NIGHTMARES AS RED AS SIN

NIGHTMARES AS RED AS SIN



The old house stood on a hill overlooking the town, its windows like vacant eyes staring into the abyss. Locals whispered stories of the family who had lived there, a tale of madness and murder that had stained the very foundations. I, of course, didn't believe in such things. I was a journalist, a rational mind seeking a story, and this house was my next subject.
I let myself in, the door creaking open like a skeletal hand beckoning me inside. Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering through the grimy windows. The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of decay and something else, something metallic and sickeningly sweet.
The living room was a time capsule of horror. Overturned furniture, shattered glass, and dark stains marred the once-elegant wallpaper. I found a child's rocking horse, its painted eyes staring blankly ahead, a thick smear of crimson across its wooden mane. A chill snaked down my spine, but I pressed on.
Upstairs, the bedrooms were worse. Each room told a story of unimaginable terror. In one, the bed was soaked in blood, the mattress torn to shreds, feathers clinging to the crimson mess like macabre confetti. In another, the walls were covered in frantic scratches, the floor littered with broken fingernails.
I found the master bedroom at the end of the hall. The air here was almost unbearable, the metallic scent overpowering. The room was dark, the only light coming from a sliver of moon through the grimy window. As my eyes adjusted, I saw it - a figure slumped in the corner, obscured by shadow.
My heart pounded in my chest as I approached, my hand reaching for my flashlight. As the beam pierced the darkness, I gasped. It was a woman, or what was left of her. Her body was contorted at unnatural angles, her skin pale and waxy. Her eyes were wide, frozen in a silent scream.
But it was the wounds that made me recoil in horror. Her flesh was torn, ripped apart as if by some savage beast. Her stomach was a gaping maw, spilling forth a grotesque tangle of organs. Her limbs were nothing more than mangled stumps, the bones protruding through the shredded flesh.
I stumbled back, my stomach churning, bile rising in my throat. I wanted to run, to escape this house of horrors, but I was frozen, transfixed by the gruesome sight.
Suddenly, a sound echoed from the depths of the house - a dragging, scraping noise, like something heavy being pulled across the floor. It was coming closer.
Panic seized me. I fumbled for the door, my fingers slick with sweat. The dragging sound grew louder, closer. I could hear the echo of wet, squelching footsteps.
I threw the door open and stumbled into the hallway, my flashlight beam dancing wildly. And then I saw it.
A figure emerged from the shadows at the end of the hall. It was tall and gaunt, its skin stretched taut over its bones. Its eyes glowed with a malevolent red light. Its hands were long and skeletal, tipped with razor-sharp claws.
It was covered in blood.
But it wasn't just blood. It was chunks of flesh, fragments of bone, and glistening organs. It was wearing the remains of its victims like a grotesque suit.
The creature let out a guttural growl, a sound that resonated deep within my bones. It lunged at me, its claws outstretched.
I screamed and ran, my feet pounding against the floorboards. The creature was fast, gaining on me with every step. I could feel its fetid breath on my neck, the stench of death and decay filling my nostrils.
I reached the stairs and plunged down, tripping and tumbling head over heels. I landed with a sickening thud at the bottom, my body wracked with pain.
But I didn't have time to recover. The creature was right behind me, its shadow looming over me. I scrambled to my feet and bolted for the front door, fumbling with the lock.
Finally, the door swung open, and I stumbled out into the night. I didn't stop running until I was miles away from that house, the image of the creature burned into my mind.
I never wrote the story. Some things are best left untold, buried deep in the darkness where they belong. But the memory of that house, and the creature that dwelled within, will forever haunt my dreams, a constant reminder of the horrors that lurk just beyond the veil of reality.
Sometimes, the whispers are true. And sometimes, the stories you tell yourself are the only things that keep you sane. But in that house, sanity died screaming, replaced by the chilling reality of gore, death, and the unspeakable evil that feeds on both.