I’ve ceased to be a human being. I’m nothing more than sustenance to this accursed piece of wood. Resistance is futile, as it keeps me in sturdy shackles of obedience through its nefarious ways.
I serve myself to it about three times a day, sometimes more. You can tell it is hungry by the sound of hissing and growling that envelops the entire flat. If you fail to acknowledge it, it will see it fit that your closet doors open and all of its entrails fly off in various directions. It will somehow stuff your sink with dead, mangled rats. It will only let you outside for an hour or two a day, and do not even think about escaping. You will pass out and find yourself back home.
Try to warn other people about your ordeal? They will not even acknowledge you. If you were to record the conversation and play it again, you’d find out that you were merely complaining about the weather, or economy, or fucking politics. It will not leave you alone. It won’t rest until you feed it.
That fucking whore set me up good, didn’t she? Even then, the only reason I am able to send this message out is because of her advice. Doubt besets me and I do not think that this will do me any good, but I am hell bent on revealing this nightmare in its entirety.
That unfortunate text message that played on my curiosity and trapped me in this limbo arrived two months ago, give or take. I could fetch my phone and transcribe it here, yet it is unnecessary, as it is already chiseled in my mind.
“Help me. Please, I don’t have anyone else to turn to. Come visit as soon as you read this. It’s gonna wake up soon.”
It was precisely that last sentence that intrigued me. For as long as I knew Delilah she was always direct and concise. This message was not at all like her, and I knew it was something serious if she was contacting me, because both of us were closed chapters to each other.
The car ride to her house was silent and idyllic, the radio was on and I was humming along to the tunes. I wish I found more enjoyment in these last serene moments before I was ensnared.
Before I even parked my car in front of her house, the scent of uncanniness spread around me. Trash was littered all across her front porch, the grass was knee high and a dried up black puddle was splattered all across the front steps. Stepping over it, I briskly walked to the door. The fact that the blinds on both of her windows did not elude me, but it made me none the wiser.
Having announced my arrival with three strong knocks, I waited with some sort of looming uneasiness accompanying my deep, worried breaths. No response came, prompting me to knock again. The second attempt also failed to yield any results. More out of frustration than anything else, I clutched on the doorknob and pulled downward, expecting resistance. The door opened without any whatsoever.
Before I even stepped into that dimly lit, yet familiar hallway, my senses were mercilessly assaulted by a strong scent of decay. Covering my airways with one hand and clutching a lit flashlight in another, I laid my disgust aside and trudged through.
The source of that viscous smell came into light at the end of a hallway, in front of a bathroom door. That poor cat was Delilah’s soul, and I shuddered to think what happened to Delilah to allow her cat to lay here with blood and maggots pouring out of her sprung open jaw.
I turned left and found myself in the living room. The bookshelf was smashed and was partly being propped up by a coffee table upon which it crashed, cracking its glass paneling in the process. Books themselves were strewn across the room, both intact and torn apart. I walked across the room and called out her name a few times, yet nothing but silence answered me. I wish it remained so.
Crossing the hallway again, I wound up in the bedroom. The bed was unmade and there were some splinters covering it, which I determined were glass.
Taking care not to look or to step on the animal remains, I cautiously walked into the kitchen.
Kitchen utensils were strewn all across the floor. Upon further inspection, I realized that most knives and forks had reddish, dried up substance on it. The sink was overflowing with dishes and filthy water which dripped down the kitchen elements and onto the tiled floor in a rhythmic manner. The refrigerator was empty, save for a few cans and water bottles.
I turned to the door and was just about to walk back into the hallway, when a sudden realization made me stop dead in my tracks. The utensils that were littered all across the tiled floor now formed a neat and tidy pile. I pretended not to notice the horror creeping up inside of me as I made my way out of the kitchen and shut the door behind me.
By this point, I had explored all the rooms except for one. The bathroom.
I crept up to the closed door and raised my hand up to knock. Before I had the chance to do so, the doors flung open, knocking me to the ground. You can imagine my absolute disgust as the realization that I have fallen on a furry, rotting corpse dawned on me.
I sprung back up, my eyes wide and fists raised, expecting something to lunge at me through the open door. Just as I was about to look around for my flashlight, the lightbulb in the bathroom lit up.
Cautiously, I crept up to the door and peered inside. There was a person in the bathtub. It was curled up in the fetal position, covering its face and mutilated body, entirely covered by fresh and dried up cutting wounds. The dirty, tangled rag obscured her face, yet by the tattoo of an ace and a jack on the back of it’s hand unmistakably confirmed what I already knew. This was no one else but Delilah.
I called out to her and approached, putting my arm on her shoulder. “Delilah. What… I’ll call the ambulance right aw…”
She unfastened her hands from her face and screeched. Blood shot out of her mouth along with that ear piercing sound. Then, she took a couple of short, raspy breaths.
“Listen. You. Listen. Take it. Just…” She coughed, spilling some more blood in the process. “Take it… And go away… Please…” She concluded, pointing her bony index finger behind me.
Across the room, on top of a washing machine stood a wooden statue. It was a depiction of a traditional African woman carrying a wide brimmed cup on the top of her head, firmly grasping it with both of her slim arched hands. The other two characteristics that stood out were three lines etched out just below her eyes, as well as unnaturally sharp, pointed and hostile breasts.
“We don’t have time for this. You need help.” I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. I typed in 911 and just as I was about to dial it, the phone leapt out of my hand and towards the wooden woman. It landed neatly and precisely in the cup on her head.
“What the fuck!” I muttered, turning my attention back to Delilah.
“It’s… Too late. Please. If you don’t take it, I’ll… I’ll…” She threatened, raising a shard of broken glass and pressing it against her neck.
“I’ll fucking take it. I’ll take it. OK? Calm the fuck down and listen to me. You need urgent medical care, Delilah.” I snapped, walking over to that accursed statue, fishing my phone back out of the cup. The lower edge of my phone was coated in blood. I stuffed it into my pocket and picked the thing up before turning to Delilah.
“Okay. I need you to stay right here. Help is on the way. Do you understand?” I implored.
“It gets drunk on us. It gets drunk on our blood.”
“God fucking…”
Something soft and furry brushed against my leg and let out a gentle meow.
That was the last straw. I fled the house, still holding onto that thing. I got in my car and threw it in the passenger’s seat. As I was hurriedly driving away, I managed to phone the ambulance and give them her address and a brief description of her wounds.
Stopping next to a body of water, I decided to throw the statue, yet despite my best efforts, I could not lift it from its place.
Then again, the statue seemed frighteningly light when I made the foolish mistake of carrying it into my home. Later that day, I got a call back from the ambulance. They politely told me that they would appreciate it if I stopped wasting their time and using their extremely important and essential services to try and contact my ex-girlfriend, who was absolutely fine and in no danger whatsoever, as per their words.
So that’s how I got myself into this mess. I was set up. I now realize that the only way out is to set someone else up. I refuse. I am still holding out some faith glimmers of hope that somehow this will all blow over. Then I will give Delilah a call and we will have a laugh about how absurd this was. I’m not holding my breath. That’s why I gave it a triple dose of blood than usual. To intoxicate it long enough for me to be able to type this out and publish it.