Creative Writing: The Cranks

She makes her way to the room when getting closer to the room she saw how it was so eerie and shady looking. She again shook off the feeling and entered the room. Looking around she looks at the baren room. The wallpaper crumbling off the edges of the wall, the bed sheets old and dusty showing no one has been in this room for weeks maybe months. She walks over to the bed sitting her stuff down in the nearby chair. Laying down on the

"I gouged his eyes out..." His eyes erupted into a cascade of sorrow as he silently sobbed. I could only stare for the longest time til my mind could comprehend the possibility.

Instead, a dark fog filled the room, the lights flickered. He felt his knees give out as he heard the monitor give out a long, monotone blare.

“Ye—” you started before you were interrupted by your own scream. A rush of stinging pain passed throughout your entire body, leaving you feeling exhausted and sore. You were gasping for breath and Scott was watching the wound. You assumed he was waiting for the black blood to come oozing out, signifying that your body had rejected the venom, but it never came.

A jagged diamond of bright white light, fuzzy like he was looking through an unfocused camera, appeared directly above him. At the same time the pain awoke, a searing fire in his lower back and legs, and then he noticed the cold. He didn’t want to move in case he’d broken something when he fell, assuming he could move, and assuming he did fall, so he just laid there, blinking up at the jagged white diamond.

He swallowed, and shook his head, that fragrance still with him, this wasn't happening. He eyed the car again, gone, the blood stains and grisly image were gone. He slapped his cheek trying to focus.

He was unable to leave, and began to imagine metal straps holding him down to his chair while Tracy used a blazing hot knife to torture him in all his sensitive spots. No, he thought, not drastic enough. This is much worse.

He clenched his outstretched hand around the severed lips, recalling the lurid scene from which they had come. The blood that likely still slunk from step to step ... the pearly white, up-rolled eyeballs....

He struggled to find comfort for his back, and couldn’t help wincing. He heaved a sigh of agony and placed his head on the pillow, lied on his back, rather uncomfortably, closed his beady eyes and speechlessly waited for that moment to arrive. Heavy footsteps ware approaching. Their shoes clap rhythmically on the floor.

Next he let out a bloodcurdling shout as he saw the body sitting on the dinner table,dark suited and headless. It stood up and started to walk towards Defeat.

He raced out of the room and down the stairs. When he entered the sitting room he saw her standing with her back to him looking at the pictures on the mantel.

He could smell blood, but had no idea it was his. Everything was in dull motion. His partially impaired eyes saw men and women dressed in light blue gowns trying to hold him down. Memories are gone, not even happenings of hours before made themselves available in order to make sense of why there was all this clutter and clang as someone was tirelessly trying to remove the cold metal he could feel close to his beating heart. It was all a mystery.

He swallowed what little saliva was in his mouth and forced himself to kneel, blinking away the blurriness in his eyes. The second he could see clearly, he wished silently he couldn’t see at all.

He got up and looked through the peephole on the door, a small portal into the danger,

As she sprung from the bed, M tip-toed across the floor, brushing her hair behind her ear, stopping just as she reached the door. Ever so slightly, she turned the doorknob, careful not to make any noise, just in case he was asleep, and peeked from behind a small crack. Across the hall, she could see only darkness from under the guest room door as it was pulled tight. "Figures," she thought.