Dead WC

Cold. That is the first sensation that washes over your awakening body. You don’t remember falling asleep, but here you are. You can feel the soft sheets beneath you as your eyes open slowly. You stretch, yawning as you sit up. Looking up, you’re met with an unexpected object in your face- shoes. Shoes? You realize there are legs attached, and your gaze travels upwards. Upon reaching the top you swallow, inching nervously away. Directly in front of you, someone is hanging. You look over them, your originally startled appearance composing itself. It’s a dead body. This is not your house. This is not your fault. You shift to stand, and hear something that sounds almost like a voice. You dismiss it, deciding it must have been the old bedsprings creaking. Your feet touch the moldy wooden floor and you cringe, toes curling at the moist, spongy texture. The sound repeats, and you dismiss it once more. You turn to face the body; and you find that it is no longer looking off to the wall. It is looking at you. Your lips purse, but you ignore it. Ropes turn, right? Nothing to be afraid of. Turning to walk away, the sounds reoccurs. This time it’s louder, and a bit more distinguishable. “Help me…” It seems to whisper. You turn once more, squinting at the body hanging behind you. It’s still staring at you. With a violent jolt the creature lunges towards you, trying to reach but only managing to scrabble at your chest. The figure jerks once, twice, three times and then is still. You blink slowly, and now it looks the same as it had the first time you saw it. Turned away, facing the wall. Dead. A light shiver goes down your spine, and you look upward with a sigh. The only light in the room comes from a skylight, but there is a dark shadow in the middle, blocking an almost insignificant section. You move closer, intending to try to clear away whatever debris is cutting into what little light you have. As you move closer, the shadow almost appears to grow larger. Your eyebrows furrow, but you ignore it. You reach the skylight and look up, only to find that the window is clear. There’s nothing there. Puzzled, you remain where you are, feeling like you should be scratching your head in confusion. It doesn’t make sense… THUD. You leap backwards, feeling your eyes bulge in your sockets. The once pristine window is now covered in a dark red, staining the glass with the murky substance. Half a face looks down at you, the eye trained on your face as it stares the same way as the hanged one. With an, anger, of sorts. And… pity. You shake your head to clear it, deciding as the roar of a plane passes over that some cold water on your face will do you some good. You head for the adjacent bathroom, muttering to yourself about being delusional. You step inside, immediately going to the sink and splashing some water over your face, Looking in the mirror, you notice a figure. There’s a person, lying in the tub. “Hello?” You ask, hope rising in your chest that perhaps they could tell you how to leave this wretched place. The eyes seem to roll to stare at you, but they lack depth. Emotion. You walk closer, intending to shake them out of their daze. Seconds later you retract, the icy cold of their skin seeming to burn your fingertips. Now the vacant stare is familiar. This one’s dead too. You notice the bath’s water level appears to have decreased some, and upon further inspection you find a few bottles beside the porcelain tub. They’re pills; the wrong pills. Reading the labels, you learn that this person must have experienced paralysis, watching the water rise slowly while knowing the imminence of death. Another shudder runs through you as you stand, running a hand through your hair. With a long breath you push the image to the back of your mind, heading for the staircase that will allow you onto the first floor. Relief washes through you when the stairway is void of a dead life form, but is ripped away once you reach the landing. A broken window is nearby, a feather caught on one of the shards of glass, giving you everything you need without explanation. This time, the body before you is not… not whole. Its limbs are intact, yes. But in place of its eyes are bloody sockets. All over the skin are marks from the beaks of birds, puncturing the flesh to the point of nearly severing every muscle. You feel bile rise in your throat, stepping around it and trying not to gag. Through the kitchen is the hallway. If you can make it there, you’ll be out. You’ll be free. You step forward with an air of confidence, only to have it be shattered once again. You see a cook that appears normal, but you know what’s coming. You steel yourself before reluctantly stepping closer. The cook is next to the exit- you’ll have to pass it to escape. You remind yourself to take deep breaths as you walk towards the lonely figure. You sigh as you reach it, finding that its back is turned. You won’t have to see whatever grotesque demise it met. However, luck is not on your side today. You watch, nearly whimpering as the figure seems to move, swirling an empty pot. It goes towards some rotting meat on the table, and reaches out for a knife from the holder. It is nowhere to be seen. Your eyes hunt frantically for the shimmering blade, but you know that your search will be in vain. Slowly, the head turns, its blank stare piercing every part of you. You hear what sounds like a grunt as it grasps the counter, maneuvering its body to face you at a pace that is painfully slow. Your eyes rake over its chest, taking in this new horror. Its apron is soaked with blood, more mangled than you could’ve anticipated. The dull blade gleams in the reddish light that fills the room. You swallow, watching the cook take one… two… three steps before its hold on the counter releases, and it falls to the floor directly in front of the doorway. You can’t help but have a sort of revolting curiosity. You walk to within a foot of it and begin to count. The body is littered with stab marks, seeming random and unorganized. Until you realize these stabs are not quick, meaningless cuts. No. These are careful. They have been placed very precisely- around every artery. This person would have suffered a slow and immensely painful death from blood loss. There are so many holes… 87, to be exact, including the one the knife lingered in. A shiver crawls down your spine like a spider, and you close your eyes tightly for a long minute. Carefully you step around it, ignoring all the rooms you pass. The stale stench of death hangs in the air, and you crinkle your nose at the foul odor. You know that behind every door you pass there must be one or more dead, but you refuse to open the doors to new horror. If you can make it to the door… THUNK. Your head meets the dusty floorboards, sending up a cloud of mold spores that has you coughing. You don’t want to know what it is that tripped you, but you must look. An arm sticks out of a doorway beside you, fingers bloody and arm limp. With a sickening feeling in your gut you open the door, revealing a mess of blood and flesh. Pieces are everywhere, torn apart with a vicious rage. Fangs marks decorate every of bit of skin, like some kind of morbid tattoos only dogs can give. You can barely imagine the image of the person it used to be. Kicking the arm inside you close the door, hurrying along the hallway. You’re almost out, you can feel it. A person lays just in front of the door. You cringe in anticipation of some sort of massacre, but instead find that this person merely appears to be sleeping. Pushing them aside, you notice the blood trickle from the corner of their chapped white lips. Their hand has fallen from their stomach, revealing the bullet wound there. You wince, the thought of such a painful and slow death causing a wave of nausea to arise in your stomach. You swallow your bile, finally opening the door to the outside world. You feel free. Until you notice the dark shadow accumulating in front of you. Your heart sinks as you look at it. There is no mouth, no face, no nothing. Just a simple, dark, shadow. And yet you know exactly what it is saying. “You’ve seen yourself die, avoiding a hundred other horrors that lay within this house.” Your entire body feels like ice as the memories rush back through your head. All the faces, the eyes staring at you. Your eyes. Your face. You. Dead. The figure seems to chuckle darkly, waving what might’ve been a hand towards the broken down building behind you. “Now… Choose your fate.”

Notes

Hope you enjoyed :3 (For contest judges: Length is 1,557 words)