It was night, darkness, cold and wind. The detainee in cell 44 was shaking because of her. The prison was not safe, everyone knew it. She, with her horrible, white dress, which she held high with what should have been her arms. She was a creature, the spirit of hell. Then he felt like she was there. It went through the walls and strangled people. It was so cold, though, but the detainee felt it enter his body and take control. Now the prisoner was flying like a bird above the ground. He didn't know how, but a pair of scissors was in his hand. Terrified, he saw it lead him to the other hand and began to cut him, like the hoof of a dead horse. Then did the same with his feet. His mats hung like a gutted animal, red and swollen. His face was almost bruised. His screams were covered by the cut hand that gripped his neck, and the one holding the scissors took out his eyes and put them in his mouth. Then there was just a corpse thrown in cell 44.