Posts tagged insanity
The creature’s burning eyes flared, acrid smoke pouring from the demonic being’s gown. A hand reached toward the girl, who had managed to back herself against a wall.
“I’ll give you a better life, darling.”
The blue-shirted girl’s feet pushed against the floor, the worn soles of her shoes desperately trying to grip at the shattered planks. Her hands were still tied by fabric, unable to give her any sort of support or balance. The smell of rotting flesh hit her hard — she looked past the demon to see the mans body had already begun to decompose. Swarming flies seemed to leak from the creature’s dark ball gown, picking away at random pieces of flesh.
She was stuck in a state of half-shock. That was her future, right there. In a few minutes. In a few seconds. She’d be eviscerated. Devoured. Her adrenaline surged wildly. Her shoes dug in, lifting her back up with the help of the wall’s remains. She held out her tied hands in front of her, trying to spread her arms as much as she could for the sake of balance.
The gale returned, ripping at the sides of the house. The familiar sound of snapping wood filled the girls ears — she saw what had happened to the man earlier. All it would take was one random piece of wood to fly at her chest and she would be one with the maggots. She had to get away from this place.
Without warning, the demon lurched at her with outstretched arms. The girl had already made her move, elbows bent at her chest, hands in a fist in front of her. She ran under the creature’s grasp, her tentacle-like fingers just passing over her scalp. A tuft of the girl’s hair slipped through the grip of the demonic being — a few strands pulled free from her head.
The creature curled the pieces of hair in her grasp, pressing them into her ghastly palm. She wailed out, a ball of flame erupting from her fist — ashes dropping to the ground below.
The girl had begun to run now, navigating her way through the ruined house. Uprooted slabs of wood and shattered pieces of glass littered her path, preventing her from gaining any sort of real speed. She could hear the banshee scream behind her. She could feel the chill licking the back of her spine. There were only moments to live.
Make them count. Please, please make them count.
The girl pulled her palms together, holding them to her chest as she ran. She prayed for anything to stand between her and the creature who wanted her life. She called out, begging anyone for help.
Her legs had started to burn with effort, the many deep slashes up and down her calves stinging as sweat dripped into them — but she couldn’t stop. The pain at least meant she was alive — meant she hadn’t been turned to ash. Nothing mattered but survival. Her feet pounded against the wood, her breathing heavy in the chilled air. The sound of beams cracking followed behind her, echoes of the demon’s screams not far behind.
The girl leaped forward out of the ruins, feet finally meeting dirt and grass. The soil was wet and murky, the bottom of her shoes catching every now and then. She struggled not to slow down, bolting for a line of trees not too far in front of her. Her head turned to the side slightly, attempting to catch a glimpse of the demon.
The creature had almost made it out of the wreckage, pieces of debris launched into the air as she rampaged forward.
The girl snapped her neck forward, a renewed sense of terror filling her veins. Twigs and leaves crackled under her determined pace. She continued to hold her hands tight, hoping that somehow she would live.
The ground suddenly collapsed beneath her, sending her ankle twisting violently to the side. Her hands flew out in front of her, trying to grasp any hope of balance — but there was nothing. With a deafening thud she plummeted to the ground, face sliding into damp mud. As her knee dug into the ground a sharp snap could be heard.
This is it.
She tried to kick her leg to the side but instead of movement she was greeted by a sharp pain. Her chest heaved against the dirt, one eye peaking out behind her — looking for her executioner.
The demon bursted from the house, glowing eyes narrowing at her catch.
“Your blood pumps wildly for me…”
She hissed out a dark laugh.
Certain her prey was done for, her demeanor changed from that of a jackal into pure royalty. A ethereal hand brushed down the sides of her onyx gown.
The girl lurched her arms forward, fingers digging into the dirt, arms helplessly trying to slide herself forward. She cried out, fighting for each inch.
The demon continued to approach, each step showing regal purpose. She laughed again, the sound a harbinger of the girl’s demise.
The blue-shirted girl continued to struggle, nails filled with mud and dried blood.
Then the laughter stopped — and it turned into a squall. The sound was a horrible cacophony of locusts and screeching nails, a terrible call that burned at the girl’s ears. She turned back again, looking to the wailing demon. A glowing yellowish red cord extended from her back, twisting through the rubble. A dark amber beacon had erupted from where the runic circle was within the house, blinding light and fire spitting from the rubble. The demon tried lurching forward once more — only to be caught in the back by the lasso.
Again and again the creature tried breaking free, each attempt failing — spittle and ash spraying forward from her maw.
With a renewed surge of life, the girl forced herself forward an inch at a time. Her body dragged against the murk, blood catching on individual blades of grass. Still the demon wailed and wailed, trying to break free of her bonds to no avail.
She pulled herself for miles, the screams of the creature behind her. Pain lit her entire being, blood and sweat matting her hair. Her broken leg throbbed, the cuts in her calves and arms stinging with each movement. The image of her dead kidnapper echoed in her head — his gruesome death replaying over and over whenever she closed her eyes. The rancid smell still lingered in her nostrils.
But she was alive.
So she gladly welcomed the pain.
The cloaked man sat in the middle of the runic inscription on the wooden floor, splinters kicked up where a dull blade had scratched away at the planks. The man’s eyes were wide, his tongue twitching on his bottom lip. A hand half covered in black cloth was wrapped around the hilt of another knife that had found its blade within his abdomen. Blood pooled out from the fresh wound, matting the robe against his skin. A flame would occasionally flicker light on his knuckles, showing their lack of color.
An old, dusty tome sat open in front of the bleeding man. It was flipped open, candle wax, soot and dried blood blotted all over the torn pages. One finger ran across raised text on the page, his eyes following it. He tried clearing his throat with a hacking cough, the knife in his side causing him to scream out. Spit shot through his teeth as he caught his breath, his focus coming back to the grimoire in front of him. The corners of his lips curled upward. He began to speak.
“Bathory, Nyírbátor, of virgin blood, fogd ezt a hús, grant me anew, adj ez az ajándék, for his and our sacrifice.”
He ripped the knife out of his side, pointing it across the room at a young girl in a torn blue shirt. A trail of crimson was flung across her face from the blade, staining her features. Her legs and arms were covered with cuts, crude bandages and pieces of cloth wrapped around her wrists. A rusted chain around her waist kept her tied to a support column in the room, preventing her from moving. A large piece of fabric was stuck between her teeth, muffling her terror.
“Stop your forsaken howling, witch! Do you even know the trouble you cause me?”
She tried to yell something at him, but it came out only as a muffled yelp.
“You’ve never known the answers, not once, not once, not once! Worthless, screaming witch!”
His hand was shaking with effort, his malformed teeth grinding together.
“Take her! Rip her to shreds! Give me all of her youth, give it all to me! Fill my wound!”
He stabbed the knife into the center of the runic circle, screaming out with a gurgling, twisted yell.
Haunting shrieks ripped through the floorboards, a twisting gale ripping upward around the room. Uprooted nails and planks spun around, slamming into the walls. A loud crack came from the ceiling, the shingles and beams torn straight off the house, opening a wide hole to the night sky above. A dark fog filled the room along with the smell of sulfur and burning flesh, the mists coalescing in the center of the room in the shape of a tall woman. Her features were shrouded in mist, her form covered in a black ball gown. Her fingers looked to be made out of smoke, her nails of ashes.
Glowing yellow eyes darted first to the man — inspecting him before her neck of mist twisted sickly around, blazing orbs narrowing at the girl. Her body seemed to hiss with every movement, as if her skeleton was made from the tongues of snakes. She pointed a finger at the captured girl, now laying on her side, freed from the chain around her waist but frozen in terror. A trail of ashes fell to what remained of the floor below as her hand unraveled, her knuckles clicking. Her maw opened, her voice carrying all the charm of a dead, rotting queen.
“Your blood will shower down…”
Dust and debris from the abandoned house continued to circle around them, occasionally slamming into their bodies. A particularly large plank slammed into the back of the man, causing him to lurch forward on to the ethereal creature’s feet. Her head twisted back around, arm reaching to the knife that had been stabbed into the rune. Her fingers unwrapped like tentacles, curling around the hilt of the blade before pulling it out and bringing it to where her face should’ve been. Her bright yellow eyes reflected on the blade, revealing a slithering tongue that darted from her blank visage, sampling the blade’s fresh gift.
A screeching, grinding scream emanated from her being.
The cloaked man looked up at her, hands placed at her feet like a beggar. His eyes were wide as he stared upward at the creature he had sacrificed his humanity for.
The demonic woman’s hand enveloped the blade in mist, turning it into a prosthesis before stabbing it down into the man’s skull. The blade pierced his forehead, a sick cracking sound filling the room as the blade crunched against his cartilage. With a flick the blade was pulled forward, his head splitting in two. The contents poured forward onto the feet of the summoned beast, pooling under her great gown.
“All for me…” she whispered, sloshing the liquid around with her feet.
Her neck ripped around again, gaze planted on the blue-shirted girl who had shuffled herself to a destroyed corner of the room. The terrified girl could taste bile, the sickening sound of the man’s death raising her stomach. She tried to focus every bit of energy in her body, struggling against her internal panic.
The creature’s gown twirled around, the rest of her body aligning with her neck.
“All for me.”
Everything is ready.
I have the papers here, signed in full. I’ve checked over all the details.
It’s all here.
Those books, they told me everything I needed to do. I knew they were in the basement somewhere, stuffed in boxes. Gathering everything I needed was quite a struggle. Hallmark closed down recently, so I had to go out of town to buy the candles. Fresh ones. They burn fast with all of the fat, but it’s to be expected. When I tried this once before the soot got caked all over my blinds. It was unpleasant, the stench carried on everything for weeks – but it was worth it for this.
The wind is awful. She’s howling. I can’t hear myself think.
I’ve taken a marker and outlined the proper pattern on my floor. I used a ruler and everything. Made sure the distances were just perfect. All of the proper symbols were etched in with care, too. Measure twice, cut once, you know? I transferred them directly from the books with some wax paper and a good ceramic knife. Like I said, the reagents were tough to find, so I certainly didn’t want to go through the trouble of grabbing any more than I needed. The satisfaction I get from doing everything properly is quite great. I don’t think I’ve ever been so thrilled. Would you believe I could feel myself salivating as I traced out all of the details?
I hate flies. This work makes them come from just about everywhere. They jet and buzz around, landing on my brow every so often. Disgusting things. I think they are attracted to the fat. Or maybe the stench.
It’s awful. Absolutely awful. Will you stop howling?
The blood is smeared everywhere, just as directed. I was never good at those paint-by-numbers books as a kid, so I really hope I did everything here like I was supposed to. I’d hate to have to run out and do it again. The last time I didn’t even make it halfway through before I lit everything on fire. The soot got everywhere, absolutely everywhere. I had it in my hair for weeks. The stench is still there, too. I tried asking a nice, young woman in the supermarket what the best thing for something like that was. She didn’t know. She never does. It’s always a struggle with her. Absolutely worthless, what was I thinking with those candles? The wicks weren’t long enough. Everything went up.
I can see the moon now, coming up over the trees outside my open window. I wouldn’t quite call it bright, but it is distracting. I can’t look at it. It takes my mind off of my work. The wind is coming in, giving me quite a chill. I have goose bumps.
The fireplace is going, too. The embers have always been absolutely engaging to me. You can watch each flame lick at the walls for hours, just enjoying the colors they project everywhere. I used to play a game as a kid where I would flick my hand past the fire as fast as I could, trying to feel the heat without getting burned. Then my skin charred and it was awful, but I got over it and did it again. You have to get used to the smell of ashes anyway, so might as well start on yourself.
I am getting irritated. You can’t gag the wind. It specifically states not to. The cries are supposed to bring everything forward. Still doesn’t make it any better or less annoying. It’s childish. Why can’t she just be quiet? Why can’t she just leave me alone? Be calm, like me. Let it rest. Stop howling.
All of the candles are now burning, just like you asked. Your mark is on my floor and now I’m digging in with the knife.
Take my flesh.
Give me my gift.