I awoke to a splitting headache. It was as if there was a knife in my brain and even the slightest movements made it flare up, and I feared I would vomit. As I pried my eyes open, groaning at the light streaming through the window, the next thing I noticed was the smell. It was like rust and rot; a metallic yet sickly sweet scent that did not help the fact that I was already swallowing down vomit.
I sat up and stared in horror and shock at the scene of my bedroom; there was blood and unidentifiable parts of something coating every surface. And suddenly I realised that I had no recollections of last night.
I stood slowly from my bed, attempting to not step in anything, just as Tate walked in. He bore no sign of even noticing the gore in my room, and if he did notice, he obviously wasn't shocked.
Tate held up a bowl of cereal, he was smiling as if he had no cares in the world. "I made you breakfast." He said proudly, and his lack of attention to the horror around me, made me suddenly question if I was the only one seeing it.
I took several hesitant steps towards him, still careful where I placed my feet, until I could take the bowl from his hands. Sparing a glance to the floor, I swallowed down my sickness.
"Tate, I think I'm seeing things." I began slowly. "My room looks like its covered in blood."
As soon as the words had left my mouth, Tate's sweet smile turned into a much darker one. "I understand, you want to play a bit more before you eat. I do too." He took the bowl from my hands, and to my confusion, he tugged me out of my room, leaving the bowl on my dresser.
As we walked through the house, I became more terrified. Bloodied hand prints stained the wall paper, crimson splatters were everywhere. I couldn't fathom what had happened here, nor could I stomach it any longer.
Just as we reached the basement door, I pried myself away from Tate and bent over as I vomited. It was all too much-- the smell, the gruesomeness of it all.
Tate held my hair back and murmured soft things, like he was consoling me. But he seemed not at all worried really.
"Tate, what happened?" I asked, tears were pricking my eyes and my throat hurt.
Tate's smile slowly faded as he looked me in the eyes. "We were having fun. You enjoyed it." His words came out like excuses, but they sounded false. He sounded as if he was trying to hide the glee in his voice.
I looked him in the eyes and was afraid of what I saw there. I backed away from him and into the wall. "Tate, what happened?" I asked again, praying in my heart that what I was starting to assume, was wrong.
"Don't you remember, Fox?" He asked as that dark, prideful grin slid onto his lips. "We made them scream for mercy they weren't going to ever get." His voice was hushed and reverent, causing goose flesh to rise on my skin.
Flashes of memories flickered through my mind; my hand clutching one of the butchers knives from the kitchen, the feel of warm blood splattering across my face, Tate's bloodied and jovial grin.
I put my hands to my head, digging my fingers into my temples. "No!" I protested against the memories. I looked at Tate, he was still grinning and it sickened me. "Get away from me, Tate!" I ordered him.
Finally that smile faded for real. "No, you can't order me away! You wanted this! You started it and it won't end just because you try to get rid of me!" His happy tone had changed to one of anger.
For the first time, I was really afraid of Tate. "Leave me alone and go away!" I ordered him again. I feared he would hurt me, but instead he did as I demanded. He vanished from my sight.
Whether or not he was lurking near me, I didn't know.
I scrambled quickly through the bloody hallways, a strong desire overcoming me to find the grimoire. I found it coated in blood, laying on the floor.
I picked it up and clutched it to my chest as tears streamed down my face. What had I done? Had I truly sacrificed my humanity, my soul, for this house?! I had been so foolish to think I could win!
As I clutched the book to my chest, I surveyed the grotesque state the house was in. It was as if we'd held a massacre here.
My body was trembling in fear as I finally began to walk down the stairs into the basement, fearing what I would find down there.
At first there was nothing, and then it was as if the darkness was slowly pooling together, taking shape. I watched, paralysed with fear as it formed what looked to be Tate's silhouette.
The black mass of shadow had no defining features, just Tate's shape.
But I heard it clearly as it whispered to me using Tate's voice. "You will never win against me." It whispered.
I knew this darkness was not Tate, it was the house. Just like in my dream, the evil inside the house had chosen Tate as it's favoured tool, as its vessel.
But it was not Tate, no words or commands I could give, would force it away from me.
Part of me was drawn to it, and I knew it was because of my deal for the book, but a greater part of me was terrified.
Suddenly I knew with all my heart, with all the conviction I could muster; one way or the other, I would die in this house.
But just as I knew this to be true, I knew I would not go down without a fight. Even if I died, I was taking this evil and vanquishing it.
Even if I became a monster, I was going to save Tate and the others.
AN: After the long wait, the next chapter is finally here.
So Fox believes there is no way out of this except in her own demise, but is she correct in her convictions or is that only the evil trying to cast away her hope?
There is so much more in store for my dear, Fox. Her story isn't over yet.
I owe a great thanks to all my readers, especially those who have stuck around and waited for this next chapter. I hope you all keep reading until the very end!
And I hope I haven't disappointed you yet!
Until next time,
xoxo
Heavyn
