I know full well this is not how to gather friends or win a competition, but here goes anyway...

I don't remember a time when these bars weren't my Monet

Splattered feces and urine soaked concrete to cushion my feet and lull me to sleep

I have an inkling memory of my mother

Though only through images of her mastitic breasts seeping the stench of pus and my rotting brothers

There are so many here

I can no longer see

My eyes have become maggot habitat

But I can hear all too well

The screeching of bowels being shredded

The frantic breath of my neighbor as he's led by rubber boots

Only hoping he may return

Or maybe begging not to

They will come for me too

They come for us all

And I pray I die with the first blow

To my head

The electric current

That should render me paralyzed and shock my brain into submission

I pray that I die then

Please

I pray I do not feel my legs shackled and my body hoisted

Dragged through scalding water

Like so many of us

Awake

I'm not bright

They say

I've only the mental capacity of a four-year-old child

They say

But I see no children here

And I know what's coming

One day

I am witness to it

Every day

How could I not know?

We all know

We ALL know

Everyday

The bellows of death

And discomposure

Of pleading

And insanity

This is our Symphony

How could we not know?

The melody of grinding metal

Smashing

Clashing

Screaming

How could we not know?

I have never known an outside

Though I smell it on their feet

The ones that bash my face when I am

Against the gates

The ones that send me away from this

This...home.

Into the box car

They'll pile us

As if we're already only bodies

Stacked one on top of the other

No room to breathe

Some will die, already rotting before they step foot inside

Fate already sealed

Not strong enough for a sadist ride

They are the lucky ones

This is their last stop

The hungry ones will eat them

Why waste good flesh when you're starving

Why leave a corpse to occupy so much valuable space

It only makes sense

The rubber boots don't mind

Less work for them

There will be light for a moment

My first and last taste of fresh air

I can smell

Though my senses have been

Dulled by the aromatic mingling of burnt flesh and fresh iron with abscess and shit

In here

In the final place

It's stronger

And it dances with the sweet odor of decay

It's an unmistakable smell

Decomposing organs

Terror

Agony

Death

I hope I go quickly

I wish I could say that

I wish I'd known the outside

Or that I could soak in the sun

And bathe in cool streams

Or feel the tickle of sweet morning dew on my nose

I wish I could wish those things

But I know not of them

I only know

Steel

Iron

Shit

Blood

Death

Fear

Pain

I only know the frantic jolting

Driven by electric shock

And fists

I only know screeching and heart pounding

Corners

Claustrophobia

I only know fluorescent lights and needles

Pitchforks

Rubber boots

And soon I'll know what it's like to be paralyzed

And incapacitated

But finally useful

The waiting

Is

Over

I will be stopped

No breathing

I hope

I will be bled

Dry

And

Delicious

I will be blanched

Bald

And

Beautiful

I will be dismembered

Cured

And

Categorized

And I can't help but wonder

If you knew me...

Would you save me?

If you knew me

would you save me?

If I were like you

would you save me?

I think you would

Good morning

I'm your bacon.

Factory farming sucks for so many more reasons than just this.

It truly is horror in every sense of the word.

If it moves you, research...learn...love...

If it doesn't, research...learn...love...

We are all living on the same planet.

Feel free to SHARE wherever you'd like!! :)

“We have to formulate a plan to stop this abuse!” the greenery shouted in misery. “We’ve had it and we’re not going to take it anymore!"

Late at night, all the sobbing plants called a council meeting to discuss the never-ending torture they suffered at the hands of Agnes who fancied herself a master gardener. “She snips, clips, and pulls us out by our roots without any empathy for the pain she causes us!” they moaned as they rubbed their cuts and bruises and curled their leaves to avoid further pain. “She has no empathy for us at all, as we scream in agony!”

“I have a plan,” offered Bud, “why don’t the indoor plants and the outdoor plants get together and call all their relatives to support us in getting revenge against Agnes?”

“Let’s call in Mandrake,” suggested another seedling. “He’s a murderous plant cousin whose roots look bizarrely like a human body. It’s rumored to pop up from dripping fat and blood of a hanged man. If it’s pulled up from the earth, it lets out a monstrous scream, bestowing agony and death to all those within earshot!”

“You’re a pistil!” laughed Petal, “Why don’t we ask Aunt Ivy and some of our other vining relatives to come, also. They could tie old Agnes up, and then we could have Uncle Poison Ivy cause tormenting rashes.”

“Sounds like a plan! chortled Stamen, “I’ll bet some of our deadly nightshade family would be glad to get a paid vacation to Florida and help us also.”

“I’m sure that Oleander and toxic Foxglove would volunteer their help!” offered Roots.

The friendly plants put their flower heads together and came up with a payback plan deciding to put it into play the following weekend.

At the stroke of midnight, all the assorted plants marched into the garden single file where they waited for the signal from Bud, the ringleader. As soon as Bud heard Agnes snoring, he beckoned with his filaments to all the outdoor plants to join the indoor ones.

Aunt Ivy crept into the house with her tendrils, completely wrapping her green beauty around the sleeping torturer, as Agnes mumbled in her sleep. Next, Poison Ivy marched in and rubbed his juices all over the wrinkled skin of the old bat. Agnes struggled to scratch her body as she began itching all over but was trapped in the wicked coils of Ivy. Bud pulled up Mandrake by his roots from the garden, causing him to let out a horrendous scream which caused such misery to Agnes that she succumbed to extreme death throes. Next, Deadly Nightshade and Oleander crawled into the crevices of her mouth to be absolutely certain that she was as dead as a door nail. Thorny then pricked her on the bottom of her feet but her stiff body didn’t move.

“Okay, gang,” offered Bud, “help yourself to the steaks and other goodies and whisky and we’ll have a celebration party.”

All night long, the plants kicked up their roots and played around with their styles and ovum as they cross pollinated in sexual bliss. Just before dawn, they all crept out and returned home.

When Agnes’ daughter found her body and called the police, they couldn’t determine the cause of death. “She must have had a heart attack, they said.

The plants that were still present giggled and slapped their stems in high fives as they planned their next green murder with glee! “We could even be paid assassins now that we’ve had experience! We’ll call ourselves the Green Murder Club!”

“What the heck?!?!”

“Heather, will you calm down?”

“How the hell am I supposed to calm down Brittany? My leg is stuck in a freaking fence!”

I look at my sister with eyes opened wide and filled with panic. I’m breathing so hard I’m practically panting. My left leg is in an odd angle and my foot is stuck at the bottom of a ripped out hole in a chain-link fence that’s large enough for someone to go through if they duck. Brittany crouches down and looks at the cuff of my jeans which has been caught by the sharp barbs of the chain-link fence. I start feeling claustrophobic and whip my head back and forth between trying to see what she’s doing and looking back at the river behind me that’s coursing down so loudly it sounds like a thunderstorm is happening.

“Will you stay still?” Brittany mutters at me. Brittany has always been more level-headed than me, even though I’m older than her by two years. It’s weird that someone’s who’s just fourteen is much more mature than me.

I didn’t realize how worn down my jeans were. From what I can see, the cuffs are more string than jean and the string has become entangled with the chain-link. It’s like trying to unknot necklaces after transporting them together in a bag: a pain-in-the-ass. Her impatience isn’t helping.

After five minutes, at least I think it’s that long, could be shorter for all I know since I’m not timing her, Brittany’s able to untangle my jeans by ripping off the strands connected to the fence. I’m not overly concerned over the damage. It’s long past their time to be thrown out.

“There you go!” Brittany springs up and bows at me. She straightens up and gives me a goofy smile. I’m not in such a good mood.

“What the hell took you so long?” I gingerly move my foot away from the fence and step on it warily. Did I twist it?

“You’re very welcome. Pleased to be of service”

“Stop being such a smarty pants. Let’s get out of here.”

We start running but we don’t go as fast as we hope, or at least as fast as Brittany wants judging from her whispers at me to hurry up. My legs feel stiff and I’m limping; I think I really did twist my foot.

“Remind me again why we’re in a hurry?” I gasp out at her, holding onto my side that feels like it’s on fire.

“Because if you don’t get back home before mom comes you’re going to get caught for skinny dipping in the river and get into so much trouble you’ll forget what sunlight feels like.” Even though she’s running faster than me she isn’t out of breath or clutching her side. In fact, she’s holding herself up pretty well. I, on the other hand, think I’m going to pass out if I don’t get to take a break soon.

“Right. And why did we go skinny dipping again?”

“Because mom forbid you from going to the river and since we never agree with her, your first instinct was to do what we knew would piss her off the most,” Brittany’s face is now positioned in what I affectionately refer to as her bitch-face. I laugh at how serious she is but have to quickly stop because I don’t have enough oxygen to laugh and breathe.

We soon arrive in front of our white-picket fence with the red mailbox standing guard in front of the gate. I pat the mailbox affectionately and go ahead in front of Brittany to enter our home first. In the front hallway I hear an excited bark and our golden-retriever Max runs up to me, his tongue lagging out and his tail wagging. I hug him tightly and look up at Brittany who’s smiling at Max, her eyes gleaming. When he looks at her he suddenly starts growling and bares his teeth at her. Brittany’s face falls and she steps back when he starts barking at her. The last time he barked like that was when someone was trying to break into the house.

“Stop it Max! What’s wrong with you?” I try to pull him away from Brittany but he won’t budge. Every muscle is on high alert and he looks more like a wolf than dog right now. Brittany’s now glaring at Max but her lips are curled in a half-smile. She walks towards him and laughs when he starts whimpering and runs away.

“What the heck was his problem?” I ask and look at Brittany helplessly. She always has the answers. She just shrugs and heads towards the staircase.

“Ignore him. He probably ate something weird outside.”

We both walk up to the bedroom we’ve shared since Brittany was born. My side is covered in posters of Lana del Rey and Ellie Goulding and my clothes, makeup, and books are scattered everywhere. Brittany’s side is completely clean. Nothing hangs on the walls and her possessions are all hidden in drawers; even her bed is plain, just a white sheet and pillow cover it.

“You should really spice up your side,” I remark at her, “Why did you take down your drawings?”

Brittany briefly glances at her bed and shrugs, “I like your stuff better. I feel like you have more than we need to decorate this room.” She stops talking and whips her head towards the door. I also heard the front door open and mom’s greeting.

“Heather, where are you?”

“In my room, mom!” I yell back at her. I furtively glance at Brittany. “Do you think she knows about the skinny dipping?” I’m suddenly nervous. I know we should have never gone down to the river after that time Brittany and I almost drowned in it last summer during the hurricane, but I couldn’t help it. Brittany was so excited about the idea and her excitement is infectious. Now that we’re home though and I’m about to face my mom, I don’t want to get into trouble. I look at Brittany in panic and she smiles at me.

“Stop freaking out! You’ll be fine. I doubt she’ll know what you did.”

We hear footsteps on the landing and soon my mom walks in. I can tell she’s had a long day. Her hair is limp and there are bags under her eyes. She hasn’t been feeling that well. Actually, she hasn’t been doing well ever since last summer. That’s why she’s made me come to therapy with her, so that I can understand what she’s going through. I don’t like her therapist. He never makes a lot of sense and says ridiculous things so I’ve learned to just tune him out and use the forty-five minutes to plan what I’ll do with Brittany later.

Mom walks over to me and gives me a wan smile.

“Hi honey. I got dinner from KFC. If you set the table we can eat.”

I grin. KFC is our favorite fast food. Something about heaps of fried chicken is like an art form for us. I turn to share my excitement with Brittany but mom interrupts me before I can speak.

“Honey, what are you looking at?”

Brittany glares at her and gives her the same half smile she gave Max. I look at mom in surprise.

“Brittany,” I tell her confused. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before but my mom’s eyes are red and now they’re slowly filling up with tears. Completely ignoring Brittany she walks to the plain nightstand Brittany’s standing in front of and picks up a framed photo of the two of us that we took last summer, two weeks before the hurricane. Its Brittany’s favorite because her blond hair is glowing in the sun and her blue eyes are shining. I look almost muted in comparison with my black pixie cut and pale face. Mom puts down the frame and I hear her take a big sniff.

“Okay. Well honey, come when you’re ready then,” She turns back to me and gives me a watery attempt at a smile. She touches my arm lightly, and still completely ignoring Brittany, walks out of the room.

I look at Brittany, “What was that about?” I ask, “Do you think working long hours has finally gotten to her?”

Brittany doesn’t say anything and just continues to look at the door where our mom left. I wonder what she’s thinking. I shrug and follow my mom out to set the table. I turn to look behind me but Brittany doesn’t move, just glares at me while giving me a half-smile.

  Heart racing and gasping for air, she runs barefoot down a cold, damp corridor. Her dirty feet patter as they hit the hard, concrete floor. They are so cold that they are long since numb, but she hardly notices. 

  Her filthy, tattered nightgown is hardly recognizable. The pale blue flowers that delicately decorated her decolage have long since fallen to whatever fate had in store. And the rest...? 

Well, none of that matters. She's lost and desperate and she needs to find a way out. There must be a way out. After all, somehow she got in!

  Up ahead she sees the corridor bending to the right and (praying it isn't her imagination) she thinks she sees a glow. Light! 

  She slows to a trot and hugs the wall. Down to a walk, she holds her breath and takes a quick peek.

  Her voice nearly escapes in a yelp of joy before she clamps down on her lips to silence it. She sees light! It must be a way out! It must!

  She picks up speed again and peers into the glow as it becomes brighter and brighter. Her heart skips three beats as her eyes land on an old but still glowing "exit" sign above a metal door. She crosses her fingers and dares not hope as her little body collides with the heavy door and... with surprising ease, it slowly swings open under her weight!

  She glances behind, searching the dark corridor for a split second before disappearing through the heavy door and emerging into a starry night.

  Looking up at the sky, she doesn't notice the tears wetting her cheeks, running in streams down her filthy face. The face of a child, no more than 11 years old.

  With a furtive glance around, she takes note of her surroundings. A building, low to the ground, surrounded by a fairly high chain link fence with barbed wire running along the top. 

  Any other time would have found her seeking out another route, but right now...? She figures she can handle a scratch or two after what she's already endured. She doesn't have time to find a different way and if she did, it would likely be locked or guarded or both. They had to know she was gone by now. They were probably searching for her. She doesn't know how many there are and only ever has seen one. The same one. 

But she has heard voices. Conversing voices just out of her line of sight or in the next room. She never saw who was conversing, though. It was likely her nearly broken mind. Auditory hallucinations. She doesn't know. She doesn't know much, really. Less and less as time slips by. How much time? She doesn't know that either. They didn't give her information. They stole it from her. The endless nightmare of torture, experimentation, and extraction (a word she had heard uttered at some point) left her knowing less and less with each excruciating, painful, and terror-stricken second that ticked by. 

  She runs to the fence and without a backward glance, begins to climb. In no time she reaches the top! She would make it! She would get out, be free, and find help! She reaches out her hand toward the evil looking barbs... but it freezes when an even more evil sounding voice stops her cold. 

   "You shouldn't have done this... You have made me angry, daughter..."

  A cry bursts from her chest at the same time the electric shock of fear grips her heart and turns her blood to ice in her veins.

"I'm not your daughter!" she screams.

She starts to reach for the wire again but she knows escape is futile when the slithering, snake-like creature below her slips a cool, tentacle-ish appendage around her ankle, coiling it up along her leg to her thigh and then tightening It's grip.

She already knows. 

She is not strong enough. 

Not fast enough. 

Not smart or stupid enough. 

Not sly or tricky enough. 

Not big or small enough. 

Not heroic enough. 

Not brave enough. 

Not enough.

She is not enough. 

Not anymore.

  This was her chance and she failed. She wouldn't get another. This she knows, like she knows it is the last time she will ever see the stars. 

  Quickly she turns her gaze toward those very stars and, just before her disgusting captor yanks her unceremoniously off of the fence, a light bursts from her eyes and bright lettering appears across the inky darkness. It reads, "Help Me!"

  The poison from the creature's tentacle then shoots into her thigh and blessed sleep overtakes her and carries her to a place where she is unaware of the horror, the pain, and the neverending voice that hisses from the inherently evil being it has been her everlasting displeasure to become acquainted with...

She has no memory of how she came to be there, imprisoned in this hell. 

She used to. 

She has no memory of the faces of her family. 

She used to. 

She has clung desperately to the only memory she has left. 

Her name. 

  She knows her name, and that means she still exists. She is still her. They have yet to steal that from her although they continue to try. 

  "My name is Victoria..," she mumbles in her sleep, barely above a breathy whisper, "...named as such so that I would be ever victorious."

  The slithering, vile creature that carries her sleeping body, shudders ever so slightly. One of It's many eyes/antennae curl around to inspect her face. 

It used to have a face. 

It used to have a name as well. 

  It was ever patient with the child as It worked tirelessly to remove all sense of individuality and self-awareness from her ridiculously resilient mind. The process hasn't been easy.

Once It succeeds, however, It will have a face and a name again. 

  When the name no longer belongs to her and she finally loses it for good... 

Well! 

It was "finders keepers!" Was that not the universal rule?

  Yes. It must be. Every human child utters it like it's a law that outlasts time. 

  "Finder's keeper's, losers weepers!" It was not going to be a loser. This child was more difficult than any in the past, but that would mean she would be worth it. The more difficult to break, the more evolved and intelligent the child, and, as a result, the more powerful It would be when It finally slips inside It's comfortable, new, fresh, young body. Oh yes. This child was worth the extra effort indeed!

...

"Help Me!" 

  The words still hang in the sky, miraculously even when the darkness lightens into day. Her unique ability attracts little attention, however, in the dense wilderness somewhere outside of Sydney, Australia. Eventually, when it's far to late for Victoria, it gets discovered and creates enough of a buzz so that the creatures have to migrate to a safer location. They do so effortlessly and the slow process of integrating and eliminating the humanity on Earth continues...

(Parts of this write have been stolen, but they have been stolen from my own book, so it's okay. I gave myself permission.)

With a butterfly kiss

Evolution crashed

Into itself and

Time was nonlinear

The Before and After

Stood still but

Orchestrated a dance

Alone and unrecognizable

Yet crowded

And cloned

Moving stationary to the left

As no one

Who was someone

Wasn't anyone

They never were and

Nor would they ever be

Moved frantically to the right

And their faces were smeared

With gaping wormhole eyes

And embalmed with the dust

Fallen from burnt stars

For Humanity never existed

And Life was an illusion

Land was an ocean

Burning the lungs of History

And the Future

Was a philosophy

As a joint-mind hovered

For one lingering synopsis

Watching Awareness erupt

From the chrysalis of Consciousness

Humans were beasts

Rabid and roaming

And clinging to the chill

Of the Moon hiding the Sun

And as the anthropomorphic

Flesh was dissolved

Birth and Death

Were endorsed as one

For Reality morphed

In a flash as everything

Was accepted as nothing

And Today was lost

In the blink of Hell's eyes

She tried to say no

Glistening cheeks and frightened eyes

Woefully staring up at the place

That had spewed sickly sweet words

It seemed like only moments earlier

Surrounded by strobe lights and soulless bodies

I had whispered in her ear,

"I'm here to take you home"

A subway station with no sound

But a rat scuttling across the dust

Minimal light, darkness abound

The rip of tape echoes down the tunnel

She tries to scream

Her voice is like a hot iron

It fires me up

It makes me feel strong

Against her, my skin feels soothed

As if to step out of the sun and into the ocean

Her hair sandy as the beach

She smells of broken memories

And as I step into my sin

I am reminded of the shoreline

I previously traversed

Their conches inspected and approved

Ravaged, and left only as a shell

My demons emerge

Calloused hands on silky skin

And I think "I can only do to angels

As the devil has done before me."

The wind now howls outside

Tires screech towards bliss

She writhes in the handcuffs

My demons are constrained no more

I was backed up against a wall, haggard breaths forming mist in front of my mouth. Still, I tried desperately to move back, in some hope that the wall behind might just give way. My fists pounded on the wall behind me, using every bit of oxygen I had inside me to scream, once, “Let me out! I swear! LET ME OUT!”

The footsteps came closer towards me as my legs threatened to give out. I skittered left and right in hopes of getting further away from the sound. Though, no matter where I moved, they were still around me.

“No, no, no! Is this a trick? If it is, it’s not funny. So not funny,” my teeth chattered as my mouth struggled to form the words.

But deep inside, I knew. This was an abandoned warehouse. The name spoke for it. No one had been inside in a long, long time.

The footsteps were only a meter away from me, now. I strained my eyes to make out several figures of different shape and sizes through the meager ray of light shining through the ceiling boards.

Around me, were faceless creatures, walking in a mechanical manner, one foot in front of the other. My heart palpitated quicker as they came closer, and yet closer again.

They were all foreign, something that no one had ever seen before. But I knew what they were.

That was my last thought as I was buried under the pile of bodies, struggling for breath. Blacking out.

Grandpa was right. I shouldn’t have come here. 

I should have believed him. 

They were alive. 

The Looking Glass

Most Darkly

as I Peer Into

your Inner Most Sins.

Dark In Deed

Is the Sight

That Greets me,

Black & White

& Splattered Red.

Half Formed

Baby Heads

& Virgin Skin,

Jars of Nightmares

Rendered Real.

All as I Pray

you Don’t See me,

my Horrified Eye,

Wide

with Shocked Disbelief.

As the Most

Beautiful Women

I Have Ever Seen,

Comes Forth

From the Floor

& Kisses your Ring.

Eyes;

Startling Red

& Naked as Aphrodite

Risen From the Sea.

Transfixed She Met Mine;

Lust Intertwined my Mind.

Passions Played Out

& Greeted Eagerly;

Time Ceased to Count

as I Continued to Mount,

Her Eyes Blazing Still.

–

Taken From

the Private

Journals

of #B27321

Last Son

of a

Fallen Line 

Awakened by my own roar, I blearily blinked away the greasy sweat in my lashes, borne of my nocturnal travels; then warily took stock of my surroundings, already knowing what the scene would hold. I was back in the same barn as all the other times.

My stomach dropped.

Cautiously unfurled, my hands retold the same story I couldn’t quite read, written in darkened blood through the lines of my palms. I sighed and clenched my fists, knowing full well the mysterious tale would not be silenced. Not yet. At least, not from me. Taking stock of copper mouth, I guardedly explored cracked lips and sticky teeth, tongue tasting what I feared it would. I’d feasted again. The ghosts of evil words bounced and echoed around a memory spoken by another me.

I heaved myself up from the boards of the floor, and stood; muscles aching and straining against the restrictive nature of what I had feared I was clad in. I’d known before I had even focused on my environment. I also knew there would be the best part of a full-length mirror a few feet away, which in turn was next to a workbench. I wondered if the viscera on that bench had stopped steaming yet.

Movements hindered, I shuffled with rising dread to face my demons in my reflection, allowing no more than my peripheral vision to pick up the scarlet splashed tools and work surface strewn with remains. The smell of death, of shit and guts filled my guilty nostrils. With a deep breath, I took in my sins in front of me.

What I saw in the dirty mirror, what was actually me; was just the tortured eyes, and shocked, gaping mouth. The rest of me I could barely allow my sight to stay in one place long enough to comprehend. But I had to. I drank it in like poison. My penance.

I wore a full body suit, from head to toe in a variety of flesh tones; bar a few raw and red-edged slashes, it was sewn together with thick black thread and had, for the most part, been wiped free of the blood the flesh had once contained. Eye and mouth holes left clumsily agape, skin allowed to form a sleeve so that my hands could function; it was a shocking sight to behold. Swallowing down bile, I focused on the horrific details. Four quarters of the suit could be identified, not equal in size; therefore more human material had been used where the unwilling donor had been smaller. Where a torso would suffice for an area here, elsewhere a child would need more flaying to match the same coverage. It made for a grisly patchwork.

A tattoo at a bizarre angle here, a woman’s nipple there; an undeveloped genital on one sleeve; an eye socket with clumsy early teenage make up still applied halfway down a thigh. I ate it up with my sickened stare, because I had to. Then, on trembling limbs, I walked toward the mirror a couple more steps to fully take in the four photos stapled to my chest; formed of the corpses of others.

In turn, I digested the four images. Polaroids of a healthy and wholesome looking family, albeit in terror-filled turmoil. Dad – graying temples, forties. Mum – well preserved late thirties. Daughter – teenage and pretty; and Son, no more than ten and clad in cartoon pyjamas. All pictures depicted them screaming and crying, frozen in time by the harsh flash of the camera held by me, somewhere out there.

I read the names I’d sadistically written on each one, leaving the message for my sane self to deal with when I came to. I read them aloud. Richard. Emily. Holly. Charlie. And scrawled underneath the four images that I knew had been their last moments immortalized forever, the name ‘Hawthorns’ in black Sharpie, awkward over the family’s flesh butted up against each other’s and sewn, harshly, into my suit of repulsion.

I drank it in. I bit down on it all and swallowed the information. I knew the drill. I compartmentalized it with the rest and set about cleaning up the residue, now whistling the boy band song Holly Hawthorn had been playing when I absorbed her soul as her family watched, pleading for the monster to stop.

In the darkest hours of the night, a haunting voice whispered, then more voices joined until it was a deafening wave of sound. I sat cladded in my mellow blanket as the chants grew louder. Soon they were drowned by the cacophonous sound of ear splitting screams that filled the crisp air. I dragged myself out of bed and made my way towards the source of the almost inhuman noise, my legs as wobbly as jelly. The door stood ajar, a shudder ran through my spine as I hesitantly climbed the steps of the house adjacent to my own dwellings. A gasp erupted from my mouth as I witnessed the horrendous sight that lay before me. A bag of bones wrapped in scraped torn skin, turned to me, a sneer painted on its face, its eyes overflowing with insanity, blood dripped from its mouth. I took several steps back as it grew near. With a thump I landed on the floor, intestines lay sprawled on the blood smeared floor. As I scrambled to my feet a hoarse voice enveloped in the darkness muttered “I bet that nose is as tasty as the last one I ate”.