Witchcraft

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

It's colder in this room than in the basement, but it's tolerable.

I wrap my body in the old, filthy blanket on the bed. Judas has put me in a bedroom, a mostly-intact one, with an old bed, a closet with old clothes, and an old fireplace, which he did not light, despite it being so cold I can see my breath as I exhale.

There's one window, but it's boarded up. I tried for over an hour to open it, but the boards wouldn't budge. Just my luck. 

Moonlight breaks through the cracks between the boards, and gives the room just enough dim light to examine my surroundings. There's an old crib beside the main bed, baby toys within it. I see a stuffed teddy bear, laying on its side in solitude on the crib's mattress. 

I assumed this must be Judas's old room. Staring at the crib, I imagine a cursed child sleeping in it. Judas Sloan, as an infant, as a motherless child. The clothes in the closet were a mixture of women's clothing, and baby clothes. Clementine, his mother, must have loved him enough to have a spare bed in his own nursery. 

I can't blame her for trying to defy the curse. For it to cost her life, is a cruel, sick result of a cruel, sick accident.

My chest aching for this family, and for my own self for being stuck here, I conclude that I prefer the basement, and I wish I hadn't broke down the door.

The memories in this room are so strong, even I can feel them. There must be a reason it is so kept up. Judas must value those memories.  This is the cleanest room in the house. It is evident, he still loves his mother. There is an old picture frame on the nightstand beside the bed. I stare at it, a pristine photo of Clementine, proudly holding baby Judas in her delicate arms. The picture had not a hint of dust on it, which meant Judas was aware of it, and must stare at it often.

I huff out a long sigh. I keep finding myself feeling sympathy for the bastard. I try not to, in fact, I try to hate him, but how is it, the longer he keeps me here, the more my heart fills with his hurt?

I frown, tightly wrapping the blanket around me, I lay down, and eventually, I fall asleep.

I somehow dream of Judas's torture room. The blood stains evolve into fresh puddles of his own blood, and I see multiples of him, a body hanging in the noose, a body dead in the chair, a gun shot wound to the head. I see an infant, burnt to scars, dead on the floor.

I see Clementine's own burnt body, morphed into a figure, reaching out for her son as she died.

I wake up with my body covered in sweat, as the door is opened. I take several deep breaths as the man I just dreamed about walks into the room, and as he takes in the horrified look on my face, he pauses, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

I don't keep it a secret, "I just dreamt about you killing yourself. Over and over and over." My whole body is covered in chills, "This place is a nightmare, giving me nightmares."

My words don't even phase him, and I didn't really expect them to. He looks away, and returns to his former actions of walking to the fireplace, and starting a fire. The warmth was immediate, and I found my face growing flushed in the heat. 

He leans in front of the fire for a moment, his eyes watching the dancing flames perform. I realized I was bracing myself to grab him in case he decided to fall into the fire on purpose. I don't know why, because if he did temporary kill himself, I could escape.

Still, the horrifying sight of watching a man burn to death I know would be forever etched into my memory. I'd rather keep my sanity, and stay in the house for a year, than lose it, and have reoccurring nightmares at home.