The Room

by Dexter Joseph


With jittery hands and a petrified heart thumping as would a panting deer’s, you reach over and pick the knife lying just next to you, bloodied even to its handle. You stare at it and your sight doesn’t catch a glimpse of its smooth –but now– wet edges because your hands can’t stay still.

You tremble, afraid to look at your left-hand side, at the corner of your room. You can’t look because it’s neither dark nor fiction. Lying there is a pool of blood, thick as honey, red as bottled wine, much like water spilt from a broken keg weighing at least twelve ounces. Lying there is what had stained this sharp-edged knife.

Right there, by your left, just a few yards away from you, is your mother’s head, covered in blood, removed from her shoulders and with rough edges where the assault on it had cut through. Her eye is wide open, and the other missing, leaving nothing in its place but a deep, black, gory hole spitting blood. Its mouth is ajar like a door forgotten by kids running around in ecstasy over their playtime, and her colour is nothing but pallid. The first sight of it bores something deep within you, something frightening. Something that makes you tremble.

It had been ripped off with bare hands. The knife is bloodied because it had been used on whoever had broken her before your eyes. Just you are in the room, but you know whatever it is, is right there, just inches from where you sit, staring right back at you with eyes like an abyss of endless darkness, waiting for you to make your move, whatever it is.

You gasp as the door squeaks open. The haunting sound of its hinges make you shudder and your insides overhaul. A cold sensation runs down your spine and perspiration trickles down your chin as something round and dark flies into the room, hits the tiled floor and rolls towards your feet, leaving blood on its unclean trail. It’s your little brother’s head, only his eyes have been gouged out, leaving nothing but a bloodied hole of horror gazing right back at you.

You make to scream, but then the lights go out. Everywhere turns dark as night, leaving you blind and your arms flying around for hope in its touch.

You freeze, unable to move as something wet and slimy crawls up your right shoulder with a tingling sensation, up to your neck, all the way to your ear, wetting the pendulous flesh of your earlobe with a hoarse sigh of monstrous thrill.

You scream, spinning off your bed, your heart racing, eyes and mouth wide in terror. You look around, and everything is as they ought to have been. The lights are on and the fan spins above your head. It was all a dream. The craziest nightmare. You hold your chest to ease the rhythm and the heartache it causes you. You had been so close to crying, thanking the heavens that none of that horror is real.

Your room’s door suddenly squeaks open to the wind. Something round spins through it, and before you can tell what it is, the lights go out.

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