough light to see all the torture equipment hanging across the walls, and some smaller ones laid out on a small wooden table standing under one of the lanterns. Sheila shuddered. The Bastille. The torture chamber. She read so much about the Parisian prison, loved reading about her prisoners, the time period, anything. Wasn't it ironic that she ended up in a place like this. She shook her head in disbelief, how could anyone know about her passion for torture stories, she wondered as her gaze went over the huge wheel that stretches a persons limbs. It was the one thing she kept to herself. The only thing. How would anyone understand such a perversive interest? Sheila herself didn't quite understand, but she always told herself it's better to have a passion about torture stories than to be a child molester. So she kept it to herself, yet here she was in this dungeon surrounded by her passion. No, not quite. She loathed the idea of torturing someone, let alone being tortured herself. This was definately not her passion. Sheila bit her lip and trembled, it was her anti-passion. "Look what you got yourself into." She whispered as she glanced at the tongue loosener resting on the little table. "I've got to get out of here." With that said she started struggling again, rotating her arms as much as she could, while trying to slip her wrists out of the binding rope. Sheila whimpered as the sores on her wrists split open as she struggled but it gave her a more determined resolution to free herself. Five minutes into her assignment of freeing herself she heard a chuckle. Sheila gasped and stopped her effortless cause. "Who's there?" She called, her voice sounding as frightened as she felt. The man slipped out from his location in the shadows a sadistic smile on his lips. "Hello, Sheila." He said eventually as he stepped forward until he stood five feet away from her. The man seemed normal in his appearance, wearing black jeans and a long sleeved black top. "How are you this fine evening?" The sinister gleem in his eyes scared Sheila so much that she just stared at him with horror. "Who are you?" She plucked up the courage to ask, yet it came out in a whisper. The man chuckled maniaclly, and came ever so closer to her. He crouched down beside her and lifted a finger to a tendril of hair that fell over her left eye. Gently, he slid it back behind her ear and stroked her cheek as he let his hand fall down to his side. He smiled up at her, and a chill went through Sheila's body. The man stood up and leaned over to her breathing softly down her neck, then whispered a response in her ear. "I'm your worse nightmare." Tears sprung into Sheila's eyes, she didn't realize just how bad a situation she was in. "Please, sir, please..." She begged, the idea of being tortured right here right now gave a nausia. "Let me go." "Relax, Sheila." He said and stood up came behind her and untied her feet. She quickly began kicking and thrashing hoping that would help her somewhat, but the man's cackle only made her feel smaller and weaker than she was. He released her hands and held onto her arms firmly. Sheila stood up and made a dash for the shadows where the man emerged from. Too quickly the man grabbed her and tighten his grip. "Not so fast, my pretty. I have plans for you." He whispered in her ear, and she shuddered. He guided her to the large wheel situated at the opposite wall from her chair. Having no way of escaping she mutely allowed him to take her there and didn't struggle while he strapped her to the contraption. Tears welled in her eyes threatening to spill, but she didn't care, if she knew anything about torture she knew what was about to happen and in no way was she ever going to be prepared for what was to come. "Please..." She tried again, the man looked at her and smiled, shaking his head. Sheila grimaced when he tighted the rope attached to her wrists, pulling them as wide apart as possible, with a hint of strain pain. He repeated the process with her legs. She was like a human target, she knew she had no where to run and no way to escape. "I'm going to keep this sweet and short." He told her, as if it was any comfort to Sheila. She knew she was done for, there was no way she could get out of this without a scratch. Her tears were blinding her now, she was so frightened and scared she didn't know what to do with herself. A few moments went by and everything seemed still and silent. Sheila blinked her tears away and took a better look around her. There was neither sign of the man nor any noise indicating where he might be. A sliver of hope coursed through her and then it shattered as she saw the man suddenly appearing in her vision holding a long blade that glinted in the light of the lanterns. "Do you know what this is for?" He mocked her. Unfortunately she did know and bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood. It was for drawing and quartering. Sheila shook her head vehemently. "Please, please, don't." It came out as a whispered echo. The man only laughed a hollow, sinister sound. Then he plunged the blade into her abdomen, and made a deep gash lengthwise. Sheila screamed, not from the pain, but from the shock of it actually happening to her. She closed her eyes knowing this will be a slow painful death, her mind went wondering going over her life, thinking of her childhood, her family and friends, how much they will miss her, how much she will miss them. She thought about her favourite hiding place, where she would go for solitude, it was a little cave hidden behind bushes located in the forest close to her home. She would sit in the cave and read about her passion using candles for light. She kept blankets there for cold days and she would always bring with her a snack to eat and a drink. But she will never visit that place again. Sheila's body convulsed. The man was doing a great job, he thought. Not much was left of her insides and she was breathing shallowly. Now for the exit, he thought. He walked over to her the bloody blade still in his hand, and placed it gently on her neck. The cold steel made her eyes flutter and with great effort she opened her eyes finding him staring at her with that sadistic look. "Who are you?" She whispered almost inaudibly. "I'm your worst nightmare." He responded and slit her throat. Bolting up in bed, sweat pouring down her back and chest, Sheila shivered uncontrollably. She squeezed her eyes shut; taking deep breathes trying to calm her pounding heart. It was indeed her worst nightmare.