Damian's Door
A/n: This story is part of another story called "Number 17", and will be about the events of Johnny's three day imprisonment, which I/he referred to in "Number 17". You can find it on my profil if you are interested in reading the story of how he met his wife, but it isn't neccissarily for to read this story if you don't want to. :)
I'd like to dedicate this story to FallenAngelAnarchyStocking. This lonely little anon has given me some much needed encouragement in the past, bless her soul. On another note: Please do not continue reading if you are uncomfortable with graphic content. I don't wanna upset anyone.
The door was plain, wodown
I did not know as I approached the door that Friday evening that this door would haunt my mind in the dead of night for years to come - I was thinking solely of leaving the scarefloor, clocking out, and returning home to my beautiful wife.
The door handle was cold and tiny in my hand, and wobbled with its years of overuse - years of being pulled abruptly to create a blockade between a scared child and a drunken, angry parent.
No, on that Friday I strode through the door, a roar building in my belly and a smug grin on my lips.
As soon as I closed the pine carved door behind me I knew something was wrong. The air was too still, and the bed was empty. The smell of copper hung in the air like a noose - a sign of death.
It wasn't uncommon for a monster to step into a room to find a house empty - kids left all the time - but sometimes a monster would happen upon something more sinister.
A few months before I had had a briefing about what to do in such a situation, as the occurrence had become regular enough that a protocol was made for it. I hadn't paid much attention. I'd spent the hour whispering with my best friend in the back row about the up coming game between the Monstropilis Minators and the HellTown Harpies. David, a green scaled lizard with a long snout and snaggle-toothed grin had 50 bucks on the Harpies, just because he knew I was rooting for the Minators.
Luckily I'd heard just enough to not be clueless, because when I stepped in the room two figures lay curled around eachother next to a busted down door. The smile slipped from my face and my heart dropped as I saw them there in the darkness.
With the same caution I would take when creeping up on a child that was asleep, I crept over the mess of clothes and toys on the floor to one I knew could be dead.
Damian was seven, had scruffy uncut hair and freckles scattered across his nose like sprinkles on an icecream Sundae. He was scared on thunder, lions, explosions, slamming doors, gunfire, and his Dad.
He lived with his mother. She was not pretty - her hair was bleached blonde and dry like grass after a hot summer, and smelt heavily of cigarettes. But she did love her son. I'd seen her on occasion when I'd been less stealthy in my exit from her sons closet, and she always sat with her boy and sang him to sleep were her croaky voice. She was a terrible singer, but a good mum, and a brave soul.
The woman's yellow hair was spread over the wall, carpet, and her sons head, along with fragments of skull and a jelly like substance I knew was her brain. Blood dribbled out of a bullet wound in the back of her head, and a gapping hole that was now her face. I could just make out the smooth, round surface of an eyeball amongst the mush.
My wife, Illamay, had made me a delicious turkey and cheese sandwich for lunch that day, and I saw it again as I emptied my stomach.
I turned up my nose at the dead women and blood covered boy, cringing and stumbling backwards, a stream of 'oh god's pouring from my mouth in a whisper.
Damian's eyes were glassy and still, and his mouth agape. His face was heavily bruised, and his skin had already turned a shade of blue that I had only seen before on a monster from the swamps of Gal-lefray that worked in reception. Damian had been dead longer than his mother, that much I could tell.
I turned to retreat, to run from the horrors and pour the memory from my head to a psychologist - my psychologist. I tripped and stumbled over the belongings of a dead child longing for the comfort my peach eyed lover could provide. She'd talk the image away with that voice she used on her patients, the one I secretly found sexy. Then she'd kiss me, and hold me, and stroke my fur. She'd let me cry and squeeze her tight and tell her I loved her a thousand times over until I'd finally feel at ease.
Fuck the protocol, I wasn't sticking around.
As a made for the closet door, I heard a floorboard creak under someone boot. I spun to see a man - around 40 - holding a rifle and pointing it at me.
I back against the pine door, watching him as I searching for the door handle behind me.
"Where do you think you're going, you pretty beastie?" He hissed. His tone was bittersweet as he looked down the barrel at me. A shadow cast by his long, oily hair covered his face, but I could see the glint of his yellowed teeth as he grinned menacingly.
I knew I wasn't allowed to talk to him, and the sight of his bloodied knuckles and red stained clothes made my words catch in my throat.
I opted for a roar. It escaped me like a hurricane, but the man didn't even flinch.
"You don't scare me, beastie, but go on, try it again," he said, cocking the rifle and aiming at my chest.
It could have been instinct, a fight-or-flight mechanism activating in the most primal part of my brain, but I was suddenly filled with rage.
I sucked in another breath to fuel my coming bellow, but as my hand found the doorknob, pulling it open and I opened my mouth to leave the man with just the memory of my mighty bawl, another sound quaked the room.
The bullet burnt under my skin like hellfire, and sent quakes of pain through my belly where it had hit. I fell to the ground almost instantly, and all I saw as everything went black was the light of the scarefloor through the closing door, and my assistant running to save me.
I knew he'd never make it to me, though. Sadly I was right.
Please tell me what you think. I love hearing from any of you. Xx I'll hopefully upload the next chapter soon.