The Room Ran Red

I decided to write this to introduce my current writing style, feedback is encouraged, I’m here to learn and improve.

The Room Ran Red

Heat pulsated from a strong fire that was currently tame within a fireplace; an elderly man lay in slumber on a fairly ancient armchair that had become worn away over the years. He had fallen asleep whilst reading a book; the book cover had no title, nor illustration which would lead to wonder how old it went back.

His reading glasses still remain perched on top of his large nose that had light grey hairs escaping the nostrils; he proceeded to unconsciously turn his head which caused his spectacles to fall to the wooden floorboards below. His eyelids slowly opened to the dancing shadows being produced by the blazing flames directly in front of him.

He extended his right arm to reach for his glasses when he felt something brush along his fingertips, it felt as light as a feather although seemed to have the texture of cold steel. He quickly returned his hand to its previous position, curious as to what had touched his hand.

The aged man pulled himself from the comforting chair with some effort; he dropped to his knees to inspect beneath the chair although nothing was visible. He then returned to his feet, turning around to take a seat at his treasured armchair he noticed a distant shape amongst the flames. He placed his glasses back to their original position and gazed into the fire, he felt as if the heat was pulling him closer.

The shape that he had seen earlier in the fire was becoming more evident; the man hesitantly dropped his head so he was balanced just above the flames. As he focused his sight on the mysterious shape it became clear it was an eye, not that an eye in the fire was normal but this eye seemed especially peculiar. The pupil was dark red surrounded by obsidian black and as it became more revealed it seemed as if it was being beamed inside the mind of the wrinkly spectator.

All of a sudden a deep heat launched the man backwards forcing him to collapse in his armchair, as quick as the flames has rose they were abolished, with a gush of wind, although no wind was present. The room had been plunged into complete darkness; the man’s old age didn’t stop him from jumping from the seat and bolting for the light switch. He switched the light with his index finger; his pupils had to adjust so he wasn’t aware of what was transpiring around him. When he finally regained his sight the first thing he noticed was the thick horrific layer of blood that was being filtered from the top of the walls, from the edge of the ceiling, gradually making its way to the skirting board.

His mouth sprung open, not knowing how to react to this supernatural occurrence. He turned towards the doorway and took a leap for the doorknob that was now dripping with disgusting redness, only to discover the door had been locked. He tried to force it open, kicking and punching at it hoping there was an escape from his living nightmare but at this point his aged bones were slowing him down. Despite the fact he was so sharp from the fear that was coursing through his veins he hadn’t gazed upon what had appeared behind him, until a violent shriek forced him to quickly turn around, the sound that had been pushed onto his eardrums sounded like a scream, but the scream of a tortured soul that was expressing pain and anger combined.

The last thing he saw before taking his final dying breath was a pale face, Cyclopes like revealing the eye that had appeared earlier in the flames. Dark red surrounded by obsidian black. When the authorities found the lifeless body (or at least some parts) of the elderly man a week later they could only assume he had been victim of a despicable murder. His body had been sliced into multiple pieces leaving limbs scattered throughout the crime scene, his head on the other hand had been mounted upon a stake that had been smashed through the wooden floorboards, a long roll of barbed-wire stretched around his head penetrating his eyes. The killer was never found.