i am not a writer

At the centre of the maze lies the heart; the twisted being that created this nest of endless corridors and rooms, the labyrinthine hellhole of epic proportions. The room is high-ceilinged and the walls, floor, and roof are covered with simple wooden boards, stained a dark brown. There are a few furnishing scattered about - a little cot, a dresser, a few scraggly toys.

But the real centerpeice of this house of madness is the great beast taking up the entire other half of the room.

The monster is massive, skin grey and mottled, looking as if damp to the touch and quivering all over. The serpentine lower body was dotted with twitching mouths, each barely held shut by heavy cords digging into the flesh, each stitch surrounded by sore looking reddish-yellow sores. Spittle and pus drooled down from each trembling maw, yellowed, jagged teeth below the surface.

Atop the beastly mass of grey flesh was the trembling, rail-thin torso of what was probably once a young man, now emaciated and pale, hair matted and wild, arms bound and neck collared. His mouth was bound shut in the same manner as the one dotting the bloated, nightmarish tumour that was his lower body, face standing out starkly against dark, dirty hair. His round brown eyes are wild, rolling to gaze at the intruders to his well-hidden nest.

The low, threatening hum seems to come from all around all at once, and the thing's huge body lurches into movement.