Demons and Dark Doors

The walls were painted red over the usual white enamel. The pictures on the wall were strewn about on the floor, the glass that covered them embedded into the hardwood.

Walking into the room, I slipped on a thick, dark liquid that was splattered on the ground. I looked down at my soiled socks. What was that? It looked like blood and the room was permeated with the stench of sweet copper. Every piece of furniture was destroyed, left in fragments all over the room. The only thing left in tact was a single chessboard standing on a pedestal in the middle of the bedroom.

There was a game in the middle of play. When I got closer, I saw the pieces in detail. They were human parts. Fingers, toes, eyes, pretty much any small part of the body that can be cut off. Looking even closer, I could tell whose eyes were closest to me. They were my mothers. They had the same dark ring surrounding the iris. I was really starting to freak out now. Where were my parents? Wandering around somewhere, eyes pulled out of their skull?

That’s when I noticed the bathroom door, lying on the floor next to the bed. I looked across to where the en suite bathroom actually was and fell to my knees, crying out in pain. There they were. My parents. Strung up in millions of fragments, hanging from the curtain rod. The only parts that you could distinctly make out were their heads. Their faces were contorted with what I could only describe as intense fear.