The devil's home
I was walking, slowly, through the shaded woods, the sunlight was nigh impossible to see through the dark, murky tree tops, each step like a step closer into oblivion. It was then, then I saw the house, ivy-choked, old, maybe even Victorian, and near that? A broken, weather-worn, wooden sign. I couldn't read it, only make out one word. "House!". Had I been able to read it, this may have ended better. I had decided, in a pure, curiosity over intelligence, to approach. To my surprise, the old, rotten wood steps of the home's balcony held my weight. Each step still produced a horrible, ear paining creak. As I approached the door, I was filled with a deep, unchanging sense of foreboding, and deep sorrow, mixed with horror. Like a never-ending nightmare... It was horrific. Yet I stepped, foolishly closer, and closer to the old, wrought iron door. With every move closer, I felt with a greater intensity I was being watched. As I reached for the door, I went to open it. To my surprise, I could make out one word, were the sign had failed to reveal anything, the door wasn't. One sentance. It read "la maison des diables"1 I had no clue what it meant, only it was French, and something about the house. This had unnerved me, but still, my blind curiosity had me reaching closer, touching the door, and almost eerily, swinging open with no effort, despite it's obvious weight. I only let a slight gasp escape my lips, before stepping inside the gloom of the corridoor. That was my mistake, one I would regret, forever. The door, with all it's weight slammed, a bone shaking crash as it hit it's iron frame. I was trapped. I was stuck. I was alone. My hand shot to my pocket, reaching for my phone, fumbling it before getting a good grip, checking the screen... "NO SIGNAL." Not once have I felt such dread reading those words. My eyes lifted from the display, only to be confronted with a pair of eyes, glowing like a cat's, only a deep, unnatural, almost evil red. My first reaction the same as anyone's. Strike it with what was close, an old lamp, and flee, running up the nearby stairs as it staggered, or I thought, and locked myself in a room. The room, much like the hall, was dark, gloomy, and just as eerie. Only for a much more sinister reason. It was the master bedroom, and the events that had transpired, were horrifying. Two lumps in the quilt, I assumed corpses, covered every few centimetres in sharp blades. I stared, unable to do much more, as seemingly, yet impossibly, fresh blood leaked through the fabric. I stepped closer to the curtains, hoping they would have a window behind them I could jump from. But as I opened the old, heavy fabric, I was confronted by the same pair of eyes from the hall. Still dark despite the light. Except now it had an impossibly wide grin, revealing rows of sharp, demonic teeth. One sentance coming from it's sinister lips, before all went dark. "Tu es à moi, à jamais, voyageur."2
1 House of the Devil
2 You are mine, forever, traveler