When I was young, around 8, i started having the worst reoccurring nightmare. For a bit of context I grew up going to catholic school and my parents divorced when I was around 4. Every time I would have this nightmare it only even happened at my dads house, which i spent half of every week at.
The nightmare started the same way every time. I would find myself waking up on the floor of a long corridor made of red velvet. I don’t mean the floor was made of red velvet no, the whole room from the floor to the ceiling even the furniture in the corridor were made of the same red velvet. I remember that my head hurt in the nightmare, it was a low throbbing that persisted the entire duration just behind my eyes. I later found out that thats what a migraine feels like.
When I finally found the strength to pull myself off of the floor I noticed it; a small squishing noise. I was grossed out by the idea that the velvet floors were wet as my mind rationalized that the corridor must have some kind of mold growing in it. I surveyed my surroundings when i noticed a picture frame built into the wall to my left. Inside was the image of a man i didn’t recognize however, had the feeling that i somehow knew him. Every time i stepped the squishing noise would follow making me more and more nauseous. As i approached the painting i noticed that, much like everything else in the corridor, the painting was almost entirely made of red velvet. Almost. The man’s eyes were painted normally, they were crystal blue and seemed to reflect my image. Something about his eyes always made me feel so uncomfortable. Maybe it was the realism? Maybe it was the fact that they were the only non velvet things in the room, besides me? Or it could have been the fact that it looked like he was crying.
I knew that if i didn’t stop staring at the painting i would be lost in his eyes. As i turned back towards the rest of the corridor i heard the faintest whisper, “wait”.
If i didn’t know any better i could have sworn it was coming from the painting itself. I tried my hardest not to turn back around, i couldn’t stand looking at the man in the painting anymore.
I started down the corridor noticing many more paintings exactly like the first one i saw, but with different people and different colored eyes. They seemed to all follow me as i made my way around. There were also doors in the corridor, I’m sure you can guess what kind of material they were made of; red velvet. I tired every door i saw but they all seemed to be locked from the inside, i thought that was strange considering i hadn’t seem another living person since i woke up. What could be hiding behind each door? Even to this day I’m terrified to think of the horrors that could lie behind each door.
After walking for what felt like hours I finally reached the end of the corridor. I was greeted with another door, this one seemed different from the rest. While this door was made out of red velvet as well there was a number carved into the center, 3. As I stared at the number I found myself wondering if the three meant that I was on the third floor, if this was the third room, and most importantly; is it locked? I reached out hesitantly towards the nob, if this door was locked as well would I be trapped in here in the corridor of red velvet? As my hand made contact with the nob I slowly tried to turn it to find that it, in fact, was unlocked. With a loud creak I opened the door to find myself staring into a dark abyss with only the back light of the corridor behind me I could barley make out a set of stairs a few feet into the room, “thank God” I said aloud hoping that these stairs would lead to some kind of exit. Before I could enter the next room a voice came from behind me. There’s no way to describe how unsettling his voice was, it sounded like someone speaking for the first time in years in desperate need of a glass of water. What he said was worse than his voice.
“God has abandoned us here.” I jumped in shock and turned to see who was talking to me. I wish I hadn’t. Behind me stood a man made entirely from wet red velvet. He was unhealthy skinny and it looked like he had no eyelids as when I looked into them his eyes where blood shot. Even worse was his mouth, or lack there of one. He had teeth, gums, and a tongue but no lips to be seen. That’s when the realization hit me, this man was not made of wet red velvet. He was made of muscle tissue. The man in front of me, the man who had just materialized out of nowhere, the man with the crystal blue eyes, had no skin.