Victim's Revenge

Wrote this for a different contest, but never entered it. The prompt was to write a story that had to do with an antique Asian skull.

Victim’s Revenge

An Antique Skull

An Couple In Love

A Murderer

 

The skull sat forlornly on the fireplace mantle in the living room of the seemingly abandoned house. The ghouls on it seemed to mock it, their devilish faces taunting it with their cruel laughs. The skull did not reply, simply staring across the darkened room at the fireplace, the last embers flickering slowly into darkness. What had the skull seen in its many years, decorating the fireplace? What terrible and wonderful scenes had it witnessed occurring in the room of the old house, where the cobwebs gathered in the corners and the dust mounted on the window ceils? Indeed, the house was filthy.  You would never guess anyone had visited the house for years.

But they had.

The skull had watched him enter, a blood-encrusted knife in his hand, dragging the enormous bag behind him, observed the cold, pale hand fall from it as he dropped it roughly on the floor, saw the golden bracelet wrapped about the wrist sparkle in the darkness. The skull had never witnessed something like this, something so terrible and intriguing. It had watched him tear up the floor boards, looking around wildly, behaving like a madman, or some possessed animal as he crouched on the ground, his eyes blazing, shoving the bag underneath the house. The skull had watched him hurriedly replaced the boards, seen him look around to ensure no one was watching. He never thought twice of the skull watching him, seeing every move he made. The man looked at the skull, seeing the ghouls, who, although their faces weren’t turned towards him, seemed to have their eyes twisted, looking at him. He stared at the empty eye sockets on the skull, wondering for a moment. He moved forward as if to take it from the mantle. The ghouls seemed to shudder and the skull to stare at him with no eyes. He stared back for a moment, then reached one quivering hand to take the work of art from the mantle and smash it into a thousand pieces at his feet. His hand was inches away from accomplishing his task when a sudden braying of a hound caused him to jump. He stood frozen for a moment, undecided, then slowly returned somewhat to sanity. He turned abruptly and ran from the house.

The skull remained forgotten on the mantle, staring at the place where the body lay, unable to move, unable to summon help for it, unable to do anything but watch.

So it remained for many years, until the day someone again entered the house.

***

 

“It’s a lovely place really.” The woman’s high pitched voice cut through the silence that usually encompassed the house. “A bit of a fixer-upper, but I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

At that moment, the woman the voice belonged to entered the room. She was thin and wiry, with enormous high heels that made her appear tall, and equally enormous hair that only added to her height, making her seem huge next to the relatively short couple that followed her.

The lady of the couple was a petite thing, with soft blonde hair that fell in curls around her lovely heart-shaped face. Her eyes were bright and shy, darting around the room swiftly and taking in all the details. An office name tag from her shirt caught the dim lighting, revealing the name there. Celia. Her eyes had a kind, naïve look to them that made you instantly adore her. The man was much sterner looking. He was of medium height, with thick shoulders and a thin waist, making him look oddly like an hourglass with the bottom chopped off. His long legs strode throughout the room, kicking up the dust as he took in all the details of the place. His short black hair speckled with white made him look refined, like a doctor or lawyer, and his sorting, serious eyes only added to the image. He stopped at the finely carved skull, intrigued by the workmanship and the hideous ghouls that marred its surface. It seemed to him that the ghouls must have once been beautiful women or handsome young men, but had been changed by some evil. Why the sculptor had decided this fate for his carvings, the man could not guess.

“Well,” came his wife’s timid voice from behind him. “It’s certainly big enough.”  

The man looked at his surroundings and frowned, then turned to the seller. “It’s filthy. Don’t you usually clean up a place before you sell it?”

The woman gave an obnoxious shrilly laugh, looking nervously at Celia, then him before clearing her throat. “Well, not many people want to come all the way up here to this place…we never really hired anyone to clean it…”

“Why not?” He demanded, watching her face closely. She was definitely uncomfortable.

“Well, uh,” She was unconsciously backing away from him in little steps. “We, uh… We never thought we would sell it to anyone!” She said, her smile returning. The man knew she was lying, and would have pursued it further, but his wife gave him a warning look and he fell into a moody silence.

The seller gave another nervous, high laugh and said loudly. “Oh, wait until you see the dining room! You’ll just love it!”

Then she led them out of the room, talking all the while. The man didn’t look at the skull again as he exited.

It was some time before the woman brought them back into the skull’s domain.  The man was looking genuinely impressed and Celia excited. The seller was seemingly ecstatic.

“So, what do you think?” She asked eagerly.

The man and his wife looked at each other. He gave her a slight nod and she smiled. He turned to the seller.

“We’ll take it.” He said. The woman started to gush something out, but he cut her off. “Provided some of your people come tomorrow to clean it.”

For a moment, a look of genuine, terrifying anger passed over her face. Celia thought for a moment that the woman might strike her husband and she drew closer to him. Then, as suddenly as it had disappeared, the seller’s mask reappeared. She gave them somewhat of a forced smile.

“Certainly.” She said, her voice slightly cold. “But don’t expect many.”

The man nodded to her, looking shocked at her sudden change. She reached a slender hand forward and he took it, shaking it briskly. He pulled away quickly. Her hand was like ice!

“I’ll be back tomorrow with the papers to sign.” She said calmly, a bit of a cruel smile lighting her face. “Have a nice day.”

With that, she passed out of the room.

Celia gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, Howard!” She gasped. “I thought she was going to slap you! Oh, that horrible, fake woman!”

“She certainly was a bad actress.” The man observed dryly. “I swear if she would have laughed one more time, I would have slapped her.”

Celia gave a laugh, a pretty little titter, and the man gave a brief smile. Then she became serious. “Howard, are we going to stay here tonight?”

“We might as well.” He sighed. “We certainly can’t go back to the old house. I think they've already sold it.”

“We could rent a hotel room.” She suggested, but he shook his head. She frowned a little, looking at her dirty surroundings.

“Come on, Celia.” He begged. “The bedroom seemed in pretty good shape.”

“That’s what I don’t understand.” She said, her voice going higher. “How, come everything upstairs isn't dirty, and everything downstairs is filthy? Especially this room! Look at it! It’s disgraceful!”

The man nodded in agreement, surveying the room. His eyes fell again on the skull. “Celia,” he asked , his voice softening to almost a murmur. “Did you notice that?”

“Hmm?” She said turning to glance at what he pointed to. Her eyes widened and she went forward to examine it. “No! Look at it! It’s beautiful.”

The man, looking at it, had to agree with her. Although it was seemingly meant to be frightening, there was something about it that made it wonderful, that kept him looking at it, unable to tear his eyes away. His wife seemed the same for a moment, but then turned abruptly and almost ran into him. She laughed and he did too, tearing his eyes away from the sculpture. He felt suddenly elevated and excited, as if just looking at the skull had given him a sudden sense of adventure.

 Celia stood on tiptoe, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m going out to the car to get some things for dinner. Are you hungry?”

He smiled down at her. “Of course.”

Celia laughed, that wonderful giggle, and left the room. The man stood staring at the skull a moment longer, then followed her to help with the groceries.

***

The bedroom was certainly cleaner than the living room, and Celia didn’t mind sleeping there when she saw it. The bed had many thick, fancy quilts and blankets decorating it and she knew it would definitely be warm enough. Once she had approved, they settled in to sleep.

Howard slept well, dreaming no dreams in the darkness of his mind as he slumbered. He was entirely oblivious of the world until a violent shaking awakened him. He sat up quickly and found that Celia had a fierce hold on his arm, her fingernails digging into his skin. Her eyes were wide and frightened as she motioned for him to be quiet.

“There’s something downstairs!” She said, her voice high-pitched, terrified. “Listen!”

He obeyed, and all was silent for a moment. “I don’t-” He began to say, but stopped suddenly as a sound reached his ears.

Thump. Thump.

He looked at Celia and she stared back, her eyes filled with terror. Whatever it was, it sounded big, at least human sized. What would be in their house? A robber? There was nothing to steal except perhaps the skull. The skull…but why would they steal that?

“Go see what it is.” She begged him. “Please.”

He looked at her worriedly, trying not to let his fear show. He wished for a weapon to arm himself with but could find nothing but the old fire stoker leaning next to the small fireplace. Gripping it in one hand and opening the door with the other, he proceeded into the hall. The long hallway seemed empty and he didn’t have time to check all the rooms. Besides, the sound was definitely coming from downstairs.

He paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, staring down into the murky gloom beneath him. He reached for the light switch and flicked it up, but nothing happened. The power couldn’t be out, there was no storm. He glanced through a nearby window. Not even a slight breeze stirred the tree leaves outside. There was only one explanation. The house’s electricity didn’t work. They hadn’t tried it yet, but he had noticed the fridge light hadn’t turned on when he put the ingredients for their simple sandwich dinner back inside of it. He had assumed the light had burnt out.

“No wonder the place was so cheap.” He muttered to himself. The thumping noises seemed to mock him. Taking a deep breath, he ascended into the gloom of the mysterious downstairs. He tried not to make much noise, but he kept bumping into things, causing scraping and thudding noises to upset the silence. The thumping had now stopped and he desperately hoped whatever it was, it had gone. He still continued though, running into things as he went.  He was just picking up a lamp he had knocked over when a sudden, eerie glow lit in the next room. The living room.

He slowly moved towards the doorway leading towards it, which had been opened, allowing the light to illuminate his surroundings. He wasn’t sure where in the house he was at. He didn’t remember half the rooms from the enormous tour. The living room and dining room were the only ones he distinctly remembered. Even the kitchen was fuzzy in his mind.

But now he could see the living room, lit in the eerie bluish light. He moved towards it. Where had the light come from?

He entered the room.  He couldn’t tell where the light emanated from. The room was seemingly empty. He slowly went over to check the mantle. The skull stood as it had before, watching him. He gave a sigh of relief, turning to leave the room.

Thump. Thump.

He froze. The sound was louder, magnified and quickening into a rapid frenzy. He slowly turned, staring across the empty room. The sound seemed to be coming from within the very walls, the very floor. He stared around in horror, unable to locate the sound. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, as if it was the room’s very heartbeat, pulsing, breathing, beating louder and louder. The sound rang in his ears, piercing to his very brain. He closed his eyes in pain for a moment. Then a new sound made them fly open.

The earsplitting screech of the floorboards being torn up, the nails ripped from their place in the ground. He watched as one of the boards was pushed up, pushed up, by something underneath. A white, deathly hand emerged from the gloom below, the long yellow nails dug into the board, the decaying skin barely clinging onto the bones. A sound crept from the hole, a cold, rattling hiss, and Howard felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. The fire stoker clattered to the floor beside him. Howard gave a scream at the sight of the monstrous hand and fell to his knees as if to pray for mercy, but he tumbled over in a faint before the words could be uttered, leaving himself at the mercy of the creature to whom the hand belonged.

***

He awoke screaming. He was back in his room; how he had gotten there he did not know. Celia jumped out of sleep, sitting up rapidly to see what was the matter.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” She gasped.

“When I went downstairs, oh Celia it was so horrible!” He cried, still shaking from the memory of it.

“Wait, slow down!” Celia said soothingly. “Now, tell me. First, why did you go downstairs?”

He stared at her, suddenly calm and bewildered. “But… Celia, you asked me to.” He said slowly.

“I didn’t.” Celia answered, looking at him strangely. “Howard, I think you had a bad dream.” She said it how a mother might say it to an upset child. Howard looked around himself, confused. He knew what he had seen. She had told him to go down!

“But you woke me up!” He insisted. “Surely you remember the thumping!”

“Honey, what thumping?” She asked, her voice sounding a little frightened. Howard turned away from her, ashamed at having upset her. He was certain he wasn’t dreaming, but he didn’t want to argue and scare Celia more.  He nodded slowly.

“It probably was a bad dream.” He lied. “I’m sorry to have frightened you.”

Celia smiled. “It’s fine. I’m going to go make some breakfast. Come down soon.”

With that she stood and exited the room. Howard kept smiling until she was gone, then the mask fell away from his face abruptly. He was so confused. She had woken him up! She had heard the sound first! How could she not remember? It hadn’t been a dream, he knew it hadn’t. It made no sense.

Howard slowly got out of bed, still thinking, and got dressed.

He started downstairs, then hesitated. Slowly he reached out and hit the light switch at the top of the stairs. At the bottom, the dim light flickered on. He shook his head in wonder, staring at it. Dimly, in his mind, he thought he heard a quiet thumping.

“Howard! Are you coming?” Celia’s voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“Yes, I’ll be down in a minute, dear!” He called, hurrying downstairs, refusing to look at the light bulb illuminating the shadows of the stairway, seeming to him a reminder of the horrific events of the night before that still lingered so near to his mind.

***

“’Ello, sir!” A loud, wheezy voice made Howard freeze as he lifted the garbage lid, a dirty sack of trash in one hand. He turned slowly, observing the man who had spoken to him.

He was small and old, holding a small beret hat twisted between his hands, a somewhat toothless grin lighting his face.  One of his eyes seemed to be almost shut, while the other was open and bright, eagerly surveying the man in front of him.

“So you bought the old place.” He said with a gravelly laugh. Howard shuddered. The old man’s voice sounded like he was gurgling stones. It frightened him for some reason.

Howard forced a smile. “Yes, we bought it.”

The man practically beamed. “I’ve been keeping house up there!”

Howard stared at him. “Keeping house?”

“Yea, you know, cleaning and sweeping?”

So, that explained the clean upstairs, but left the filthy downstairs a mystery. Why would someone only clean half of a house? What was the problem with the downstairs anyway? Well, he aimed to find out!

“Er,” Howard began, catching the man’s attention just as he began to turn away, placing his hat back on his head. The man looked at him oddly, as if wondering what on earth there was left to say. Howard cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to offend you or insult your work, but the downstairs is…well it doesn’t seem…clean.”

The man’s eyes widened, and for a moment Howard was afraid he had upset him. But then the man looked around nervously and leaned closer, speaking in a hushed whisper.

“Haven’t you heard it?”

Howard was immediately all ears. He leaned down, still closer to the small man. “Heard what?” He found himself whispering as well.

The man looked at him with wide eyes, unbelieving. His voice went lower still, and Howard had to strain to hear the words. “The thumping. Didn’t you know the house is haunted? No body goes downstairs. Ever.”

Howard stared at the solemn man, trying to make his face passive even as his mind whirled. The house, haunted? That explained the price. But did it explain the dream, no, the reality of the night before? He knew what he had seen, knew what he had heard, and he had heard the thumping and seen the zombie-like hand. The hand that haunted his memories, slimy and dead, the skin rotting, clinging desperately to the bones.

“Sir?” The man’s wheezy voice cut through his thoughts; through the consistent thumping that he had found himself listening to all morning, but that Celia couldn’t hear. “Are you all right?”

“No.” Howard said honestly. Then, his whirring mind focused on something. “But- how did you clean the upstairs without going through the downstairs?”

“Ah,” the man grinned. “I climbed the wind pipe.”

Howard simply stared at him. The old man’s wizened body seemed hardly able to hold him up, let alone climb the slippery wind pipe on the side of the house.

“Show me.” Before the words were even out of his mouth, Howard regretted them. The old man had already begun to scamper away before he could take them back. What if he fell to his death? Howard would be solely responsible.

“Wait!” He cried, but the ancient man was already gripping the pipe with both hands and, nimble as a monkey, climbed up it to Howard’s bedroom window. The man took one hand off the pipe and gave a showy bow, then was back down the pole and on the ground again before Howard could say a word.

Howard couldn’t anyhow, his mouth was opened so wide. How could the fragile old man climb up the pipe so swiftly?

“Years of practice.” The old man wheezed when he saw Howard’s face. He gave a loud laugh then ambled away down the road.  Where to, Howard hadn’t the faintest idea.

“Howard?” Celia’s voice called from the open kitchen door a few steps away.

Howard swallowed, forcing himself to speak. “Uh… yes dear?”

“You should go to the store sometime today. The light bulb in the fridge is burnt out.”

Howard frowned angrily. Yet another fact to mock his experience from the night before! He would show the old house that he was made of more than that. He would prove it wrong.

***

Despite all, that night he was frightened to go to bed. Would the same thing happen? If so, what was to be done? The fire stoker had not aided him much the first time, and he needed a more suitable weapon. He searched the house, but only came up with a large kitchen knife. He took it up to their room while Celia was in the bathroom, so as not to alarm her. He knew she was wary of him already, with his wild attitude that morning.

He hid the knife in the top drawer of the nightstand, and then settled into bed. A moment later, Celia came in.

“Now, you’ll tell me if you have any more nightmares, right?” She said soothingly.

Howard sighed. “Of, course dear.”

Celia beamed at him and kissed him before climbing under the covers. In moments she was asleep, but Howard was not so lucky. The clock on the wall ticked away as he glanced around restlessly, waiting for something, some sign that what had happened the night before was not a dream.

None came.

Howard’s eyelids drooped even as he tried to force them to remain open. For an instant they closed, and then he was asleep.

He wasn’t sure what awakened him later, but his head shot off the pillow, glancing at the clock. He had to squint to read it. It was almost two a.m. He listened carefully, but could hear no thumping. With a sigh, he settled back in to sleep.

That’s when he heard it. Not the thumping, but another sound, equally horrible. He tried to stand, but his legs seemed to be frozen, even as his hands groped at the drawer to the nightstand. The sound continued, sending him into a frenzy as he wrenched the handles forward. The sound was terrifying, echoing in his ears, taunting his crazed mind. The quiet sound of a rattling breath being drawn in the hallway.

It was right outside their door!

 “Cel-” Even as he began to scream her name, his breath was cut short. He listened intently and yes, there it was again. A different sound stole into the silence of the room, the distinct sound of a doorknob being turned. He stared in horrified anticipation at the door, knife in hand, as it slowly began to creak open. Now he would see his adversary face to face. He shuddered in terror at the thought, but his eyes remained locked on the opening door. 

It creaked open only a crack before halting, and, to his horror, the decaying hand crept slowly through the impossibly small crack and reached for the light switch. Howard stared at it, his mind numb. The light would turn on, then what? Could the monster possibly want to reveal itself to him in full light?

The hand crept closer to the switch, then leapt forward in an abrupt instant and flicked it on.

Nothing happened.

The creature gave a cold, raspy, spine-chilling laugh that seeped into Howard, penetrating to his very bones, freezing his very heart in its icy tones. The creature was mocking him. The light had turned on when Howard had entered the room that evening. The monster’s cruel laugh rung in his mind even after it was long finished. Howard felt anger surge up in him.

Barely thinking before he did it, he hurled the knife at the hand. It flew through the air swiftly and landed, slicing through the hand like it was butter, pinning it to the wall. The creature gave a horrid scream, like nothing Howard had ever heard before, and chills crept up his spine, telling him it was no sound that the living should hear. The creature continued its screeching yowl for a moment, and then it dulled the sound into a whimper. Then, abruptly, it transformed into a ferocious snarl that made Howard jump and cower like a puppy.

The snarling continued as the creature moved its hand. To Howard’s horror, the knife did not hold it down,  but merely sliced through it like it was empty air, and, as the hand moved to grip the door, no blood came from the deep wound.

Weaponless, Howard watched helplessly as the door creaked open. He waited to see the creature at least before he was consumed by it. The door widened a bit more, and what Howard saw there made him want to scream, but the sound would not escape his lips.

Two blazing red eyes, with no pupils, shining like lights in the darkness of the hallway beyond stared at Howard, and he was certain, even without the irises to judge by, that the creature was looking at him. Seeing him. Memorizing his face.

Remembering him.

Then, as swiftly as it had come, the creature was gone, and Howard fell in petrified defeat onto his bed, losing consciousness for the night, or perhaps forever. Only time would tell.

***

The dream he had then was confusing, erratic. It seemed to make sense to his fevered mind at the time, but as he recalled it, it bewildered him.

He was standing in the living room, looking at the skull. He stared at the beautiful ivory sculpture. And the sculpture stared at him.

It didn’t seem odd to him then that the skull had eyes. Deep, red, blood-colored eyes that watched him earnestly.

It didn’t seem odd that it spoke either. The words it spoke were the strange part. “Years of waiting.” It rasped, its voice dry, its breath rattling in its invisible throat. “Years of haunting. Now you must set me free.”

“Set you free? Free from what?” He had asked.
“My body is locked away inside this house. Set me free. Set me free.” Its voice was loud, insistent.

“How?” Howard cried, quickly become frantic. “How do I set you free?”

Suddenly the skulls eyes changed. The deep red was fading even as Howard felt the room begin to spin, and he felt himself slowly awakening. The desperate, raspy voice called out to him, but the words were faint, as if he had cotton in his ears. Suddenly, he felt a cold, clawed hand tear at his ears. It reached inside them as if opening them and then he could hear again, if only for a moment, as the thing whispered to him.

“The floorboards. It’s in the-”

Then the voice was cut short and he awoke to full consciousness, one word escaping his lips as he did so.

“Floorboards.”

Abruptly he jumped out of bed. Celia was already gone, probably down in the kitchen. He grabbed the knife from the nightstand and pounded down the stairs, reaching the living room in seconds. He barely glanced at the skull, now eyeless and lifeless, before rushing to the spot he had seen the hand emerge from that first night. He placed the knife under the floorboards and began to pry it up when a cold voice stopped him short.

“Get away from there.” It growled. “Or I’ll kill her.”

Howard froze for a moment, then slowly stood and faced his adversary. He was not prepared for what he saw.

“You?” He asked, shocked.

The old man grinned his toothless grin. He was standing in the doorway holding Celia tightly with an old fashioned knife to her throat. Celia’s face was terrified, but she made no sound.

Howard swallowed. “Why?”

“That’s none of your concern.” The old man snarled. “Now get away from there.”

Howard stared down at the floorboards and remembered the voice from his dream. He glanced over at the skull on the fireplace. To his surprise, the red eyes glowed there again. He locked eyes with it, and suddenly he knew what to do.

Without hesitating a moment he threw himself on the ground and, jamming his knife under the floorboards, tore them all up at once.

Instantly, black dust billowed out from the space like smoke and something rose from it. Howard wanted to turn away but couldn’t. The hand was the first thing he saw, the throbbing scar from the night before marring the hideous surface. Then his eyes focused at the rest of it.

It was a body, that was evident. It was pathetically thin, the tattered clothing barely covering the skin stretched taunt over the bones that protruded from it. The few long strands of hair that clung to its head fell into its face, seeming like streams of blood trickling down its decaying surface. The yellowed fingernails stretched from the hands downward, sharpened to claws from the many years of growth. The hands were dripping in fresh blood, as if it had been tearing at its boarded prison for so long that the fingers had been reduced to raw meat. The face was terrifying, with a blood encrusted mouth and long, fanglike teeth, also soaked in blood as if it had been feeding on its own raw fingertips. The high aquiline nose quivered as if smelling something. The eyes had a devilish red glow alight in them as they swiveled around to focus on the old man. 

They locked eyes for a moment, one frightened and scared, one glinting with devilish delight at the sight of revenge, so pathetic, so helpless, and so sweet. He gave a pitiful scream, dropping Celia and turning to flee, but the beast appeared in front of him, blocking his path. The smoke-like dust surrounded it like a cape billowing in a dark wind. It seemed to glow with a reddish light that seemed to reflect from its freakish eyes. The creature lifted a hand towards him, the claws extending at a supernatural speed to touch his face, and then jerked down in a swift motion, drawing blood. The man screamed, reaching a hand to his destroyed face. The creature gave a wicked smile that chilled Howard to the bones, then reached for the man, gripping him by the shoulders, its claws digging into them. It dragged him, screaming and fighting, his eyes terrified, pleading to Howard to rescue him from the demon that held him, across the room and fell backwards into the hole. The dust enveloped them, but Howard could see his hands griping the sides of the hole, shaking violently as if the creature was jerking him inwards as he gave a desperate fight for survival. The monster’s arms surrounded him, trying to drag him to the depths of his grave. The screams continued for a moment, then abruptly fell silent as the hands disappeared into the darkness.

Celia gave a choked sob, then ran across the room and fell into Howard’s arms. Howard glanced at the skull, but the eyes were gone. He then glanced at the large gap where the floorboards had been.  

There was no sign of the man or monster, but, as he looked down into the gloom of the hole, he saw a white skeleton, strikingly bright against the darkness. And, on its wrist, a golden bracelet twinkled up through the darkness, sparkling in the dust.

***

The skull sat forlornly on the fireplace. The room was clean now, the floorboards replaced. The house was again abandoned after a mere hundred years, but no one had need to fear it. The house had not seen any haunting since that fateful night.

So the skull rested in the silence, finally relieved of its duty to the monster. No act of horror had befallen the house since Howard released the monster and revealed its body to the police. The skull had no more reason to linger, to stand guard. Its crooked mouth twisted in a satisfied smile. It watched the room for a moment more, then, finally, closed its eyes.

 

Author's Note

Suggestions and reviews are appreciated. :)

Reviews

[Janet Rose]

hey amazing story...

[Aarea]

Thanks for reviewing!

[Janet Rose]

You deserve it...