The sun had finally risen, and the banging had ceased. Several plates and cutlery have fallen off their respective counters and now lie on the floor.
“What… is that?” Oliver only managed to squeeze out a few words after listening to last night’s audio recording.
“Well, it’s certainly not the house.”
To be honest, I was trying to be as light-hearted as possible. I didn’t want to believe that some Eldritch horror was living within my house’s walls. The best option here was that it was a homeless man who finally wanted a bed to sleep in, and not the damned walls.
Just as we were discussing a plan to go upstairs to try restrain whatever was lying in my own bed, I hear sirens in the distance. We’ve honestly completely forgot that they were even coming. Maybe we were going insane from the solitude out here.
“Ok, well, last night I heard something inside my wardrobe. It used to be some creaks coming from the walls but now we think it’s a homeless man that’s probably inhabited our house since before we arrived here.”
The officer gave us a stern look, like he thought we were lying. I think he could see the fear in our eyes as he turned back to grab a flashlight from his car. He was on his own, and we remained at the bottom of the stairs in anticipation for him to catch the man.
We couldn’t see what was going on in the room, but we definitely could hear the gunshot and the cracking of bones. Me and Oliver jumped in unison and he took the courage to run up the stairs first. Towards the last couple of steps, I could hear him slow down and look into the room in horror.
I remained right behind him, whispering to him about what he’d seen. He didn’t reply. Instead, he puked all over the top landing and recoiled back to look at me. His eyelids were forced so wide open that I could see his whites on all sides.
My worst decision the past couple days was to lean over him to look inside my room. On the floor, laid what presumably used to be inside the officer. Blood was spilt all over my bed, the walls, as if the entire room had just been painted red. And on the flesh that remained intact, I could spot claw marks dug inches into his skin. I had a similar reaction to Oliver.
It took another hour of silence and cleaning ourselves up before we dared to explore more of what happened. The police car was sat still outside of our house, and we didn’t know when the next batch of police officers would come to check on the man, and how on earth we would explain all this when asked.
“I’ll bring a knife. You bring a flashlight. We both stay the fuck quiet.” Oliver whispered to me at the bottom of the stairs. I nodded in silent agreement.
We both crept as haphazardly up the stairs as we could, but the creaky floorboards seemed to want to line up wherever we step foot on. As Oliver led me into the room, the stench of it all brought me to clench my nose. The wardrobe was unsurprisingly wide open and there was no sign of anything other than the officer ever being here.
The wardrobe still contained all my clothing, but was doused in red. We checked under the bed, under my desk, in every crevice that the size of a normal human could fit into. Nothing.
We figured that the only solution to this, was that the thing had left. The windows were closed and the bedroom door had remained open for the past hour, allowing anything inside to freely leave and explore the house.
HEAVVEEE. That mortifying noise came from Oliver’s room this time. I wanted to so badly fling myself downstairs and drive 50 miles away, but Oliver inched forwards, and so I did too.
He remained a couple feet away in front of me, but the instant he stepped into the view of his bedroom, he rushed in, knife held high above his head. And as I stood and heard, the familiar noise of the splitting of cartilage and tearing of intestines invaded my ears again.
But I couldn’t just stand in horror, or run downstairs, I had to do something. And no matter how useless it was, it was completely obligatory.
And as I ran into Oliver’s room, expecting a quick and hopefully painless death ahead of me, I stumbled into the same sight as my room. The room painted red. His organs flung across the room, a grotesque decoration.
But it wasn’t there. The heaving had stopped, and the room fell utterly silent. Whatever was creating these noises seemed to be apart of the building itself, able to strike whenever it felt like it, and disappear within an instant.
But I didn’t care. I was going to find that son of a bitch, and treat it the same way it treated Oliver and that officer. I didn’t care if I was going to become the same pile of flesh and bones as them two became, I wasn’t going to back down to this thing.
I’m typing this right now as I sit in my living room, devising a plan to capture this thing. I’m hoping to record everything I know about it before taking it face on. Dear readers, you may not hear a part three from me, but you’ll at least know who I am.