Monsters Within: Blood Night 2

Chapter 7

Charlie locked her door and tried to call Ms. Moshin, but getting messages and she held her raspy coughs and unknown pain.

For hours, the pain ebbed and flowed. She felt on the verge of tearing from her skin, like her body was on fire. Charlie felt so weak, so dizzy to stand, so helpless— and, then she felt something building within her… something dark, powerful.

And she ran to the bathroom and leaned agaisnt the toilet, feeling the need to throw up but nothing came, only crampness. When it finally stopped, when the pain finally went, Charlie sprawls, gasping and wheezing like she had just broken a thousand year old spell of suffocation.

The air felt heavy in her lungs. Thick with the taste of sweat and mucus– it clogged her senses, dulling the burning throb in her neck. Charlie scrunched her nose, rolling onto her side to clutch a hand over her face.

Another hour she felt a bit better. The nauseous is gone and the pain as well, except her stomach cramp and curled. She hasn't ate anything, maybe she needs something to eat.

She heads to the kitchen with her left arm hugging agaisnt her stomach, rubbing it as she pulls out steak and a pan. Turning the heat and putting oil, she sets the meat in.

Charlie’s head rang at the collective tolling of noise.

Her hand moved to her hair to clutch at her head in agony. Then the ringing stopped.

She turns the heat off, grabbing a plate, knife, and fork and setting the steak on the plate. She sits down, closing her eyes to clench on the crampness and cuts a piece of steak and eats it. The steak is juicy and wet when it hits her tongue. The taste was off, it made her want to gag–

And she looks to see blood raw steak–

And she sprinted to the bathroom as the food forced back out from her throat, her knees aching from hitting the tiled bathroom floor and vomits. She coughed and spluttered, hands gripping the edges of the toilet so tight that her knuckles turned white.

"Ah, god..." she groaned, breaths ragged as she struggled for breath. She fell back onto her bottom, wiping at her mouth with the sleeve of her rugged hoodie. Her face was cold and clammy, lightly sheened with sweat. Charlie ran her hands over her face and tilted her head back, eyes squinting at the bright light of the bathroom stabbing into her vision. Then, overcome with rigor, she went to her feet, flushed the toilet. "Didn't cook it at all. Fuck..."

She slowly stands to the sink, washing her face and rinsing her disgusting raw blood mouth. Wiping a cloth on her face, she noticed– with the cloth covering some of her sight– in the mirror. She doesn't see herself. Her reflection, but something else. She freezes and rubs her glossy eyes.

After a moment though, she realizes that she wasn't seeing anymore reflections, that he was standing right in front of her. She peeks up to see if she is hallucinating. Exhaustion is getting to her, or she's asleep and having a nightmare - something - because this absolutely can't be real.

It can't be.

Jerry flashed a fanged grin. "Hey girl."

Charlie screeched and runs. Until her slippery sock glide on the laminate floor and fell.

Charlie's body falls and her head hits the counter with a dull thud. She slides down into an broken heap of crumpled limbs, a puppet with her strings cut. Her head hangs limp, chin against her chest. A plate falls and smashes beside her, narrowly missing her skull in its trajectory.