Psychosis Hypnosis

Psychosis Hypnosis

A lunar eclipse of crimson glow radiated the sky, mimicking the blood spatter in front of me. The wood boards on the floor creaked as I stepped one foot on the porch, crumpling my face in the process. I plunged my second foot on that board ever so patiently, to avoid unwanted attention. I stepped forward towards the door, and twisted the doorknob. A batch of rust and dirt fragmented to the ground, implying with certainty it has not been used for a while. I entered to what seemed at first an abandoned house, it wasn't.

The inside of the house was vacant, even squeaky clean. It was empty. I looked over at the far corner of the room, something caught my attention, something shining a faint glimmer. I approached and saw a black oblong case. My name was engraved on it, but not my real name, rather a nickname my father would only call me when I was just a child.

I collapsed to my knees, crying, as I read the engraving over and over again, repeating it in my head with my father's voice, with distant pauses in-between. 

I reached out my hand to open the case, oblivious to what to expect inside.

"Don't. They're manipulating you."

Nothing pleasant I supposed. More blood, dark red and gooey-looking, topping the case, almost spilling.

"Don't lose it, son, don't lose it."

The perfectly still blood bath released a silent bubble, then followed another bubble, and another, multiplying exponentially. No, it wasn't boiling. Actually, the blood and case were bitterly cold. Something, or someone, was breathing underneath, or exhaling for that matter. Something was alive in there, in a bloody case. The simple thought of it shook me inside, I was frightened, my heart racing against time. I tip-toed backwards, smashing my shadow against the wall opposite to that case.

"This was not your fault, do not blame yourself."

Amidst this constant bubbling, something arose from within the blood, a human head, cut off at the throat. I can't say I didn't recognize the face, it was my father's, indeed. I was in utter shock, I always thought that my father died of a heart attack. He was murdered, butchered and thrown away in a case like a piece of rotten meat.

"Have you not figured it out yet?", sadly, I did, but wholly refuted the bare idea, I couldn't have.

I felt my right hand tightening grip on a rigid object, unconsciously. I didn't have to look to realize what it was.