When he finally woke up, the boy had an ominous feeling that something was wrong.
There was a strange smell, though the boy instinctively knew it did not originate from his own room, but from the living room in the farthest part of the house from him.
He slowly got out of his bed, knowing it could take awhile before he would successfully shake off the fatigue.
The strange smell intensified as he walked closer to the living room.
It made him nauseous.
The smell was somewhat familiar, as badly as it filled his nostrils and lungs, as sick as it made him feel.
The smell was at its worst when he entered the living room, but it was not as terrible as what he had witnessed.
There was blood all over the living room's warm wood floor. There was half-dry, terribly red blood on the body of the man that was seated on a chair in the middle of the room, a handgun in his lap. Several flies hovered near the man's bloody, shattered skull.
The boy wanted to scream, and he tried to, but no sound came out. It was too much to much to ask of his horrified psyche at that moment.
He fell to his knees, tears started rolling down his cheeks. Quietly, slowly.
He clutched his hands on his mouth as if to suppress the screams of loss that he could not bring his throat to cry.
He couldn't stand the smell and sight of the blood, but forced himself to stay at the doorway. He sat there and stared, for what seemed like hours upon hours, at what remained of the man. He couldn't bring the tears to a stop, nor did he have the will to do so.
The boy had already come to the heart breaking conclusion that there was nothing he could do to bring the man back.
After a time that seemed like an eternity the boy's eyes flickered towards the living room table, and he noticed something that appeared to be an envelope, perhaps two of them. Could the man had left him a note, a goodbye letter explaining what he had done and why he had done it?
The boy stood up and closed his eyes. He knew he would have to walk through the bloody floor, and that was something he did not want to see himself doing.
He could feel the nearly-dry blood beneath his bare feet as he walked.
He could barely keep himself from fainting.
When he could feel the table brushing against his leg, he stopped, opened his eyes and looked down at the table. On the envelope farthest from him were printed the words "To Whom It May Concern", and in the envelope closest to him , in the man's gentle handwriting, were the words "My Beloved Son".
YOU ARE READING
The Day Killer
VampireA father who's son is dying of a unique and mysterious illness plans to be by his side to his last days in an isolated home. However, the father is tempted to cure his son in, as it first appears, a miraculous way, which only proves to have terrible...
