He would've thrown up, if he hadn't been so used to it already. The medical treatments he has been taking, nonetheless enduring, had made his stomach less than sturdy.
The sight of burning bodies simply didn't seem to bother his senses. The air in the dining room was quickly and surely disapeering as more and more smoke filled up every corner.
He was working fast, his limbs protesting in pain as he ripped apart the room, throwing all the furniture into the flames. He coughed again, lungs tightening.
He could hear sirens of firetrucks and perhaps the police coming closer and closer. He assumed Wendy had called them, scared and confused as to why he pushed her out, and locked himself in.
He needed to protect my family, he needed to help the poor boy, much like himself, who had death rush apon him that was unstoppable. Matt was certain death was not to far away, he might as well stop evil before his time was up.
Completely stopping his mission, Matt dropped to the floor. Shaking took over as he knew the end was near. He had did what he was supposed to. The wooden floor beneath him was hot against his skin. The flesh on his bare arms burning, as he rested there. The smoke overwhelmed him, the dark and thick substance swirling around him. It took him a moment to realize that it wasnt all smoke... Figures were appearing, closing in on him, taking form of the dead people he had just burned moments before. A ring of death surrounded him, and they glared down upon him. DUll, and rotting hands reaching towards him ready to take him away to his death. He knew it was over. He was sure that what he had done was right. Fire allows trapped souls to escape their never ending prison on earth.
But they surrounded him, vacant eyes staring, no expression was evident but he knew that they were angry. The house itself was angry. Creaking floors and wailing walls were actually the house crying out in frustration. There was evil here, no peace. The corpses were still surrounding him, leaning towards him more and more, leaving him with little space to take in whatever oxygen was left.
"What do you want from me?" He asked with desperation. Matt got no response except for the roaring of flames, "Aickman kept you here, stole your souls and used you! I'm trying to set things right!"
Nothing. They just continued to look down at him. Total defeat rushed into his heart and body, and that's when he broke down. Matt sobbed into his chest, still on the floor entombed by the evil. He Was trapped in a burning
house. His family was outside crying, screaming for him. All Matt wanted to do was make it right. End his suffering, end the boy's. The boy did his best while stuck in this god forsaken funeral home. Him and Matt were alone and
trapped. Matt looked back up, tears streaming down his face leaving water marks against the smoke caking on his skin. Matt searched frantically, looking back and forth the room for something he had missed. Something that he didn't
think of before. That's when his eyes landed upon the thing he should've known from the start. The box, the old black case filled with pictures and withered eyelids.
"You're not going to hurt anyone else!" Matt screamed at them, and then he took his chance. He dove for the case, slicing through the air as the figures departed from their location is a swirling landed roughly on the wooden floor that was slowly cracking from the heat of the room.
Scrambling to get up, he crawled to the case and opened it, propelling it forward into the fire. The mass of eyelids and photos spilled out into the orange and yellow waves. Bunches of moaning voices blasted through out the room and there was once a feeling of peace upon him again.
Exhaustion took over and he lowered myself to the ground closing his eyes. It was over. He could still here the fire raging around him, but it was getting quiet. All of his senses went dull. Matt couldn't feel the sweat dripping off his neck, down his back and into his pant legs.
He couldn't smell the smoke attacking his nostrils. Oxygen didn't seem like a necessary thing for him anymore. He didn't need it. The dead doesn't need air.
Soon he could feel no more, the last thing the dying boy could hear was the muffled cry of a woman in anguish and the crunching of wood. Matt was finished. With peace in his mind, he let go.