A Little House of Horrors

She turned to face me, an unnatural smile plastered onto her face. It just stuck there, looking odd; it didn't match the rest of her expression. Her eyes were wide with bloodlust, maniacal, her brows deeply furrowed. Taking this into account, and disregarding the lower half of her face, she would have looked murderous, but seeing the full picture? That was just downright disturbing.

She advanced on us, cowering in the corner. We had hidden there, so as to be inconspicuous, but that plan backfired. Now we were trapped.

The knife in her hand, already dripping with blood, glinted as it reflected the artificial, electric light.

I held my brother close, waiting for that final blow. Just waiting for it all to be over.

But it never came.

A scream from the next room caught her attention, and she chased after its source, like a child chases after a balloon, still wearing that clown-like smile.

This gave us the chance we needed. Scooping my brother up in my arms, I crept, silently but swiftly to the door. I pulled the handle, and heard a sharp click as the lock refused my demand.

Damn it!

A short scream was cut off prematurely. There goes our diversion.

The smell of blood was thick in the air; the metallic scent permeated the walls, the floor, the furniture. It forced its way into our mouths and noses, compelling us to confront the nature of this house. We were in an abattoir, only we were the pigs brought to slaughter. Lured in by the polite woman selling strawberry jam.

Hurriedly, I searched for a way out. The windows were locked and barred, as were all the doors. Then we heard her coming.

Her ragged breath echoed down the narrow halls, as she searched for us, calling wordlessly. She was nowhere near us...yet...but we could still feel her breath berating the backs of our necks, eating away at our flesh.

We skidded through corridor after bloodstained corridor, silently praying for a way out. Until I made that choice.

I turned left. It was then that I knew we were going to die.

I stared at the solid brick wall with disbelief, begging it to disappear. But it didn't. I assaulted it with my fists, but it just stood there, a silent guard. It was my executioner. Our executioner.

I tried to close the door we came through, but the hinges were rusted into place with blood. This door wasn't going to move.

A triumphant yell shattered the silence, and signaled her arrival.

It was time.

I felt a tear slide down my cheek as the grinning woman slowly gained on us. We pressed our backs to the cold wall until the bricks began to cut into out skin, hoping we could sink through it.

I found myself just wishing she'd get it over and done with. But no, she reveled in our pain and our fear. She wanted to hear us scream like piglets. I refused to give her the satisfaction.

I resisted the urge to cry out as the knife penetrated my stomach, but the pain was too great. It seared, white-hot as I slumped to the ground, covered in my own blood.

As my consciousness dimmed, everything became twisted and surreal, and less than substantial. Eventually, everything went black. Sounds started to become fuzzy and distant, before they too, were non-existent. The pain was gone.

Death is peaceful.