Written by: Baron Floyd
In the wake of the winter, Charles awoke to the taunting yells of the outsiders while laying all alone in his room. Locked away long ago, rotting upon his bed, it seemed that there was no saving what was left of him. Yet, on this drag of a day, a single knock came upon his decaying wooden door.
“Who is there?” Charles attempted to say, but all that came out was garbled gibberish. It was as if he had forgotten human speech.
Somehow, the door creaked open despite its crooked state. Slowly, he crept to the door. In the dim light through the crack of the door, he spotted a sticky note. He tried to grab it, but his hand kept falling short of the note. He tried to read it, but he realized the words just seemed scribbled and incoherent.
Charles opened the door and walked further into the hallway outside that had been familiar to him once before his incarceration. His eyes looked upon the rotting walls and he could hear the faint ticking of a grandfather clock.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Suddenly, a loud sound came a bit quicker through the hallway. He kept exploring and moments later he found the basement. As he put his ear to the door, he could hear the faint sound of whimpering. Brimming with curiosity, he went down the dilapidated stairs.
Creak. Creak. SNAP!
A weak step of wood crumbled under his weight. As he began to fall, his hand moved to the rail along the steps and he kept himself balanced. The whimpering grew louder and louder. As he made it off the last step, he could see the arm of another human, the first time he had seen anyone in years.
As he got closer, he saw his mother staring with wide eyes, horrified at the sight of him. The ticking grew louder, then suddenly he heard someone shout from behind him.
“Get off of her!” yelled the man.
When he turned around, he saw his father with a rifle pointed directly at him, poised to kill his son.
“What have you become?” Charles’ mother screamed as he slowly stepped towards his father.
“What are you?!” Charles’ father yelled again.
Charles stepped closer and closer until he started tearing through his father, screeching and spitting through the waves of screaming and terror. As Charles turned to his mother, she saw her husband’s blood pouring from Charles’ mouth as he bore his teeth towards her with constant, unsatisfied hunger. The skin around his mouth, or rather the lack of skin, pronounced his cracked and broken teeth. Charles’ mother grabbed her husband's rifle and backed into the corner. Charles stared at his helpless mother, unable to recognize the monster her son had become.
Suddenly, the loud crack of a gunshot echoed throughout the basement as Charles lunged towards her.
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