Where Nightmares Thrive

Chapter Thirteen: Out of Darkest Dreams

The demons had been advancing on him, writhing and slithering grotesquely; snarling and screaming. Joe had never been so terrified. He saw people who had died because of him…Al-Rousasa, the terrorist who had been responsible for Iola's death…Iola herself, this time looking pitiful and helpless as the Al-Rousasa tortured her brutally. There was Frank, a gloating, evil look on his face. Why did he keep coming back?

Something twitched and started to creep toward him from a corner of the room. Its long, hairy legs overlapped each other as the creature scuttled slowly forward, a low clicking noise emanating from its body.

Joe had always hated spiders. Now there was a ten-foot arachnid looming above him, its many eyes gleaming in malice and baring its fangs terribly.

Joe shrank away in fright. The beast hissed, and Joe let out a terrified whimper. Frank, an evil glint in his eyes, pointed a finger at Joe. "Attack," he said calmly. And the demon-spider sprang.

Frank was alone. Or was he? He kept hearing strange, outworldy noises that chilled him to the bone. Distant sobbing; a cry of pain. Someone pleading for something…probably their life. He hated people suffering…

He could make out the voices more clearly now. His mother was crying, her sobs of anguish heart wrenching. His father…that was who was yelling in pain. Frank fell to his knees. He couldn't stop their anguish. He was powerless.

The last realization was the hardest blow. Joe was pleading for his life, and somehow, Frank knew, without a doubt, that this wasn't in his head. This was happening for real, right now. He could do nothing about it.

He glanced down and saw a shadow of his brother, lying on the floor, dead. His blue eyes were open wide, an expression of horror and shock still lingering on his features. Blood covered his body, making it impossible to tell where the wound was really at.

Frank didn't know if it was real or not. And that scared him more than anything. Either his little brother was dead on the floor, or a demon was right in front of him, ready to strike at any moment. Neither prospect was appealing, but Frank prayed with all of his being that it really was a demon. He would never get over it if Joe died. Never.

Suddenly, he knew for a fact that this was a demon. The "dead" Joe figure had risen to its feet, and the corpse snarled, "You killed me, Frank. You couldn't save me in time."

Frank tried to resist; tried to remind himself that this wasn't really his brother, but what if it was? Anything was possible in this house of horrors, and Frank was beginning to doubt even his own existence. Tears spilled down his face.

"It is time for my revenge. You killed me, 'brother'," Joe mocked, "and so now, I kill you in return."

Frank looked up to see Joe, a mask of blood shielding his face, with a knife raised above his head. His arm swung down as he aimed the dagger directly for Frank's heart.

He was shaking, he was so excited. Never did the feeling die when he was about to win his game. Every time, it was always the same. And he loved it.

The last part of the poem was to be recited soon. Dawn was drawing closer. They had to be dead by then. Otherwise, he would lose.

And he never lost.

And they always got what they deserved.

Hope knew she had to act soon. She was coming up on Joe; she could feel his pain as much as his hope, which was diminishing slowly. "Why didn't you listen to me?" she asked no one in particular, mournfully. It always happened this way.

But not now. Not this time. She had to stop it. He couldn't win this game again.

And he wouldn't.

She stepped into the room. Joe Hardy was unconscious, blood seeping from many open wounds. A horrendous spider was crouched over him, waiting for further orders.

He was still alive. She didn't have to see the shallow breaths as he struggled to breathe. She knew that he wasn't finished yet.

There was still more of the poem to go.

The girl had escaped. He was angry. More angry than he had ever been. It was time to act. Now.

They would die. All of them. And he would win.

He always won.

~Emachinescat ^..^