THESICK;HOUSE
There once was a man, bored and alone. He became so bored that he chose to find a new life, perhaps some excitement to spice up what little life he had left... but he got more than he bargained for. He found a man who killed people. He found a dead president and a sick little place in the internet. He would have run, sure, had the rook not seen that pawn's plan twelve moves before.
So now he sat with a splitting headache in a chair, with his arms burning from when they were bound behind him. Everything was hazy, but he definitely recognised the room in which he sat. A room with dirty, yellow walls, blood-stained floor-boards and a little black camera sitting in the corner. As his vision cleared a little he saw his feet, unscathed, and bare - just the way he left them. His hands were fine too, in fact, the only thing that was wrong with him was that he had a sore head from that little bump back at the apartment. He had no idea how long he had been in that room, no watch, no time. No window, no sun. Just a lightbulb that barely hung onto the wires that powered it. That bulb reminded him of himself, and to it, he owed a few words...
"Hang in there, schmuck." He uttered, a little drowsily. He felt he could stand, and so he did. His balance kept with him. His legs held strong. His vision became 20/20 and he realised something must be wrong - had to be wrong. He wasn't dead yet. But there was blood all over the floor where his little, wooden chair was. Yes sir, something was very wrong. But something was also very right. The door. The wooden, shabby, mold-encrusted door was open. Not a lot, not a little, but a jar. Just a sliver, if anything. But that meant it wasn't locked. And if it wasn't locked. It wasn't a wall that kept this man from his freedom. It was an exit. Exit to the world, to life?
A floorboard from the other side of that little door creaked and a shadow slowly oozed under the little gap that separated the floor from the door. What was he to do?! Fight the stranger? Heck no. Play possum. Wait and calculate like the clever fox. So he sat down and slouched forward a little, pretending to still be knocked out cold, although he wondered how well it would work. With a loud squeak the door opened, the loud thumping footsteps that followed came closer, closer, closer, closer still. The fucker was so close he could hear his rattling, and heavy breaths.
"Graham?" it grumbled, with a muffled sound.
Graham's eyes did open, but he did not move any more than that. Wait for it, Graham, Wait for it and you can show your captor that he's playing with fire, that if he wants to catch hens in the dark, sooner or later he'll catch a fox.
"Graham..." the monotonous voice of the captor droned on, taunting him. It came close. Too close. Right next to Graham's ear. He could even smell his breath, like putrid puss and farts. What the hell did that guy eat? Dead donkeys? Aha! Luck. The head turned and the captor began to slowly walk away, his heavy steps moving further, further, further still!
NOW, GRAHAM!
His thoughts blared to him, his muscles acted without guidance and he stood, "HEY!" He shouted loudly with a wild smirk on his face, the captor turned quickly and was met with a swift chair to the face! He doubled-over in pain and Graham took his chance. He slid through the door and had entered into a long hallway, strangely, it was a nicely decorated one. Warm, lit by wall mounted candles with beautiful paintings lining the oak walls. Graham could see at least two doors, one on the wall before him, down the hall and on the left, and one down at the very end of the hall on his right. His heart beat like a crazed drummer and he moved on impulse to his left. The door drew closer and he realised he was running on carpet. His footsteps were near inaudible on it, too. But more than that, it was as soft as silk, like heaven for feet. He reached the door and tried the handle. Unlocked! Brilliant! He sped in and gently closed the door but with quiet swiftness.
He heard a strange and playful tune. The song a jack-in-the-box plays when you wind it up and wait for your face to be attacked by a goddamn midget clown. Graham turned and saw a room decorated like a child's nursery. Little bears in rows, gleefully striding across the wallpaper which was a nice baby blue. A large white cot to the left (empty, he saw) and of course, the carpet was the same as it was in the hallway. A luxurious kind that was warm and soft. The tune kept on playing. He scanned the room for the source of the tune, and he saw a small box, sitting in the center of the carpet. It was multicoloured, made of cheap plastic, the little handle to wind it up was moving round in a slow circle by it's own volition in a haunting manner as if a ghost child was moving it, and the tune played still. It was a little fast, but Graham could hear that it was slowing. It slowed more. It was so slow it was a high pitched, note-by-note assessment of the song. Slowed again, Graham was tense with anxiety, he knew something bad was coming. The last note pinged.
And then nothing.
He waited, and still nothing. He moved a little closer to the box, still nothing. The handle remained solitary now, and not a single not would chime. He moved closer again, almost feeling entranced by the box as if he himself was a dim-witted child. His heart was wretching in fear and he stayed where he was now, not three feet from the box. The room went dark. The lights above had burned out. Only now did he realise there was a rather large window on the far side of the room, looking out over a huge, black forest bathed in moon-light. His heart jumped as lightning struck and filled the room with white light for a split second, giving him a small, mental picture of his surroundings. He waited for the next flash, and it came, the room stayed the same. He swore though, on that third strike of light that he saw a large doll-like figure standing in the distance. A trick of the light perhaps. A trick, of course. A trick, just like this whole damn building! There was a loud buzz and the lights sprung back into full light. Nothing had changed. Luckily. Save for the sounds in the room.
Three last chimes.
One.
Two.
Up popped out of the box a giant, hissing, snake like creature. Like a reptillian-man with clown make up, holding up clawed hands and drooling a fizzy acidic saliva. Graham shot backwards in fright and he landed hard on the flooring which seemed not as comfortable now. It was wooden now. The Jack in the box fell forward and landed on Graham's chest, face-to-face with him. It hissed like a crazed cat and it felt heavy like an anaconda. It even had strength in it's little arms which were trying to claw at his face, or perhaps even his eyes. Luckily, he managed to throw it off and he scrambled to his feet. It lay, face on the now wooden floor and making an sound as if it was crying, weeping. It began to hop to the right, swinging it's long body with each pounce. It was ready for another attack, another go at those delicious eyes of Graham's. He turned for the door and was met with a wall, the little bears on it had sinister, red eyes and all of them faced him with evil intent. They all held little kitchen knifes and he swore that they were walking in mid air. There was a loud crack. He turned, thinking it was the jack and then he fell. The floorboards had given way and he was throw downwards into darkness.
The only light in the room was that from the nursery above, the jack was looking down at him with a strange, sharp-toothed smile. Graham stood and noticed he had landed on something very soft. It was thick, and he could just make out the texture of potato sacks. But it's contents felt far too soft to be potatoes. He tried to see past the thick sheild of darkness that surrounded him, nothing, all he could hear was the noise of drops of water dripping as if he was in some sort of sewer.
Graham stood, fumbling a little over the sacks and felt around the floor for something useful. Lowe and behold. He found something that he was almost sure was a flashlight. It was long, heavy and had a switch. He flicked it and a beam of white light sprung forth out of the little plastic stick. Before him he saw wooden boxes all piled atop one another. They all had a strange, thick dust like growth set on them but it was red. He turned to further examine the room and saw a stair case, that was his first move. So he took a step towards them and then stopped as he heard a noise. Like a deep gurgling, he turned right, stone wall, he turned the light a little more, a thick iron chain... he moved it down and was met with a horrid site. A huge, grotesque creature that could not be described as human sat before him, chained to the wall. It resembled a human that was extremely overweight, sitting in a strange bemusement, it's acne laced lips lined with bits of what Graham assumed was meat. He moved the light down and saw a chicken's body, minus one head. Yes, indeed, that was meat. The large being threw it's face forward, but a chain tied around it's neck halted it and forced it back with a chocking noise. Graham tried to move to the stairs but the creature was somehow fast and was already now blocking the way. He had to think fast before that beast found a way free of it's chains and probably devoured him whole. He turned and checked the potato sacks. A small opening was found by his hand and he reached in. He felt a thick, meaty and wet chuck of something which he soon withdrew and saw that it was a big, bloody heart, all vein covered, pus lined and cold.
Graham turned to the beast and tossed the heart forward, it followed the red lump as it landed and the monster pounced upon it, letting Graham slide past it's defenses unnoticed.
Again, he was in that hall. Again his feet were being caressed by the now familiar carpet. This hall had many doors, and many little candles liting it. On the left there was a corner that lead to a large staircase that went downwards, Graham peeked round and saw two, large double doors. Front doors. Main doors! He rushed and was slammed into the doors. He should been more cautious and perhaps realised that they may be locked. And locked they were. The windows at either side of them were boarded up. He sighed deeply and figured that he should get out of the -- he paused. Thumping. Familiar thumping, and not far too. He faced the nearest door on his left and darted through it. The door was closed behind him and he held his breath as the thumping moved slowly, away.
The room was warm and smelled faintly of brandy. It's walls were covered in books that looked old and weathered but in oddly good condition. In between two large bookcases sat a calm fire and before that fire, a large, leather chair. Graham could see an arm holding a large glass of some kind of alcohol, the silence was interrupted by a slurred, old man's voice that said:
"Well. Aren't you going to come on over and let me see your face? Don't worry, I won't bite." It was a strange accent, southern-english perhaps. Graham did as he asked and moved into view of the man. The man was small, and very wrinkled. His head bore a neatly cut hairdo that was all white. The man couldn't have been any younger than 60, Graham thought.
"Where am I?" he asked the man, his throat croaked a little. He hadn't spoke in a while now, now had he eaten or drank anything.
The old man looked him in the eyes and smiled, "Well, what's this place like? You've been carted off, you thought that you were dead, strange sights, visions, monsters that shouldn't exist... it's quite... hellish isn't it?" He gave a little smirk and Graham's heart lept a beat, "don't worry. It's not really Hell. It's just like it. A lot that I should explain, there, about this place, but I cant, Not yet. You have to learn for yourself."
"what do you mean...?" Replied Graham, bewildered
"There is a big, big secret and you've stumbled upon it, young man. Technically you're not dead, but technically you're not alive. A sort of, half-life right now. You're sitting on the brink, my friend."
"I don't understand... I'm dying?"
"If you let that brute cut you up for the children to eat."
"You can hardly call them children."
"Something we agree upon. But children they are, still, and forever. The big man feeds them and they don't kill him, a little deal they have."
"And you?"
"I'm one of them, actually."
There was an odd silence in the room now. An eerie weight sat on Graham's shoulders, and he thought of another question:
"how do I get out of here?"
"The door. But which one! Oh, which one!" The old man laughed heartily, "Did you try the front doors? That's always a good bet."
"Yeah, but --"
"How do you know you're at the front of the house?"
Graham quickly realised how stupid he had been about three seconds ago, "Is there a safe way out of here?"
"Well there is... sort of. I've never tried it and no one's gotten as far as you. Just, go up the stairs and head through the door with the mark on it."
Graham turned and began to leave, he sensed the man would have nothing more to do with him.
He stood at the large staircase again, he ran up and checked for any hulking psychopaths. None. Good. All of the doors alone the wall before him looked exactly like one another, he looked closely and then saw it. A minuscule scrape on the wood of a door. He ran to it, it was unlocked, he opened it and fell! He landed on something soft that was moving, writhing beneath him. What little light there was show a pile of white, limbless bodies all shuffling under and over each other like mindless worms. He began to sink with the bodies. There was no way he could fight them, they were like a strong wave, within seconds he was submerged in the sea of bodies. Their weight was intense, it felt as though his bones were being crushed by elephants. Then all of a sudden he opened his eyes and realised that, though his body still hurt, he was outside. In a forest. It was daytime and the ground was covered in golden-brown leaves. All the trees had gone bare and the wind was cold, but refreshing, Graham turned and saw the mansion. The boarded up double doors that opened onto once-beautiful marble stairs. The doors burst open and there was the captor dressed in tight, black leather clothing that resembled a bondage suit of some kind. He was holding a chain and the fat beast burst outside like an overweight dog. It broke free of it's chain and of it's master and began running on all fours like a twisted pig. Graham panicked, turned and ran. He was running abnormally fast for someone as unhealthy as him, but this was the least of his worries, the beast was gaining on him, whining in heavy breaths of instant-exhaustion. The black trees were whizzing past and Graham saw that the forest ended. As did the ground, and opened up onto a giant, raging ocean. He stopped, slid and turned. The beast hit his chest and with a loud squealing roar, knocked Graham off of the edge. He began to fall fast. The wind roaring past his ears. He hit the water and bounced up. He was in his bed. His room. His home!
The morning sun spilled through into the messy room and he was never more glad to see his pig-sty of a home! One thing was different. One major thing. On his wall was carved a giant symbol of a strange face that looked as if it had fire spitting from it's edges, it's mouth open and tongue lashing outward, the eyes wide and wild. The image brought a hint of fear to Graham, but after everything he had just witnessed, things would never scare him, like they had that night.
THE... END...
simply put this friggen rocked X3
