Turn The Screw Novels & Stories

The door handle turns. Shit.

With a glimmer of hope, I realized that I might be able to use it to loosen the screws holding the bars in place. Taking a deep breath, I positioned myself near the window, ready to put my plan into action. I pressed the edge of the tray against one of the screws and began to twist. It was a slow and delicate process, but I refused to give up. As the screw gradually loosened, my heart raced with anticipation. I couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Each turn of the tray brought me closer to freedom, closer to escaping this confinement. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the first screw came loose. I carefully removed it and moved on to the next one.

I felt frustrated, and embarrassed. I was about to let it go, when Caleb said, “Concentrate. You’re turning it like a human. Go deeper. Turn it from a different place in yourself. Let your body turn it for you.” I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I placed my hand gently on the knob and tried to focus, following his instructions. I turned it again, and this time was surprised to hear a snapping noise. I looked up and saw that I had broken the knob. The door was ajar.

But there were bars there. Deciding to try anyway, I moved to the window. I gripped the bars with both hands and shook them to test their strength. Most of them were pretty strong… except one. It rattled very loosely. I could see, just looking that the screw holding it in place was almost all the way out. If I could loosen it fully and remove the bar, then it would be just wide enough for a kid like me to slip out. At once I reached my fingers around the screw and tried to turn it, lefty loosely, just like my dad had taught me.

"I don't. " "Mmm, " she said. "Beats me. " Mrs. Ruffalo's energetic voice lingered like the background in a defunct picture and everything, all sounds intertwined forming a unison; The knocking of our Biology teacher's red shoes. Victor, chewing on his pen. A couple of girls gossiping behind my ears. Stan, the class president, nibbling on a piece of gum while texting with his phone. My heart throbbing and so many others.

Power drills are always fun. "I have nothing to say," he grumbles as he struggles against the rope he is tied underneath. I chuckle and glance over my weapon, "yeah, not yet atleast." He glares up at me, burning holes of hate into my skull as I let the drill buzz to life in front of him. "We'd better make it so you can't leave. We have lots to talk about," I say and place a long screw on the tip of the drill. "Go to hell," he grumbles again and looks at the floor.

Consistently he loosened up increasingly more around her and she frequently detected that he needed to broaden their time together. He pondered the board once more, stroking his somewhat stubbled jaw nicely as he thought about his best course of action. She snorted disdainfully while taking down his points as he eventually settled on "eel," which was placed so poorly that it was only worth three points. She smiled sweetly at him and pointed to the free "t" that he could have used for "exit." She then used that "t" to make up her own word, using the conveniently placed triple word score and getting a handy 39 points for her "smithy."

Then her eyes fell on the MRE. It had a plastic spoon that might be able to do it if the screws were not too tight. She walked over and got the spoon out of the package and got back under the desk. She fitted the end into the slots on the screw head and with a light pressure and her fingers supporting the spoon as much as she could, she gently turned. To her delight the first screw turned without much effort. She took it out and started on the one below it. It too was fairly easy to unscrew. She moved to the bottom one to her left. It took a little more pressure but it gave way before the spoon did. She looked up to see that in order to get to the last screw, and in fact in order t

The days will only continue to get shorter. A dim metallic wink catches my eye and I spot the screw. Finally. I shove it in my back pocket and risk life and limb once again to ascend the ladder. These floodlights better work. I hold the light, the bracket, and the screw in place with my right hand and fit the drill bit into the screw head with my left. Very, very carefully I pull back on the drill's trigger, allowing the screw to bite into the wood without taking a bite out of my hand.