Ignoring the closed sliding door that ought to lead into the dining
room and the bathroom, Jeremy cautious stepped over to the stairway closet.
His bleeding foot further marred the ruined carpet as he set the makeshift
spear against the wall and turned the dented iron doorknob. With an easy
swing the door opened into the space.
No static cursed from the receiver, so it was with that assurance that he stepped into the shadowed room to grope for the hanging cord that ought to be in the middle of the room. The foggy light from the boarded window could not pierce around the worn doorframe, so it took many moments for his flailing arms to come across the string.
The creaking click of the light bulb briefly burnt his eye, but with its passing he discovered the rooms sick disproportions. The walls were contorted; bending in and out at odd angles, while the room itself was three times as large as before and most certainly could not actually fit beneath the stairway. Furthermore, a lone table sat in the center of the room; resting on its scratched surface was a piece of drawing paper covered in some sort of black scribbling that spiraled out across the sheet of paper, spilled out onto the wood, then onto the floors to climb the walls and ensnare the whole of the room. Such thick ink as to not even reflect the light of the swinging bulb that hung so... high?
Jeremy paused... surely the bulb had been lower than that. He reached for the string to test for any change in height, to be sure of his former analysis. His fingertips could barely brush the frayed ends, then as some sort of unfelt wind twitched the string it went a foot beyond his reach. The ceiling soared beyond the sight of his eyes; defying the physics of the moody house. "My God..." he mouthed.
The door slammed shut.
"Whoa!"
His shout echoed in the hollow space as he spun to face the closed door. "What the hell is going on..." fretted the scared man as he fumbled for his gun, wishing the spear had not been left outside. His nerves sought comfort in the rough waffle handle of the pistol as his eyes fought to discern the truth of the room. The thick bands of black seemed to pulse, slowly contracting and expanding until the entire wall was missing in the empty colors of nothingness.
Thud.
Something had fallen, splattering across the table and onto the floor. Some meaty chunk now lay bleeding on the floor. Jeremy looked up and felt his jaw shake itself open to scream.
Clanking rusted chains dropped from the void above him, heavy with payloads of malformed baskets and rotted cradles. The containers wobbled with the certainty of movement from within; only when one wobbled too much did the contents spill out to fall some thirty feet to assault his senses.
Babies; dozens of newborns were hacked into pieces and sewn haphazardly together in strange amalgams of parts. Their bodies so bloated with decaying muscles that their skin had been split to reveal the sinews that lie beneath. Still somehow alive, their piercing cries pounded against Jeremy until they came to rest in smears against the floor. The soft pulpy meats flooded the floor in inches of blood, thick enough to grace the last one to fall with a baptism of horror. It rolled for a moment, its five legs kicking to right itself.
Jeremy had cried all the while, sobbing uncontrollably as the babies lives were strewn across the floor, and up to the cuffs of his pants. Even as the remaining ghastly collection of parts began to scream loud enough to make his eyes blur, he felt nothing but fear and unmitigated sorrow.
Through blurry eyes he saw his arm raise the gun towards the thing. The sight focused on the head of one of the two attached to the oversized collection of torsos that formed a sphere like shape to which the legs were then attached.
Mercy ended the screams, but not the cries.
Staring from between his fingers, his sobs continued, wracking the whole of his body.
Then the blood receded.
Two inches became one, one became only puddles.
Slowly Jeremy turned around.
The door was open. Standing there, the thing from before. With the pyramid shaped head, though now in full color.
The crimson reds and rusts of blood mingled with metal, it ought to have phased him, it ought to have doubled him over, but now he could barely feel anything for the sight of the strange creature menacing him from the wall.
The wall?
Three feet across from the door was now a wall; crudely painted with this strange menacing image. The dirty carpet was missing, replaced with the strange metal fence like flooring from the police garage, and he realized the blood had excused itself down through the floor to soak the wall of the floor that stretched forever into the abyss below the grating.
Then as he turned to look into where the living room ought to be, he saw his makeshift spear, piercing the wall he stood nearest with the butt of it resting somewhat recessed into the hand of the creepy painting.
Shuddering, Jeremy decided to leave it there, and turned to the right to head towards where the dining room ought to have been.
No static cursed from the receiver, so it was with that assurance that he stepped into the shadowed room to grope for the hanging cord that ought to be in the middle of the room. The foggy light from the boarded window could not pierce around the worn doorframe, so it took many moments for his flailing arms to come across the string.
The creaking click of the light bulb briefly burnt his eye, but with its passing he discovered the rooms sick disproportions. The walls were contorted; bending in and out at odd angles, while the room itself was three times as large as before and most certainly could not actually fit beneath the stairway. Furthermore, a lone table sat in the center of the room; resting on its scratched surface was a piece of drawing paper covered in some sort of black scribbling that spiraled out across the sheet of paper, spilled out onto the wood, then onto the floors to climb the walls and ensnare the whole of the room. Such thick ink as to not even reflect the light of the swinging bulb that hung so... high?
Jeremy paused... surely the bulb had been lower than that. He reached for the string to test for any change in height, to be sure of his former analysis. His fingertips could barely brush the frayed ends, then as some sort of unfelt wind twitched the string it went a foot beyond his reach. The ceiling soared beyond the sight of his eyes; defying the physics of the moody house. "My God..." he mouthed.
The door slammed shut.
"Whoa!"
His shout echoed in the hollow space as he spun to face the closed door. "What the hell is going on..." fretted the scared man as he fumbled for his gun, wishing the spear had not been left outside. His nerves sought comfort in the rough waffle handle of the pistol as his eyes fought to discern the truth of the room. The thick bands of black seemed to pulse, slowly contracting and expanding until the entire wall was missing in the empty colors of nothingness.
Thud.
Something had fallen, splattering across the table and onto the floor. Some meaty chunk now lay bleeding on the floor. Jeremy looked up and felt his jaw shake itself open to scream.
Clanking rusted chains dropped from the void above him, heavy with payloads of malformed baskets and rotted cradles. The containers wobbled with the certainty of movement from within; only when one wobbled too much did the contents spill out to fall some thirty feet to assault his senses.
Babies; dozens of newborns were hacked into pieces and sewn haphazardly together in strange amalgams of parts. Their bodies so bloated with decaying muscles that their skin had been split to reveal the sinews that lie beneath. Still somehow alive, their piercing cries pounded against Jeremy until they came to rest in smears against the floor. The soft pulpy meats flooded the floor in inches of blood, thick enough to grace the last one to fall with a baptism of horror. It rolled for a moment, its five legs kicking to right itself.
Jeremy had cried all the while, sobbing uncontrollably as the babies lives were strewn across the floor, and up to the cuffs of his pants. Even as the remaining ghastly collection of parts began to scream loud enough to make his eyes blur, he felt nothing but fear and unmitigated sorrow.
Through blurry eyes he saw his arm raise the gun towards the thing. The sight focused on the head of one of the two attached to the oversized collection of torsos that formed a sphere like shape to which the legs were then attached.
Mercy ended the screams, but not the cries.
Staring from between his fingers, his sobs continued, wracking the whole of his body.
Then the blood receded.
Two inches became one, one became only puddles.
Slowly Jeremy turned around.
The door was open. Standing there, the thing from before. With the pyramid shaped head, though now in full color.
The crimson reds and rusts of blood mingled with metal, it ought to have phased him, it ought to have doubled him over, but now he could barely feel anything for the sight of the strange creature menacing him from the wall.
The wall?
Three feet across from the door was now a wall; crudely painted with this strange menacing image. The dirty carpet was missing, replaced with the strange metal fence like flooring from the police garage, and he realized the blood had excused itself down through the floor to soak the wall of the floor that stretched forever into the abyss below the grating.
Then as he turned to look into where the living room ought to be, he saw his makeshift spear, piercing the wall he stood nearest with the butt of it resting somewhat recessed into the hand of the creepy painting.
Shuddering, Jeremy decided to leave it there, and turned to the right to head towards where the dining room ought to have been.