Fade: Chapter Five

Chapter Five1

“I’ve got to find my way out.” I said out loud, determined to get home no matter what. I wasn’t sure if I was having a nightmare or even if I was hallucinating, but either way, I needed to get home.2

I glanced down at the rag-doll I hand clutched in my hand. For some odd reason, It felt like I had seen the doll before, and that strange nostalgia calmed me somehow. I stood up and gently pushed the dusty doll into my jean pocket, hoping that its calming effects would last.3

I looked around the small, pink room again. Nothing. Wherever Maggie was, she wasn’t inside her room any longer. She might have run off while I was in the other room. I thought as I walked back out into the hallway and closed the old door behind myself. I glanced down the hall and scanned over the rooms I hadn’t been in yet, I thought that maybe one of them had a window or something I could climb out of.4

I walked forward, glancing at the door and the few pictures surrounding it. I squinted, staring at the dusting frame until I decided to wipe it off. I pulled my sleeve up with my teeth and dusted the picture off with it, it was as if the dust had settled there for years, caked into ever corner and crack in the picture frame.5

I paused again, staring at another dirty picture. This one was oddly familiar–too familiar to be a coincidence. My house. 6

It was strange enough for the Thatchers to have pictures of a car wreck . . . but even stranger for them to hang up pictures of my house. My house with two police officers knocking at the door.7

When was this taken? I thought, almost wanted to rip the back of the frame off to see if a date had been scrawled on the back. I shook my head, it didn’t matter . . . something in the house wasn’t right, it was haunted by something.8

I was about to turn the doorknob when a loud howl split through the darkness. I turned my attention down the stairway, where I could hear something . . . disturbing.9

I walked closer to the stairway, the howling becoming louder and more hysterically. It had to be the neighbor’s dog . . . right? But it sounded much more twisted than the barking I had heard before, almost contorted . . . with pain?10

I took a step down the stairway, and slowly crept forward as the whimpers and yelps echoed up the steps. It seemed like the closer I got to the end of the stairs, the louder and more tortured the howling became. By the time I reached the bottom step the yelps ended in a grotesque, animalistic scream. 11

I looked around the living room and kitchen, but it was obvious that no one was there. The house was still vacant, and Maggie or the dog was no where to be seen. I took a step back toward the kitchen table, where I felt something slick beneath my shoe.12

I slid my shoe back, smearing the blackish-red stain across the dirty kitchen floor. I took a deep breath and followed the splatters of blood with my eyes. It lead . . . to an open kitchen door. The same door that had been closed and locked moments earlier.13

I looked around. What if there’s something out there. I thought, glancing around, looking for something to protect my self with. I walked over to the kitchen cupboard and fished around until I found a rather large steak knife, I held it tightly and neared the open door.14

The kitchen door lead outside the back of the Thatcher’s house. It was near the place that I had collapsed earlier, but barred off by the large picket fence. My plan was to climb the fence if I had to, and get back home. Although, by the time I was on the Thatcher’s patio, a nauseating smell shifted through my lungs.15

I swallowed hard and turned around, following the disgusting smell. It was hard to see in the early morning darkness, and I could only make out shapes and objects at first. I stepped closer, nearing what appeared to be a small sandbox.16

As my eyes blurred from the transition and grew accustomed to the darkness, I gripped the knife harder while my right hand systematically covered my mouth.17

The sandbox was filled with little buckets and shovels, plastic toys, and a tiny little castle. But in the middle of the sand box was the contorted figure of a dog, its insides ripped out and it’s ribs torn and pierced through its head. I swallowed hard, trying to gain composure. It didn’t work.18

“What the fuck is going on . . . ” I whispered out loud, my eyes almost tearing from the foul smells and the horribly mangled animal.  I noticed out of the corner of my eye that something rather large and blue was sticking out of the dog’s chest. I bit my lip and walked in closer, baring the horrific image in front of me.19

The dog was missing its heart. Or at least, it looked like it was missing its heart, I wasn’t about to stick around to find out. What I did notice for sure however, was a rather big plastic bucket in the shape of a castle’s tower. On top was a small, bloodstained piece of paper. I closed my eyes and reached out, the heat from the steaming flesh disgusted me and I whipped my hand back, clutching the dirty note to my stomach and backing away.20

Mommy, why did you leave me? Where are you?21

I’m lonely.22

I want to play with you, but you’re asleep. Wake up.23

I’m alone.24

You aren’t my mommy. You aren’t my daddy. Go away.25

I hate you all.26

I paused, glancing at the paper again before shoving it in my pocket. I took a deep breath and stared once more at the tortured heap of flesh that used to be an animal.27

Maggie . . . did you . . . do this?28