I knew there was something off about the room; the shadows that were shaped like skulls; the occasional bone you found underneath chairs; the faint whine of an unknown animal, and the scraping of claws from the dark corners of the room.

I never questioned the tapping in the walls (I had always assumed it was just creaking boards) until the day I woke up with a hand around my throat and a rag smothered in chloroform over my face.

she wondered why she was casting two shadows. afterall, there was only a single lightbulb in her bedroom.

Amid ground beef and cheese, her chili was pointing at her and somewhere inside her the forbidden desire to consume flesh was burning; and, she took an indulgent bite without any care.

Sometimes when I go to sleep at night I see a lady hanging from my ceiling with a braid around her neck.

She thought it was strange, that he was the first to die.

Dust danced the light cast through the old window, my wrists burned from the involuntary desire that pulled from cutting binds to reach for the light.

Outwardly, he appeared a normal, if odd looking medical man, but the instruments at his surgery were not used for healing.