The House
By big_mr_t
- 728 reads
You're in sight of the house when you stop.
The sky is dark with deep grey clouds and the rain is slicing the
blackness like a shower of silver arrows. Slivers of moonlight bounce
up from the large puddles upon the sodden dirt. Your feet are beginning
to ache now but your toes stopped hours ago, you can't feel them at
all. You gaze at your reflection in the water, unfolding outwards and
warping reality with every iced splash, distorting any sense of
direction you may have once held. Then, snapping back to reality, you
stare at the house.
The house stares back.
You try to remember why you're running. But you can't.
Your mind is blank.
You try again to think of something.
Anything.
Nothing.
After a moment you begin to lurch forwards once more, a little more
cautious this time. Your limbs feel like they have no muscle any
longer. As if the bones are grinding against each other to make you
move.
It hurts.
It hurts so bad you feel like you could scream out like a small child,
but something in your mind tells you that that could be dangerous.
Your temple is throbbing and you have a large gash in your arm.
You don't know how it got there.
You remember walking.
Walking endlessly through these woods. Anything before then has been
lost to time. A flock of birds scatter as you approach and you watch as
they scream into the distance.
Then, a memory.
An overwhelming sense of terror envelops you and the trees clasp around
you like a closing fist.
A hospital?
No.
You drop to the ground and scream in torment.
The distant howls of ravenous dogs.
The creaking of a door.
Someone has heard you.
Frantically your eyes scan the ground for a hiding place, then in
defeat you lie down and wait for death.
Nothing happens.
You think hard. Who are you? Where are you? How did you get here? You
look down at your hands.
They are slick with blood.
You knot your fists in frustration and hurl yourself to your feet, then
stumble back as another stab of memory resurfaces.
You remember needles.
An ambulance?
Some sort of crash?
Leaves rustle behind you.
Another memory. Something is chasing you. A terrible evil intent upon
your capture. Your heart stops as you remember the barking of the dogs,
the growling reverberating through your skull. Suddenly you feel
claustrophobic and the air grows thicker around you, reminding you of a
padded cell.
Another howl, only it doesn't seem too distant any longer. They're
after you. And when they catch you?
The house.
You could hide there. Wait until the evil passes over.
You stumble forward through the mud, your feet sinking slightly with
every step,
then the house is upon you.
you bang on it, hard, glancing over your shoulder. You still can't see
the evil, but you can hear it getting closer with every moment.
You hear locks turning, chains being drawn back and the door is opened,
just enough for you to see the old woman's weathered face. You slam the
door open with your shoulder, surprising yourself with the strength you
seemed to possess.
The woman is knocked sprawling across the floor and you hear a sickly
crack as she hits the ground heavily, but you don't have time to check
on her. You must lock the door. Make sure the evil cannot reach you.
The old woman is screeching now though, a horrible shrill noise which
seems to make the house shudder. You clasp your hand over her mouth to
stop her from bringing in the evil.
She doesn't know what's out there.
You must stop her.
Her eyes bulge as she looks into yours and before you realise what is
happening she stops thrashing and goes limp. You drop her to the floor,
horrified.
She hits it like a sack of meat.
There is silence.
Perhaps you should just give yourself up. Give yourself to the evil.
Another memory, but this time surprisingly tranquil. A family is
asleep, each lay calmly upon their beds. Motionless and
silent.
A sharp knock on the door slicing through the quiet like a scythe
through butter. Is that them? Are they here already?
You look to the body on the floor, and then to the door, powerless to
act upon either. You have to think fast. You grab the woman by the arms
and drag her to the door as a wedge.
That might hold them for a while.
Another knock, more sharply this time. They'd be forcing their way in
soon.
You notice an old hammer upon a shelf besides you and you pick it up.
If they do get to you, you aren't going to surrender without a fight.
You start up the stairs, they'll have surrounded the house now. No
other place to go.
A door is open and you walk through it. It must be the master bedroom.
There's a large bed in the middle. It brings another memory, the family
again, sleeping calmly, peacefully.
No, that's wrong. They aren't just still, but completely motionless.
Not even their chests are rising up and down. Thoughts suddenly become
hard to formulate as you try to convince yourself away from your gut
instinct, but it doesn't work.
They are dead.
You feel sick again, the memory tugging at your stomach. You slump on
the bed, momentarily forgetting the danger outside.
Who were they? What had happened? Was it them outside, the evil. Had
they done this? Who could possibly do something that vile?
You rise with newfound anger towards those outside.
They don't scare you any longer.
They repulse you.
To think they could do that.
You hear them slam the door downstairs, a sharp crack, as if
splintering. You look around the room calmly, deciding the best place
to wreak your revenge.
They had murdered those people. They had even murdered the old lady
downstairs. It wasn't you, not really. They had made you do it.
It wasn't you at all.
It was all their fault.
All of it.
You stand against the wall besides the door, clenching the hammer
tighter. Another loud crash. It sounds like they're almost through.
Your heart skips a few beats as a final third crash is sounded and the
door is thrown off it's hinges.
You imagine them coming through the door now, faceless, listening to
them shouting to each other and cursing the lord.
Their footsteps sound frantic and excited and their voices seem to be
coming from all corners of the house.
You feel the blood pulsing in your veins as you wait for them to climb
the stairs and enter the room.
They are still talking, you can hear their faint whisperings to one
another
And then you hear what you have been waiting for.
One of them is ascending the stairs.
Alone.
You can hear it shambling along the corridor cautiously and can see it
in your minds eye, scanning the corridor with machine-like accuracy. it
stops outside the door. Your fist grows tighter still around the shaft
of the hammer.
You try to slow your breathing, to stop them from hearing but you
can't. Your heart is still thundering along too fast.
It's eyes are surveying the far wall of the room. There is a pause, and
then it walks in, cautiously,
revolver held rigidly in front of it's chest.
It creeps straight passed you and into the middle of the room and you
charge at it, slamming the hammer into the groove between shoulder and
neck.
It grunts and drops to the floor, squealing in agony.
You bring the hammer down again across it's mouth, to shut it up, then
again, claw end this time, into it's temple. It falls silent as the
blood oozes from it's head.
You smile at your handiwork, fascinated with the unexpected
pleasure.
The revolver is lying besides it now, spattered with the evil's blood.
You pick it up and shove it in the direction of the door. They're bound
to have heard that.
One of them jumps out into view, presumably to surprise you.
You fire.
It hits the wall with a thud and stares at you with accusing eyes as
the last of it's life slips away. You remember it. It was the leader,
you're sure.
More memories come back to you and you feel your strength begin to ebb
away. The thing you had just killed. It had a name.
Davis. John Davis.
You remember that now. It's been hunting you for years.
It had caught you as well.
You were being transferred to that hospital,
Until it happened.
The crash.
Your head had met the floor violently and you had blacked
out.
There are more men in the doorway now, all shouting at you, but you
only half hear them.
A distant murmuring.
Your eyes are transfixed on the dead man and those checking his pulse
hopefully. You remember why he was after you now.
All those families you had gutted and lay in neat rows on their
beds.
Like a tin of sardines.
The people surrounding the corpse have given up now and are dragging
the detective away. His head lulls to the side, still staring silently
at you. The officers are drawing closer now, very slowly. Talking slow
as well, an army of negotiators.
All but one of them.
It's the one who had checked the detective's pulse.
That man is screaming at you violently, shaking his pistol in your
direction.
You can't reply to him.
You don't know what to say.
Your vision is blurring again and another wave of nausea envelops you
as you realise why these men are here.
If they get you, they'll never let you out again, you know
that.
You look down towards the revolver in your hand and put it to your own
mouth.
The man who had been screaming at you falls silent, as does everyone
else.
You take one last look at the world outside of the window, noticing a
flock of birds staring at you from amidst the branch of an old tree.
No. Not just birds, crows. A crowd of jet black crows, watching
eagerly.
You smile to them then shut out the silence, the tears and the screams
of the innocent.
You shoot
Darkness.
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