A Collection of Stories

House of Madness

A sickening red stains my palms, elbows, and forearms. My shirt, stained crimson, clings to my chest as a tiny droplet of sweat runs down the bridge of my nose. I brush it away and listen. Nothing but the wild beating of my blood pump and the drip-drip dripping of the faucet where the body lay.

I think of him repeatedly. That disfigured face ruined by a caved in skull, or the long snaking fingers that had grasped at my throat an hour ago. He was strong, and I had been close to death, but I... I was madness itself. He had to die.

I can see his pale hands; the same ones that had tied the rope around my Vera's neck. I shut my eyes to clear my thoughts, but her screams linger in my memory. I could've saved her-if it weren't for the house... this damn place changes. It had changed. And I couldn't find her. But god, she cried for me. Begging me to help her. I searched, called back, trying desperately to follow her voice, but no. This nightmare wouldn't let me win. That psycho I left lying in the bathtub murdered my little girl. Before this, I was no killer. But I'd kill him again if I could. But there's no time for that. Allie's still here. And heaven forbid something should happen to her.

I step out from along the wall where I'd been crouching, carrying the bloody pipe easily. I'm in what looks like an old-fashioned living room. A vintage piano stands on one end, hidden in a century's worth of dust. There is daisy printed sofa, strewn with an assortment of cushions spotted with mildew and mold. In the middle of the floor is a low table set with delicate teacups and saucers, some empty, some half full of a deep brown liquid. I'm thirsty, but not stupid enough to take a drink of anything within these godforsaken walls.

As I pass by towards the window, a shiny object makes me hold my breath. Among the teapot and things, a thumb-sized glittered bear lay amongst the sugar crystals. I know without a doubt she's been here, but with whom? I scan the mugs, instinctively reaching for the cup with the giant sunflower. Only a quarter of tea remains. I dip my finger in it and put it on my tongue. While I'm deciding what it is I'm tasting, a violent blow knocks out my senses, sending me down upon the ceramics.

For a minute, maybe more, everything's blurry. My ears are ringing, my legs are unresponsive, and my head throbs wickedly. I groan and touch my wound; sticky, warm, and fresh. I swear, or attempt to. Whether it came out audibly, I'm not sure since the deafening bells muted everything. Someone's talking and walking about slowly. I reach for my pipe, two feet away, but they kick it across the room, and stand on my arm. I try to swing at them with my left, only to find that it's tied somehow.

"There's no use in doing that, unless you're powerful enough to break steel." My eyes, finally clear, focus on the zebra printed heel belonging to a long, thin leg covered with fishnet stockings.

"What the fu-, " with lightning speed, she punches me square in the face. There's a crack, and the agony suggests a broken nose. I swear and free my arm by twisting her ankle.

She lets out an agonized scream. With vicious strength, she lunges at me, wrapping her long legs around my throat.

"You're so handsome," she purrs near my ear. There's a faint smell of lavender about her, oddly familiar. " It's a pity I have to kill you before I have my fun. I like to toy with my prey before I finish them off, you know.... My specialty.... " A skull splitting pain sears through my body as her teeth cut into the flesh of my ear. With my air supply cut off, I struggle wildly with her, but to no avail. Slowly, my vision blurs. The pain becomes less painful and I'm nearly gone.

Allie. My sweet Allie. It was only this morning when we were laughing together at some old family joke on our way here. The boys, no longer interested in family events, vouched to hang out with friends. They'll never know what became of me. Or Vera and Allie. Or their mother....

Suddenly, I'm sucking in huge breaths of air. Things are crashing everywhere. My victimizer is being thrown about by a powerful woman dressed in white. I quickly go to work on the steel cuffs, joining my wrist to the leg of the oversized sofa. I try lifting the thing, but being so drained, it doesn't budge. The women are rolling about in screams, both covered in the other's blood. Pantsuit gets her hands on my weapon and thrusts its jagged end into her opponent's stomach repeatedly, screaming all the time. The other stares long and hard at nothing, her last breath a pitiful moan. The woman in white, exhausted at last, sits there in her victim's blood. She rises slowly, the pipe dangling at her side, and turns a beautifully distraught face to me.

"Rose?" my voice catches at the sight of her. Her lovely golden locks are wild tangles of blood and dirt. Her once crisp pantsuit, torn and covered in filth. She's shaking all over.

"Baby, it's me," I whisper, doing my best to mask the fear in my voice. There's a look in her eyes I don't like.

"Marcus...," her voice cracks, and there's no mistaking the tear that escapes her eyes. She takes a shuddering breath.

"Save the kids," and with a shuddering breath, she collapses with a limp thud.

Vera.

Rose.

Allie...?