I heard the dry leaves crunching underneath the car from the open window which I was next to. My heart dropped and my palms became sweaty, and my fingers felt colder than pure ice.
Being tied to the end of a table by chains didn’t allow much freedom to escape. I tried to jingle the chains to attract someone while Clavell was gone, but his cabin was in the middle of the forest. It was useless to even try, but it was my only source of noise with duct tape clinging the my lips. Several layers of it, too.
I stopped my rattling of the chains so Clavell wouldn’t know I was trying to escape. I silenced myself and shrunk down underneath the tablecloth, embracing the slim chance he would forget about me. Again, the chances were slim, but it was worth a try.
A different rattling pierced the silence of the room. The rattling of a rotting doorknob, and then the rattling of keys when it wouldn’t at first open. I heard the door swing open, and footsteps on the plain wooden floors. He was heading over to the table where I was held captive, each step making me quiver more and more. He cleared his throat with his high, raspy voice, echoing over the silent room. He headed past the table and towards the living room, the sound of his footsteps changing from hollow booms to soft pats on the carpet.
Did he forget, I wondered, Did he forget that I’m here? Are my fears finished?
The thump of logs being thrown into a fireplace could be heard from across a room, followed by a match lighting and then the fire roaring into action.
I shut my eyes and curled up. Clavell’s footsteps once again changed from carpet to wood, and began getting louder and louder.
“Good evening, Butterfly,” Clavell said.
No, I thought to myself, He remembers. My fears were confirmed when he lifted up the red tablecloth and saw me down there.
My real name isn’t Butterfly. My real name is Bethany Munes, and I’m twenty-four years old. I was kidnapped from my apartment in Denver by a man who calls himself “Clavell,” and brought here, chained to a table. I don’t know where I am now, but I am hoping that I’m still in Colorado.
“Butterfly,” Clavell said. “Hey, Butterfly! I got food for tonight!” He raised a burlap sack full of food to my eye level. I looked at it and nodded, to satisfy him.
Clavell must have been forty-or-fifty-something, with curly black hair and a beard that ran for half his own height. He wore a leather jacket and jean pants, and brown rainboots made of pelt. He had about five visible teeth, all with extreme gaps. His eyes were very far apart, though that wasn’t the only abnormality about them. One of his pure black pupils on his right eye was pointed all the way to the right, and stayed there. It never moved. The other eye was bloodshot, but otherwise blank. Purely white and red.
He cackled, and dropped the tablecloth back down.
I was scared out of my wits. I didn’t know about anything was planning. My first thought was that he was going to kill me, cook me for his dinner. He would chop up my body parts, throw them in a pot, and serve them with vegetables. His way of living seemed quite primitive.
I laid down on the ground as comfortably as I possibly could. I wanted to sleep until then. I didn’t want to think about any of it, but it was difficult to shut my eyes, let alone fall asleep.
I decided just to lay still, and not think about anything until it happened.
Of course, this was impossible. I thought of every single outcome. However, I managed to wait until almost 8:00, when Clavell untied me.

I emerged from under the table, quivering like an arrow after striking a target. I said nothing, but I followed him. It would be so easy to fight him. I could pick up a fireplace poker, and knock him in the back of the the head with it. It would almost be easy, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t possibly imagine what the consequences would be if he survived.
He led me to a wooden door in the living room.
“After you, Butterfly,” he said, graciously stepping back.
Reluctantly, I stepped forward slowly, wanting to savor my last moments. I didn’t know what was behind that door.
The carpet squished under my feet. I outstretched my hand to touch the knob, and grabbed it. It was cold and metallic, but I held onto it. I rotated my hand, making the door creak. I pulled it inward, and it led to a dark room lit only by the flames of a candle. There were no windows, nor artificial lighting. The candlelight was the only source of illumination in the room.
I walked in, and got a better view. It was quite sophisticated, compared to the rest of the cluttered house. There was yellow wallpaper, with little flowers dotting it. The floor was a black-and-white checkerboard tile, and there was one long table in the center piled with food. The candles stood in the center. There was one chair on either side of the table.
“Sit down,” he demanded. I rushed over to one end of the table and complied.
“Not there! That’s my seat!” He yelled. I cried, and ran to the other side hastily.
“There we go,” he said lightly, walking over to me. He took the end of the duct tape that concealed my lips.
“You’ll need your mouth to eat, won’t you?” He aggressively ripped off the tape, making my cry out a bit. I couldn’t see myself, though I knew my mouth was red. It stung horribly when I touched it.
Clavell walked slowly towards the other side of the table. He pulled the chair out from behind and sat down. I couldn’t exactly tell, but I thought he was looking at me. His face was pointed in my direction. I tried to avoid his gaze.
“Drink the wine,” he said. There was a wine glass by my empty plate, filled with a decent amount of the red liquid. “It’s very rude to be a guest at someone’s dinner and not try what they’ve set out for you.”
He folded his arms across his chest.
“I don’t… drink,” I said timidly, my first words to him.
“And why not?” He asked, surprisingly calm.
“My brother died from a car crash when he drank too much, so I don’t.”
Clavell paused and smiled for a few moments, revealing his almost empty mouth. He quickly replaced his smile with an angry frown, and began banging on the table angrily.
“DRINK IT! I SAID DRINK IT, BUTTERFLY!” He threw his own wine glass straight to my head, but I dodged it and let it shatter against the wall. “DRINK IT!”
I picked up the glass and pressed it to my lips. I was so scared that I drank the whole glass within one sip, causing me to choke a bit before collecting myself.
“There we go,” he said calmly. “You see, Butterfly, I was not as… mm-- handsome, as the other boys growing up. No one ever wanted to date with me, no. So, I started capturing my own dates!” He cackled after telling his little story. “And here you are!” He laughed wildly. I forced a laugh, for his satisfaction. I piled food onto my plate, eating ferociously. “I’ve been doing it since about ninth grade, and then girls would date with me because they I was making them date with me. But police didn’t like that, they tried to put me in jail. I didn’t let them. I moved out here, and no one’s found me since!”
He frowned. “You need some more wine!” He said, his voice cracking excitedly. He jumped up and hobbled over to my seat.
I gazed down at my plate. I thought quickly, sweating furiously. It was time to act, he was right beside me. He leaned over, collecting my wine glass. It was time to act.
I grabbed my sharp knife, that I had used to cut my steak. I plunged it into his hip, and kicked him over. He clenched his side, moaning in pain. I tread over him, running away screaming.
“Butterfly,” he cooed, breathless. I shook the door handle. It didn’t budge. “Oh-hoh, Butterfly. What have you gotten yourself into.”
He wrapped his massive arms around my waist and lifted me onto the table. He pressed his hands over my mouth, preventing me from crying out. He took a cleaver out from his pocket.
“The last one who tried to escape ended up beheaded. She made great meat, too. And you just ate her!”
My heart sunk. He was right. It wasn’t steak I had eaten.
Clavell raised the cleaver right above my neck.