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True Monsters

Who are the real monsters?

A silent scream in the dark, muffled cries echoed in hollow halls. Sounds amplified, making the quiet still and more painful. Wooden floorboards creaked with each step, years of abuse warped the floor beneath. Screened lights above flickered a dull yellow dimming to dark amber. Some areas submerged in the dark, for the popped lights now littered the floor.

The walls were sticky and wet, stained red and thick as paint. A sour smell of decay and iron was suffocating and vile. There were no corpses, only the mess left behind and the ominous smear leading to another pool of blood as the body dragged across the floor.

Shaking hands, and a light intake of air, her lower lip quivered. Rose red lipstick tainted by a monster's lips. Her hazel green eyes, blotchy and red, were framed by smoky gray eyeshadow and black mascara, which now trembled down her porcelain cheeks in black rivers.

Her head pounded in synchrony with her beating heart. Her hair felt heavy and damp in the back, where there was a sore spot.

She treaded slowly, with an obvious limp. She wore four-inch heeled boots, one of which had snapped. Her dress was a fitted red satin silhouette with a sweetheart neckline and a pencil skirt. The front of the dress torn so bad that it barely stayed on by one strap and the skirt was ripped to shreds almost as if by a dog.

With each room she passed, she saw a blood bath. Furniture turned over, the insides and guts of those unknown splattered over everything. Still no bodies found, all being dragged to a place unknown.

She stopped at some stairs, all the blood streaks converged here. Each step was slick as oil, a dripping waterfall of death.

She took one step and began her descent, the odor fouler as rot overpowered the smell of iron and rust.

There were more sounds of shifting, thumps of unknown origin echoed. Soon drowned out by a blood-curdling scream that died out slowly; hauntingly.

Bones littered the floor, crisp, dry. They snapped under her feet. Shattered skulls and fragments of the spines scattered about in the dust and dirt. With each progression forward, it turned from bones to bone with decay, to decaying limbs and body parts drained of blood. She hesitated at the sight of recent bodies. Gray and still, their eyes open, vacantly flat and scared. Their expressions of horror and pain mummified into rotting, bloody statues of their last moments.

Footsteps drew closer, irregular footsteps of someone with a slight limp. The girl turned to see a figure with a potato sack on its head. Two black holes cut into it marked as eyes, those eyes that burrowed themselves into her soul. It began to approach, dragging a fresh body with it.

The figure drew closer as she stared in fear, her feet frozen to the ground and sweat formed on her head.

It tossed the body into the pile and turned toward the girl.

"I told you. Daddy will take care of you. Now let's go take a look at your head shall we?" The figure grabbed the girl's hand and they walked off together.
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Copyright © Copyright ©2015 Rebellious Soul. All Rights Reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means. Without prior permission of the author.

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