Chapter Five:

Dripping From Every Pore

The wind bit at my neck and tore at my clothes. I wrapped my arms around my waist as I fought for each step towards my destination. Ominous clouds gathered on the horizon, pushing me forward with the need to find shelter. I dared to look up, and the dark outline of an old Victorian house whispered to me to come closer. Stumbling up the steps, I raised my cold and numb hand to knock on the splintered door, only to find it was already open...

I slammed the door shut as I walked into my new abandoned house and wiped my feet on an ancient doormat. The lights were all out, but the wind sounded distant and I felt safe in my new setting. I rummaged through a couple kitchen drawers until I found a dusty flashlight and some spare batteries to tuck in my pocket. "What do you want to do, Chloe?" I muttered to myself. I peeked through the curtains knowing that I'd be trapped here for a while. I flicked on my flashlight and decided to explore. Mice scuttled through the walls whIle I walked down the hall, and a delicate tapping, no - it was more like the rustle of a paintbrush on canvas or the scratching of a pencil - started to follow me. I twirled around, the rays of my light scattering the shadows away from me, but nothing was there. For the first time, unease began to claw its way through my heart. My pace quickened.

"AHHHHHHHH!" I screamed.

Hands were clawing through the floor, bringing me down, scraping me across the wet walls, ripping, shreddi-

I looked down at the tangled mess of a dilapidated cloth of a rug that laid at my feet. Such a klutz. I brushed off the back of my jacket, my fingers covered in a red wetness.

. . . .tap.

I couldn't ignore the sounds any longer. Fear had overrided my thoughts and I couldn't breathe. I ran, desperate to get away from this room, and I locked myself within the walls of what I supposed to be an office. A lamp lay plugged into the wall and my fingers fumbled for a switch, my whole body praying for light. It flickered and stayed lit, casting a lazy orange glow into my surroundings. I sank to the floor and tucked my head between my knees.

. . .

it was louder, closer...

"Come back..." a voice whispered.

My neck twisted around to a dark hooded figure in the corner. He was writing on the walls, quick neat strokes that stained the room with their poison. I looked around me and realized they weren't just words but names...dates...written in red...the man stopped writing. He turned to me, gnarled fingers covered in blood.

My body went rigid with fear.

"Why did you do this to me?" He wailed, arms swinging as he reached for me, coming within inches of my face.

"I d-d-didn't do a-anything..." I stuttered, choking on my own tongue for breath.

The hood dropped and I smelt the rotting, bloated flesh before I saw it. Swollen eyes and peeling skin stared back at me, but they paled in comparison to the words I could read on the walls through the bullet hole in his skull. " ... Dr. Davidoff..." I breathed.

"Come back, my daughter." Yellowed, blackened teeth fell out of his smile.

"Y-you are n-not my DAD!" I shrieked.

"I had more of a role in your creation than HE did," his voice slithered out of his decaying body. "You need me now..."

"W-why?"

Milky, sightless eyes peered into my soul with the intensity of the living. "Because you have the sickness and we have the cure." And the painted words bled together in the blood of their victims, walls crashing down on me, washing me with waves of the dead.

When I opened my eyes, no one could hear my muffled screams through the strange hands over my mouth.