I’d always loved the smell of freshly ground coffee in the morning, that rich and earthy aroma that wafted through the air, gently waking me up as it filled my senses. Today, as the sunlight crept through the blinds and danced across my face, I didn’t want to get up. My body felt heavy, as if it were tethered to the bed, and the warm embrace of my sheets was a siren call I struggled to resist. I’d been plagued by strange dreams the night before, that left me feeling uneasy, but as I tried to recall them, they slipped away, like mist dissipating in the morning sun.
Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from my face. I glanced around the room, taking in the familiar sight of my apartment. The tall bookshelves lined with well-loved novels, the potted plants that had somehow managed to survive my less-than-green thumb, and the tangled mess of laundry on the floor that I’d been meaning to sort for days.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and let my bare feet touch the cold, wooden floor. Goosebumps erupted on my skin, and I shivered involuntarily. As I stood up and stretched my arms above my head, I noticed my cat, Felix, curled up on the windowsill. He was a big, fluffy Maine Coon, and he loved to watch the world go by from his favorite perch.
“Morning, Felix,” I murmured, reaching out to stroke his soft fur. I expected him to purr and lean into my touch, as he usually did, but instead, he let out a startled yowl and vanished in a puff of fur.
In his place, there was now a steaming, perfectly golden-brown croissant, dusted with a light sprinkle of powdered sugar. I stared at it in disbelief, certain that I was still dreaming.
“No, this can’t be real,” I stammered, shaking my head. My hand still hovered in the air, trembling slightly as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
I felt a sudden, desperate need to do something – anything – to prove that this was just a figment of my imagination. My heart pounded in my chest as I raced down the hallway, my feet barely touching the ground, and burst through the door of my mother’s bedroom.
My mom was sitting up in bed, her back propped up against a mound of pillows. She was wearing her favorite flower-patterned nightgown, and her graying hair was tied up in a loose bun. She looked up from her book, her eyes widening in surprise at my sudden entrance.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.
“I…I don’t know, Mom. Something strange just happened, and I need to know if I’m dreaming or not,” I stammered, my words tumbling over one another in my haste to explain. Before she could respond, I reached out and touched her hand, praying that nothing would happen.
But instead of the reassurance I sought, the world around us seemed to explode in a spray of crimson. The shock and terror in my mother’s eyes was the last thing I saw before she was gone, replaced by a gruesome scene of blood and viscera that coated the walls, the bed, and me.
My legs gave out beneath me, and I crumpled to the floor, my vision blurring with hot, angry tears. In the center of the carnage, glistening amidst the gore, was a single, tiny raisin.
And that’s when I realized that everything I had ever loved was turning into food.
I didn’t understand how a simple touch could wreak such havoc, transforming my mother into…into that. Bile rose in my throat at the memory, and I scrambled to my feet, stumbling out of the room as panic gripped my heart in its icy claws.
I raced to the bathroom and turned on the faucet, frantically scrubbing my hands in a futile attempt to cleanse them of this curse. The water ran red as my mother’s blood swirled down the drain, a grim reminder of the atrocity I had committed. When my hands were raw and stinging, I tore strips of duct tape from the roll in the medicine cabinet and wrapped them tightly around my fingers, sealing them away from the world.
Trapped in a fog of shock and grief, I wandered through my apartment like a ghost. Everything around me took on a sinister, threatening quality, as if at any moment more loved ones might succumb to the same grisly fate as my mother if I dared touch them. I drew the blinds and locked the doors, cutting myself off from human contact as terror coiled in my gut like a venomous snake waiting to strike.
Hunger gnawed at me as the hours slipped by, but I didn’t dare eat or drink, paranoid that anything I touched might transform into something nightmarish and unnatural. Exhausted, I sank to the floor and pulled my legs to my chest, weeping silently into my knees.
A faint buzzing sound caught my attention, and I looked up to see a fly landing on the coffee table a few feet away. Hardly daring to breathe, I watched as it rubbed its spindly front legs together, then took off again, circling the room aimlessly. When it landed again, this time on a coaster, I reached out one tentative finger and brushed it lightly with my fingertip before pulling away in fear of the consequences.
To my astonishment, the fly was now a miniature chocolate truffle, its rich brown color and bumpy surface unmistakable. My stomach growled loudly at the sight, reminding me once again of how long it had been since I’d eaten. Still, I hesitated, reluctant to put anything in my mouth that had been transformed by this bizarre power I seemed unable to control.
A loud banging at the front door made me jump in fright. Peering through the peephole, I saw two strangers in police uniforms, their expressions grim. One of them held up a police badge or some sort of search warrant for me to see and called out, “Open up! We need to ask you a few questions.”
My heart hammered against my ribs as I backed into a corner, watching in horror as the police pounded on the front door. “Open up, this is the police! We have reports of suspicious activity at this residence and need to investigate!”
“Stay away!” I yelled, my voice cracking with terror. “Don’t touch me. Please, you have to leave!”
They continued pounding, rattling the door on its hinges. “Sir, open this door immediately or we will be forced to break it down. Failure to cooperate will be seen as obstruction of justice.”
I sank to the floor, pulling my legs to my chest as I wept in panic. There was no escape from this curse, and now I was about to unleash unimaginable destruction upon the world.
A loud crash resounded as the police kicked the door in, splintering the wood around the lock. They stormed into the apartment, hands on their weapons as they scanned the room. Their eyes fell upon me, huddled in the corner, and they frowned in confusion at the sight.
“What’s going on here?” one demanded, taking a step toward me. I recoiled in fright, pressing myself further into the wall.
“Stay back!” I shrieked. “Don’t come any closer!”
They exchanged a glance, frowning. “Sir, are you alright?” the second police officer asked cautiously. “A neighbor reported seeing blood splatter on the windows. Do you need medical assistance?”
I shook my head violently, gulping down air as hysteria threatened to consume me. “Please, just leave me alone. You have to get out of here before I hurt anyone else!”
Their expressions turned suspicious. “Did you commit a violent crime here?” the first police officer asked sternly, resting his hand on the butt of his gun. They thought I was unhinged and dangerous. If only they knew the truth.
“The bedroom,” I whispered hoarsely. “You’ll find the proof you need in there.” I buried my face in my hands, unable to look at them any longer.
After a few moments, a shout rang out that made my blood turn to ice. “Call for backup! We have a 187, requesting all available units immediately!” The radio crackled as the police officer requested paramedics and forensic teams with a grim, efficient tone. I felt their eyes upon me once more, filled with horror and revulsion.
“What did you do?” the first police officer breathed. I just shook my head, beyond words. No explanation could undo the atrocities I had committed today.
The wail of sirens in the distance heralded my final reckoning. I waited in silence as footsteps pounded up the stairs and down the hall; the chorus of shocked exclamations as they discovered the macabre scene in my mother’s room. At last they came for me, yanking me to my feet and slamming me against the wall as handcuffs clicked around my wrists.
In that moment, I surrendered to the evil gestating within, embracing my cursed power as police swarmed around me. Their shouts turned to screams of fright and agony, mingling with sounds too gruesome to comprehend as flesh and bone were rent asunder. I felt droplets of crimson splatter across my face, warmed by the heat of life so abruptly extinguished.
When at last the chaos died down into eerie silence, I stood alone amidst a sea of gore, my mind fracturing under the weight of atrocity. I had become Death, the unmaker of worlds, and there would be no escape from the insanity which now poisoned my soul. My reign of terror had only just begun, and nothing in this world could satisfy the darkness hungering to destroy within.