Teeth

It smells like molding roses.

I opened my eyes. Everything on me ached and creaked as I groaned and tried to shift around.

What is this? My eyes are open but I can't see, am I blind?

The air was stale and and smelled strangely, like the sickly sweet smell of flowers and that smell you get when you press your face in new furniture and inhale. I coughed weakly and reached to rub my eyes, but my elbows bumped into something soft and solid above me. Frowning blindly, I reach upward and my palms instantly crash into a plushy velvet solidness. I pushed on it but it wouldn't give.

Why is it so quiet? Am I deaf?

No, I could hear myself breathing and my body shifting. What the hell is this pressing darkness and silence?

My body was starting to tingle, like the blood was rushing back into my limbs, and I found the strength to roll over. I didn't get far.

I bumped into another velvet wall.

I rolled the other way and get the same result.

I held still for a second, my chest heaving, and opened and closed my eyes, begging for some form of light.

WHAT IS THIS? WHERE AM I?

"Hello?" I called to no one in particular. "Help?"

Nothing.

Utter silence.

"HELLO?!"

My voice was swallowed by the velvet.

Panic started building in my throat, and I reached up and tried to push the strange velvet roof away or open. It didn't budge. I turned over and shoved at the wall to my right, and then to my left, hoping that one of the sides would just pop open and I would be thrust into light. Panting nervously, I began to pound on the ceiling to my prison, hoping that maybe I could smash through. My fists crashed into the velvet with dull, muted thuds, completely powerless. I thrashed around, but the impassive sides didn't budge or even sigh under my relentless beatings.

"HELP," I choked out, fear causing me to shake. I realized I was sobbing. I had always had claustrophobia as a kid, and now this was like my own personal...

I froze.

Blurry images pushed into my consciousness. Hospital, blank faces, death.

Am I... dead? Is this hell?

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, please no.

I tried to curl up into a ball, as if the fetal position would help pull myself together and keep the darkness from clawing me to pieces, but the space was too tight. I remained stretched out, vulnerable to the darkness, tears wet and messy sliding down my cheeks.

Frank.

I froze. What was that? A... voice? I strained my ears into the silence, eager for even a whisper of the mysterious voice. Was it possible that other people were imprisoned just like me? Was this some kind of... military experiment?

Release me.

I laid there, dumbfounded, yet excited. "W-what?"

Release me. I can save you.

The voice was eerie, cold. It made my lungs fill with ice and my palms sweat. "What are you?"

The voice chuckled raspily, the sound grating down my spine and making me shiver. I'm a part of you now, Frank.

A... part of me? Ah, fuck. The voice was in my head. Just wonderful. I'm in hell and crazy.

The voice was silent.

I placed my hands on the roof of my prison once again, pushing upwards with all my might, my arms straining painfully and my muscles burning. It was useless. Breaking through or lifting this barrier was about as likely as an ant lifting a house.

I paused, feeling something shift around inside me restlessly. Like some kind of raw, bubbling energy was churning around in my gut and in the back of my mind. I bit my lip, preparing myself to do something foolish. "D-did you say... Did you say you could save me?"

Yes.[font] The answer was instantaneous.

I swallowed. "How?"

Reach for me. Reach for the power.

Power? I sat there in the blackness, churning the statement over in my mind. Was it this presence writhing around inside me? It didn't feel good; it felt kind of like Icy Hot was swishing around inside my stomach. Evil Icy Hot.

I closed my eyes. I reached out. I lit on fire.

The strange aura fluttering inside me like flame ignited my flesh, pumped into my blood, surged through my muscles. Strength, hideous and raw, shuddered through me like enormous volts of electricity.

Barely conscious of it, I began to thrash again, striking out at the walls surrounding me. Something was rising in me, growing from the pit of my stomach towards my brain. It had me curling my hands into fists and slamming more violently into my prison, throwing fire into my blows like sledge hammers. My stomach rumbled like the growl of a hidden beast.

How long had I been slumbering in this hell? When was the last time that I had eaten? So hungry...

Fury. Bold and fiery flamed through my limbs.

My hands were tearing at the velvet with a mind of their own, and somehow I wasn't surprised when my nails shredded through them like water, the stuffing fluttering down onto my face and chest.

My claws (wait, claws?) hit wood, then my fist coiled back and struck the wood, snapping through. I tried to gasp as dirt began to pour in through the gap, but the power animating my body knowingly latched my jaw shut to avoid choking on soil.

What is going on?!

I squeezed my eyes shut against the dirt pouring in and tore at the gap I had made, bloodying my hands to ribbons but widening the hole.

Then, I was wriggling through the hole in my prison, and swimming upwards through an onslaught of dirt. I tore through the moist soil blindly, slithering into the free space I made with my tunneling. Then one of my hands cut through soil and tasted air.

I thrust my head upwards, cold air whipping my hair around and shocking me. I wriggled my shoulders and managed to free my other hand, then hoisted myself out of the ground. I flopped on my back, the light from the moon blindingly bright. I laid there, gasping, my entire body caked with dirt and my mouth gritty and muddy tasting.

Confusion. Exhaustion. Hunger.

I shakily sat up, dirt raining from my hair, and peered down at black dress pants and shiny black shoes.

I'm so hungry. Wait, is it me, or this... this... power?

My neck popped as I looked around me, and my stomach lurched.

Tombstones leaned in crooked lines around me, the marble cracked and faded like old skin. A particular headstone was snapped in half and crumbled, granite ruins like shattered bones.

But one wasn't old, or ruined, or snapped in half. One was as clean and white as a new born baby, polished to a mirror-like reflection.

My headstone.

I crawled to it, my bloody hands grinding into the dirt as I knelt before my own grave, reading the words:

Frank Anthony Iero.
Beloved son and friend.
1981-1999

I looked down at my shredded hands, the blood black with dirt running down my arms and dripping on my pants. But more importantly were the claws. Long black claws extended from the tips of my fingers like a demon, arching in a perfect hook.

Hooks meant to kill.

I started laughing, but the voice rumbling from my throat wasn't mine.

It was... evil.

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