Iron Maiden

A touch of history... This story was written on October 15th, 1996 by Amber Lockridge. A tale, meant to amuse and disgust, and, perhaps, to foreshadow??...


You stare at the cruel iron spikes about a foot away from you and squirm as the inevitable squeak of a well oiled and well used machine begins it's long and toilsome process. You feel the cool iron bands around your wrists head and waist that prevent you from moving a muscle. After 30 minutes the first set of spikes are still only half way to your stomach. You begin to sweat profusely and seriously reconsider what sin you comitted to deserve this punishment. It's been 45 minutes and still the spikes have not reached your gut. It is almost unbearably tight and claustrophobia is causing you to slowly suffocate. You can smell the well oiled and worn spikes as the first pair nears your gut. It's been an hour and you suddenly feel the cool and unforgiving touch of Iron on hot flesh. The more you try to squirm the closer the spike gets. You scratch your stomach up to bloody hell. You feel the pressure of the spike as it begins to break the taught skin over your slippery stomach. With a cruel thrust the spikes begin to enter your belly. The pain rips through your entire body and sends you into convulsions. this is no quick death. You scream and scream as the spikes push through to another of your stomach linings. As start to find and become numb the spikes surge forward again heightening the pain to a degree you never thought possible. Your screams ring with the sound of unearthly pain in any empty room. After another hour of pure hell the spike oierce through your sopinal cord and as your screaming dys to a low moan you feel that death at last has mercifully lent itself upon you but as you are pondering this release another oair of spike brings itelf to bear against your shoulders. Ripping into the tension wrought muscles. The pain still coursing dully through your abdomen is piercingly brought forth again. You try to scream but by now your voice has died away to a scratchy whisper. Instead you try to squirm as a hole the size of a fist is being ripped into your shoulder. You squirm and writhe in agony but hear not even a squeak of the Iron bads the hold down your head, arms, legs and waist. The Iron enclosure has become unbearably hot and moist though you hardly notice it throug the searing pain of the spikes. the air is wrought with salt and the stench of blood. you taste it on your lips and feel it slipping thickly down your neck mixing with the copius sweat and forming little rivulets of red dripping from your back onto the floor. Agin as the spikes pin your shoulders to the back of the enclosure the top two spikes plunge themselves into the firey hotness of your eyes. Instanlty blind you struggle with the most painful of these spikes. Slowly.....Slowly grinding themselves into your eyes. Your eyballs dripping cool juices onto you face witch become mixed with the blood and sweat. It is indistuinguishable because by this time you have chewed your tounge and cheeks into a gaping and grousome horror. As the spikes in your eyes begin to touch your brain you muster one last wrenching deathh cry which resounds hollowly around the midevil torture chamber and at the 6th hour of pain welcome merciful death.


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