Diabolus in Tenebris
A flash of white,
A dance of night,
The memories of past times,
It illuminated her consciousness…
She saw them…
Her family…
Her mother…
Her father…
Her sister…
Her 2 brothers…
It seemed almost like they had never left her…
It seemed almost like they had never went away…
And then they came…
They…. Them….
Them…
Those horrid memories…
So horrible…
So horrible…
A white room,
The sun shining in the window,
And then blood began to trickle down the door…
And the couch,
And the curtains,
They lay within the house,
Each in a different part,
Separate from the other,
Except for a few instances,
Like her mother…
A young beauty,
Spaniard in life,
French in descendancy,
Dutch in origin...
She was partly lying sprawled on the stairs,
And partly in the main hallway,
He legs spread apart in the open front door…
But then there came her father,
A strapping man, despite his age,
American in life,
Norwegian in descendancy,
Tibetan in origin,
He lay face down, planking in the dirt,
Bits of glass covering him and ground around him,
Along with the torn curtains from the broken window in the second-story bedroom,
His face sheared off, and the his neck ripped open,
His spine twisted into a knot, from the inside,
His ribs crushed from a forceful, blow,
And his eyes burned while still inside his head…
And then came her brothers,
Twin-like, though born years apart,
One hung from a column that stood along the rim of a circular sunken floor,
Or rather…
His body did,
Having been wrapped around the column, and tied together though his limbs
And then completed with his head shoved through the wooden support,
His skin stretched, but the flesh and bone that connected his head ripped apart…
The other was more crudely arranged…
His corporeal self sprawled on the bathroom floor of his room,
His chest, left arm, and his head, hanging out the bathtub,
While the rest of him lays burning from the scalding heat of the hot water,
Water that continued to run, even after he’d died while bathing,
The rest of him, floating in a soapy, bloody, soup,
Which began to overflow into the rest of the room,
Since the drain was clogged with his flesh,
As it would seem he was ultimately crushed by some invisible force,
And then the lower half of his body imploding from within,
Destroying the left half,
While the right lay limp,
He’d just turned 16,
The other, was already 18,
But the most horrible of the memories,
Was that of the girl…
The sister…
The youngest….
It was as if a dagger had stabbed her in the heart,
The mere remembrance so sickening,
It felt like drinking boiling lead,
So sickening,
So lurching,
So horrible,
So horrible…
…
The girl was in her room,
A room no bigger than a typical one,
This, on account of her age and size,
And it was pink,
With accents of white and alabaster,
And cream, and pearl,
A mural of the morning sky,
Looked down upon the room from the ceiling,
Adorned with peachy, orangy, strawberry hues,
Set against a baby blue sky…
…
Posters of One Direction, Sam Smith,
Of P!nk, .fun, and other, lesser significant others,
Hung from the walls,
And set against the white furniture,
They gave the room a child-like innocence…
….
Well…
Until you saw the body upon the bed…
…
She lay there, on the bed,
Her hands clasped together in a manner of silent prayer,
Her eyes were open,
Her lips parted,
She wore a white sun dress,
And a yellow hibiscus adorned her hair,
She was only 12,
She’d just finished finished middle school,
And would soon become a freshman in the Fall,
She was smart and funny,
She could charm the birds from the trees,
Her laugh was warm and loving…
…
But she had yet to have her first kiss,
Or her first dance….
…
And now…
She never will….
…
A smell wafted from her bedroom,
A smell wafted from her bed,
The smell was sweet,
The smell was pungent,
And it was coming….
From her…
Such a smell it was,
So rich…
So inviting…
Like the scent of brown sugar and cinnamon,
…
Do you know what the scent is?
….
It’s death…
Death…
Death….
Death…….
…
…
…
The body lay on the bed,
And you looked upon it from the door,
It would seem as if she was sleeping peacefully,
Until the scent of Death,
Washed over one’s nose…
…
But to see the body up close…
Up close…
Up…
Her face was pale,
Her eyes, once sky blue,
Were shot through pearly white,
The pupil and iris creamy,
Her lips still parted,
Blood trickling,
Not the typical shade of red,
But black,
And oily,
And steaming…
…
And the smell of death wafted from her body,
And her flesh was rotten,
And post mortem was upon her flesh…
…
Her heart was still beating,
And she was still breathing,
And at once you knew…
...
She was still…. Alive….
…
Symbols of inverted crosses and stars,
Were carved into her flesh,
And seared and scarred,
And shone like scabs,
Along her arms and legs,
On her neck and back,
And thighs and shins,
They were everywhere…
…
And she was still…. Alive….
She was breathing,
In and out,
Her breathing laboring,
Laboring,
Laboring,
Gasping,
And her body continued to rot,
And decay,
And fester,
And putrify,
And she was still…. Alive….
…
And then…
Her body grew thinner,
And thinner,
Most of them shattered,
And then…
She screamed,
An agonized scream,
And then the decay reached her head,
And just her body,
Her scream decayed as well,
Brown, rotten flesh spewing from her immortally frozen mouth,
Hanging in the air, until it descended,
Resting on her dress, making dark spots,
The color of which was of coffee,
Melting and rotting away the cloth where it dripped…
…
And then it spoke…
The voice, like a whisper in the night,
And yet, so rich,
So sudden,
And so powerful…
…
And it called her name,
And a closet door opened,
And the darkness within began to spread,
And then a sudden whoosh of air…
…
And then…
….
Silence.
A dance of night,
The memories of past times,
It illuminated her consciousness…
She saw them…
Her family…
Her mother…
Her father…
Her sister…
Her 2 brothers…
It seemed almost like they had never left her…
It seemed almost like they had never went away…
And then they came…
They…. Them….
Them…
Those horrid memories…
So horrible…
So horrible…
A white room,
The sun shining in the window,
And then blood began to trickle down the door…
And the couch,
And the curtains,
They lay within the house,
Each in a different part,
Separate from the other,
Except for a few instances,
Like her mother…
A young beauty,
Spaniard in life,
French in descendancy,
Dutch in origin...
She was partly lying sprawled on the stairs,
And partly in the main hallway,
He legs spread apart in the open front door…
But then there came her father,
A strapping man, despite his age,
American in life,
Norwegian in descendancy,
Tibetan in origin,
He lay face down, planking in the dirt,
Bits of glass covering him and ground around him,
Along with the torn curtains from the broken window in the second-story bedroom,
His face sheared off, and the his neck ripped open,
His spine twisted into a knot, from the inside,
His ribs crushed from a forceful, blow,
And his eyes burned while still inside his head…
And then came her brothers,
Twin-like, though born years apart,
One hung from a column that stood along the rim of a circular sunken floor,
Or rather…
His body did,
Having been wrapped around the column, and tied together though his limbs
And then completed with his head shoved through the wooden support,
His skin stretched, but the flesh and bone that connected his head ripped apart…
The other was more crudely arranged…
His corporeal self sprawled on the bathroom floor of his room,
His chest, left arm, and his head, hanging out the bathtub,
While the rest of him lays burning from the scalding heat of the hot water,
Water that continued to run, even after he’d died while bathing,
The rest of him, floating in a soapy, bloody, soup,
Which began to overflow into the rest of the room,
Since the drain was clogged with his flesh,
As it would seem he was ultimately crushed by some invisible force,
And then the lower half of his body imploding from within,
Destroying the left half,
While the right lay limp,
He’d just turned 16,
The other, was already 18,
But the most horrible of the memories,
Was that of the girl…
The sister…
The youngest….
It was as if a dagger had stabbed her in the heart,
The mere remembrance so sickening,
It felt like drinking boiling lead,
So sickening,
So lurching,
So horrible,
So horrible…
…
The girl was in her room,
A room no bigger than a typical one,
This, on account of her age and size,
And it was pink,
With accents of white and alabaster,
And cream, and pearl,
A mural of the morning sky,
Looked down upon the room from the ceiling,
Adorned with peachy, orangy, strawberry hues,
Set against a baby blue sky…
…
Posters of One Direction, Sam Smith,
Of P!nk, .fun, and other, lesser significant others,
Hung from the walls,
And set against the white furniture,
They gave the room a child-like innocence…
….
Well…
Until you saw the body upon the bed…
…
She lay there, on the bed,
Her hands clasped together in a manner of silent prayer,
Her eyes were open,
Her lips parted,
She wore a white sun dress,
And a yellow hibiscus adorned her hair,
She was only 12,
She’d just finished finished middle school,
And would soon become a freshman in the Fall,
She was smart and funny,
She could charm the birds from the trees,
Her laugh was warm and loving…
…
But she had yet to have her first kiss,
Or her first dance….
…
And now…
She never will….
…
A smell wafted from her bedroom,
A smell wafted from her bed,
The smell was sweet,
The smell was pungent,
And it was coming….
From her…
Such a smell it was,
So rich…
So inviting…
Like the scent of brown sugar and cinnamon,
…
Do you know what the scent is?
….
It’s death…
Death…
Death….
Death…….
…
…
…
The body lay on the bed,
And you looked upon it from the door,
It would seem as if she was sleeping peacefully,
Until the scent of Death,
Washed over one’s nose…
…
But to see the body up close…
Up close…
Up…
Her face was pale,
Her eyes, once sky blue,
Were shot through pearly white,
The pupil and iris creamy,
Her lips still parted,
Blood trickling,
Not the typical shade of red,
But black,
And oily,
And steaming…
…
And the smell of death wafted from her body,
And her flesh was rotten,
And post mortem was upon her flesh…
…
Her heart was still beating,
And she was still breathing,
And at once you knew…
...
She was still…. Alive….
…
Symbols of inverted crosses and stars,
Were carved into her flesh,
And seared and scarred,
And shone like scabs,
Along her arms and legs,
On her neck and back,
And thighs and shins,
They were everywhere…
…
And she was still…. Alive….
She was breathing,
In and out,
Her breathing laboring,
Laboring,
Laboring,
Gasping,
And her body continued to rot,
And decay,
And fester,
And putrify,
And she was still…. Alive….
…
And then…
Her body grew thinner,
And thinner,
Most of them shattered,
And then…
She screamed,
An agonized scream,
And then the decay reached her head,
And just her body,
Her scream decayed as well,
Brown, rotten flesh spewing from her immortally frozen mouth,
Hanging in the air, until it descended,
Resting on her dress, making dark spots,
The color of which was of coffee,
Melting and rotting away the cloth where it dripped…
…
And then it spoke…
The voice, like a whisper in the night,
And yet, so rich,
So sudden,
And so powerful…
…
And it called her name,
And a closet door opened,
And the darkness within began to spread,
And then a sudden whoosh of air…
…
And then…
….
Silence.
♠ ♠ ♠
Warning. Viewer Discretion is advised.