Warning: Do not read this if you're not used to gore, and if you haven't watched many horror movies or read novels like that. This is the gross-out level. And there's a lot of blood. Really, it is thoroughly horrifying and it might take you time to recover. It could even be upsetting for some people. Think 'Saw' or 'It'. Yes, that bad. Sensitive readers really want to stay away.

Response to P: Putting this up here because you probably don't want to read the chapter, or won't make it that far. Thanks for the review! And I'm glad I managed to freak you out with the chant. If you do manage to read this, tell me if you think I've gone mad.

The Gross-out

Suuuusaaaan, I can still hear the sinister, almost bony voice. Screechy. As if coming from a corpse's throat. A shriek barely escaping a dying man's lips. A dog's cry. A mad-man's laugh. And it's saying my sister's name. My sister whom I have lost. My head starts spinning as the panic swallows me whole again.

And then.

Scratch, scratch, scritchy-scratch, something echoes. My skin crawls and shrinks. The blood in my fingers recedes and I feel them buzz. My ears are still ringing with scritch-scratch. I kneel and cover my head with both my hands, bending, crawling away on all fours from the never ending scratch. But it follows me. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Always there. Always. My breath hitches. My chest feels too heavy. Fright rising up in my breast. Heart beating ferociously. Scritchy-scratch. My hands crush my skull as I press them harder onto my ears. I can't! I can't take it!

"Peter!" My brother's blanched face is staring at me; chocolate eyes concerned and fixed on me. He looks perplexed. But worried more than anything. I blink through my tears, utterly confused. "Peter? Can you hear me?" my brother asks, waving his hand in front of me. I manage to give a shaky nod. Eidolic silence stretches for some deathly seconds, and the darkness spreads to me, crawling inside me. Ed presses a hand on my chest, then my throat, then my sweaty forehead. "Pete?"

I only crush him to me. The terror has engulfed me. And if Ed leaves. If he leaves, I'll—

Where am I?

Still in the wretched corridor. My sister still missing. Dracus holding Lu close in a corner as she tears up to see me so scared. I only hide my face into my brother's shoulder, unable to shake the dread. Edmund is rubbing my back, shushing me. "Pete?"

"It was there! The voice. The scratching sound," I say between hiccoughing breaths. I hiccup between my sobs again.

"There was never a sound, Peter. We need to find Susan. But first, I think I need to get rid of my shirt." Ed's voice grows amused. And he pulls apart despite my fierce struggles to keep him close. "You pushed me really hard, Pete. You really hurt me," he says, sliding one sleeve off his arm, reminding of my terrible malevolence. I blink at his smiling face. I glance at Dracus and Lucy who have stepped too far for me to see their faces. Just the uncertain silhouettes. Their dark, hovering figures. But the two could be anyone. Could be the eyeball's owner. The frightful voice. The split apart lips. "And what I struck. Do you want to know what it was? Let's check, shall we?"

And the shirt glides off him. "Oh, that's a mess," he says, holding the shirt parallel to his face, glancing at its back with a wrinkled nose.

"See, Peter?" he says, flipping the shirt. Showing me. I flutter my eyes. The red lines, the smudges are staring at me, jeering me.

I stand baffled.

I don't know what to make of this.

"Did I scare you?"

I only blink at my brother again. Then at the red word painted on his shirt. Fooled.

"Wha—what?" I say, blinking repeatedly.

"Fooled," my brother says, his eyes growing suddenly a bloody red. It drips down from his lashes, trickling down his cheeks. "And fooled again."

And two bone-thin arms grab my waist. They pull me into the red room.

The door slams shut with a thunderous bang! My stomach still feels squished. The narrow pressure. The thin arms still have me in their grasp. One digs its nail into me, and I screech. Then they pull me further in. Whoosh! The wind lashes past me as we fly to the corner of the room. I crash into the wall. I hear my ribs crack and snap. But I feel no pain in the fear. I keep sobbing, groaning at the same time. "Please, please," I beg.

And the arms hear my plea. I feel them loosen. Scritch. The fingers scratch my tunic once, grating over, then they rustle against each other as they untangle. And then I hear a thump. No. Two thumps. My heart begins racing. I dare not look back. My breaths shudder and the red walls stare back at me as I start to move ahead. Towards the door. Ed. Lucy. Susan. I have to get back to my siblings. I reach the door and am instantly trying to pull it open.

"Don't go," the softest voice echoes through the room. It shoots off the bloody walls and then howls again in my ears.

"Please don't go," it insists. The muffled sob reaches me, and I slowly uncurl my stiff, half-frozen fingers from the resistant knob. Cham, cham, munch. I can hear her teeth digging. The crunch. Munch-munch. My heart is in my mouth. My lungs shrinking as my breathing stops. "I promise I'll be nice."

"No…Please…" I whisper, tears stinging sharply in my eyes. Munch. "No!" I say. I have never felt as lonely as I do now. As if even the air has inched away from me. Only the girl. Only her chewing is with me. In the cold. In the red, I stand alone. Utterly alone. My hands shake as I try to find a cloak that isn't there. I blow out a misty breath, shivering, my teeth are clattering. Munch!

I wince, and gulp, feeling the cold creep up.

"Won't you turn?" Munch. Cham-crunch! "It's delicious."

"No…" I choke out. "Please. Aslan, please."

"Turn!" she screams in a horrifying voice, plain yet loud enough to make my ears ring. I don't turn. My limbs are frozen. Feet attached to the ground. I am so alone. I want my siblings. I need my siblings! Munch, crunch, crunch. "Won't you like some of it?" Om-nom, she muffles out, savouring her meal. Her meal. Oh, Aslan, please. Please help me. "If you won't turn…"

And something grabs my frozen leg. I scream a dying wail as I try to stumble away on one foot. But the hands don't let me go, the thin, skeletal fingers scratching my trousers, calling me down to them. The two arms. White, splattered with slime and spit. The cuts infected and puss-filled. The red-whip marks shining. The flaying marks clear. The arms fly back, dragging me down on the cold, blood-pooled ground. They drag me through the blood, making my lips taste some of it. My hands slide through the pool, feeling the warm liquid. I spit the blood out. Gagging. Crying. The bloodied ends of my hair fall like needles over my eyes. And I'm rendered blind. My foot is numb with pain. The nails have dug deep enough to form holes, making blood seep out. My mouth is salty, my eyes red with the blood dripping from my hair. My chest hurts with the scraps I've acquired. The fingers leave my ankle. I go limp on the ground, gasping. They crawl up my calf, circling over my knee, as if testing. Up my thigh.

And then stop.

My eyes open. I'm standing on our front porch, waving dad goodbye as he leaves for work again. I blink when the babe in my arms giggles. I sit down on the step. The stairs are steep. Some steps are crooked. But I'm careful enough. Old enough. The babe giggles again, wrapping his small palm around my finger. He grips it tight, looking at with his black eyes. He giggles again. I tap his nose with my free hand, then kiss him again. I rock him gently in my arms. Kissing his cheek again, I allow myself to feel warm. Not lonely. Not cold. Not scared.

I feel warm and safe.

Something splashes on my face. Little drops speckled. I flutter my eyes open. The babe is gone. My mouth is coppery. And the stairs—

The steps are painted in crimson.

Wide pools of blood trailing down the steps, as if painting a white canvas. My eyes follow the trail. Seeing smudges and dark spots. Then I see him. Still wrapped in the red blanket, the lips still juicy red, black eyes showing through the small slits. He isn't blinking. Isn't crying. The wrist is clearly broken. The hilt of the knife staring at me. I just scream.

Munch-crunch.

I blink, huddling in the corner, knees drawn to my chest, chin propped up on them.

Cham, cham, crunch.

I'm soaked in blood. I run my hands over my face, only to draw more red smudges. She's staring at me as she feeds. The meat crunches again. And she devours it with a muddled sound of nom. I hold my breath hopes to avoid throwing up. I strip off my shirt, hoping to get rid of at least some of the blood. Munch.

She smiles at me as she chews. The flesh crawls out of her mouth. Blood dripping out like juice being squeezed from a fruit. She takes another bite. Her teeth strike the bone, but she scrapes off some of it. My mind is numb with fear. I don't even know what I'm seeing. Munch! She smiles at me, flashing her black, rotten teeth. "Would you like a bite?" she asks. Her hollow eye-sockets penetrating through me. She extends her hand towards me, offering me a bite.

Offering me a bite of her hand.

The fingers have been chewed off like a rat chews fabric. The bones half-scraped, broken, dangling by their hinges. It's her wrist she's feeding on now.

She smiles again. She would blink if she had eyes. Her black, red hair hides her from my view. She growls and leans down, her wrist breaking to pieces as it crashes onto the ground.

I flinch back but she's already crawling on all fours. Hands and knees sliding swiftly on the blood. Like an insect. With her crooked knees and bent elbows, she slides towards me.

Faster and faster.

And faster!

I close my eyes.

And scream.

"Peter! Peter, wake up!"

I won't. I won't open my eyes. I refuse to see her face. I refuse to taste her blood. I refuse to feel the hot liquid soak up to my chest. I refuse!

"Peter, please!"

I scream again, jerking, convulsing, thrashing. A soothing hand caresses my cheek. It's not wet and hot with blood. Not sticky and slimy. Not bloody. Not half eaten.

"Peter, I promise no one will hurt you. Please, it was just a joke!"

Her smooth hair brushes past my face. My face. It's not covered in blood.

"Peter?"

I finally dare to open my eyes, see through my stinging vision. Sunlight pours in through my eyelids. The brightness blinds me. But as my eyes adjust, I blink. The figure sharpens. The yellow smudge distinguishing as her beautiful hair. Her fair skin. Her reassuring eyes. There's not a trace of blood. I blink again, confused and scared.

"I promise it's alright. It's okay. I swear. I swear to you," she says benevolently, stroking back my hair. I almost tell her to not touch me. I'm filthy. I'm soaked in blood. But she doesn't seem to mind. "It was just a joke, Peter. Ed didn't mean any harm."

I don't understand her words. "Lu?" I ask, trying to convince myself of her presence. Her warm, angelic presence.

"It's okay. I promise."

The wooden tiles beneath me are stiff. Realising my back is aching, I slowly sit up. Lucy helps me settle against the wall. The large windows on the opposite wall fill the corridor with warmth and light. I glance up at the ceiling. The small window is still there. It's the same house. The same wretched house. Lucy is rubbing my arm. I turn to my little sister. "Lucy, wha—what happened?"

"Edmund had this stupid idea. It's Halloween, Peter. Remember? In the Other Place, England, I mean, we always used to celebrate it a week after Ed's birthday. Remember?"

I nod my head. "A little. Yes. Lu—"

"Hush," she says. "Ed wanted to scare you. I didn't know! I swear I didn't. Su and Dracus did."

"Susan. Su's okay?" I ask, voice trembling as I recall what had happened. Suuuusaaaan, it had sung.

"Yes. Yes, she's fine. She was hiding in a closet," Lucy says, still rubbing my arm.

"But the thing. The voice…"

"Ed got some help from the Narnians, Peter. It was a Marshwiggle, you see." I blink. I know what a Marshwiggle is. I do. But I can't recall. My mind still feels numb. "But then you fainted and oh, Peter, Ed wouldn't stop crying."

"Eddie." He'd died. The baby had died. "Where is he?"

"He and Dracus are telling the Narnians you're alright. Susan went to get you some water when you began dreaming."

"Dr—dream? A dream?"

"Nightmare, by the looks of it," Lucy says, sitting beside me, against the wall. "You looked really scared, Peter. What did you see?"

I shake my head. My throat closes up as the sight flashes before my eyes. She's grinning now, her lips mushy. Blood squeezing out of them. I give myself a shake. "Nothing," I say in a quavering voice.

When Lucy begins standing up, I grab her wrist, tugging her down. She bends before me, stroking my cheek once. "I promise I'll be back soon. I just have to go tell Ed and Su."

She begins moving away, but I don't let her go. "Lu, please…"

"Back in a minute," she assures. My fingers leave her wrist, brushing past her once. And she runs off to the end of the corridor, where the wooden door stands ajar. She shuts it behind her, blocking my view of the forest. I had caught just a glimpse of my brother. He's alive. We are all safe. Safe and warm.

But my chest hurts. It hurts too much. Burning. My eyes close in the pain. And a hand cups my face.

"Won't you open your eyes? You've slept long enough. Your brother is looking for you. And that minion of his. But I don't think they'll find you in time. Look what happened to you sisters."

She grabs my face, digging her nails into my cheeks. I open my eyes. Just a narrow slit. My sisters. They're—

"Hanged, yes. But I'll have my fun with you," she says, grinning menacingly. A mad-man's grin. Her white teeth shines against her black, wavy hair. The scar stretches from her forehead to her chin, going over her eye. "You shouldn't have come here. Susan warned you, didn't she? If only you'd been clever enough to listen. Poor, poor you."

And she draws another cut on my chest with her serrated knife, completing the word.

"It's pretty, isn't it? The name? Jadis," she says, admiring her work with one eye. I only sob. The dread crashing into my chest. The pain lost in the fear. Warm tears slide down my cheek as I weep, jerking with my sobs. Why? Oh, Aslan, why?

And then, "Peter! Peter!" echoes my brother's voice somewhere down below. I only cry harder, my lids pressing onto my eyes. He's so far. So far.

"They'll be too late," she says, letting my blood drip on from my chest onto her palm. She drinks some of it. "That's good. That's delicious. No. Scrumptious. You're my best meal in years."

"Peter!" my brother screams desperately.

They'll be too late.

Too late.