A Step Into Hell

As soon as I entered the lounge of the now all too familiar flat, I knew something bad was about to happen. My body felt like it was wrapped in invisible chains, and I smelt fear. my own fear. It was as though the atmosphere pulsated with such intensity that it grabbed me, shaking my flimsy little body, flaying my limbs in all directions, like some pathetic rag doll.

God, I was so terribly scared.

Ropeman left me alone while he went to the kitchen to sort out our drinks. The sight of the beer made me shudder, and the muscles that didn't tighten, twitched instead. 

 A dark and gloomy, musty smell,

A place no warmer than a prison cell,

Strange thoughts enter into your head,

You now start wishing you were tucked up in bed.

A frightening chill shoots through the air,

All you do is stand and stare, 

It’s a place with an eerie feeling,

Your heart by now is really speeding.

Sepulchre,

Sepulchre,

What a place,

Your heart is beating a rapid pace.

That awful chill is slowly rising,

All you think of is surviving,

But as you try to run and leave,

You can’t help thinking your eyes deceive,

Lurking in that gloomy doorway,

Is something that’s come out of doomsday,

You try to move, but are stuck to the spot,

You try to scream but breathing…, you’re not.

Sepulchre,

Sepulchre,

What a place,

It’s now your home.

To my relief, after handing me a beer, Ropeman slid the video cassette into the player, and we settled down to watch the film I was far too young to see.  I tried to concentrate, but I was conscious of his every move; my muscles tightening at the slightest twitch. It was an exceptionally good summer, so when 

he asked if I was hot, I replied with a simple yes, pretending to be engrossed in the film. But I knew in fact, every cell in my naïve young body sensed danger.  And when he suggested I might be more comfortable if I removed my top, the fear enveloped me to the point of numbness, and before I knew it, there I was, stripped to the waist again.

It wasn’t long before the second stage of his sick plan was being put into action. “Shall we stretch out a bit? After all, there’s plenty of room,” he said.  I felt like a rat caught in a trap, knowing there was no way out; no one was going to be knocking at the door and saving me.

“Is it ok if I use the toilet?” I asked the question merely as an escape, something that would give me a bit more time, however limited it might be before the inevitable happened. Ropeman stopped the tape and directed me to the bathroom.

On returning to the lounge, I noticed that he’d removed his top.  He was sprawled across the whole of the sofa, smiling, beckoning me to join him.          

What choice did I have?

With a great deal of apprehension, which I’m convinced he was aware of, I did as I was asked.  After awkwardly positioning myself into place, he began cuddling me from behind, pulling me closer before stroking my chest. Within seconds I felt his arousal in the small of my back.  Without success I tried to ignore the feel of his sweaty fingers by losing myself in the movie.

Try as I might . . . and I did try, going so far as   

to close my eyes and picturing myself saying the words, but somehow I couldn't summon the courage to tell him to stop. 

My silence was deafening, and the sound of his erratic breathing all but consumed me, before I fell away.

 

You touched me,

Held me,

And stroked my chest,

Told me that you,

My teacher knew best.

I felt your hardness,

In the small of my back,

I had a chill in my spine,

When you said I’d be fine.

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Why Didn't I Run?

After that incident, I should have run, hit the pavement and screamed from the rooftops.  I should have told anyone willing to listen what they had done to me.  Most especially my parents, I should have gone to them, but I couldn't help thinking that if no one believed me, it would only make things worse. I’d inevitably have to disclose the past events with Ropeman, and coupled with the way I’d been behaving over the last few years, I was sure I’d be looked upon as a fantasist; just another lie from the strange mind of Simon Palmer.

            What's worse, I was utterly convinced if I continued to keep my silence, and  refrained from going back to Stu and Karen’s, they would almost certainly come looking, and that thought terrified me most of all.

            Apart from keeping all this to myself, I was confronted with another dilemma. What was I supposed to tell my friends? They were used to my being around and to suddenly disappear without a trace, how was I supposed to deal with that?     

            Confusion was rapidly seeping into my world; and combined with the fear which was paramount within me; my behaviour at home fell to an all time low, school remaining a complete non event. The truancy became so much of an issue that the authorities assigned me a social worker, who in turn, suggested my parents agree to me seeing a child psychologist.

             Numerous opportunities to tell the official bodies presented themselves, but I steadfastly remained silent.  The lies continued, and so did the abuse.

Peter Simpson, along with Mark Milner, two of the greatest friends anyone could have asked for, began to see less and less of me. On the rare occasion when I did see them, it felt like something had changed, like our friendship was over; we no longer had anything in common, or so it seemed.