Nightmare

I stood looking up at the Great Doors. They were so familiar to me - yet now I didn’t know them. I looked to Joe on the right side of me - the one person that knew me better than anyone else in the school. Making eye contact with him, I put my palm flat against his. My hands were clammy; so were his. With interlocking fingers, we stepped up to the Doors and I pulled it open. My mouth was dry. We slowly treaded inside the door, afraid of what we might find. A slightly dead smell hung in the air, prickling at our noses.

I swallowed. Then, with a strong nod at Joe, I strode - albeit gingerly - into the corridor that gaped in front of us. The walls - as white and clean as ever - moved away from us; we had to look each and every way. My heart hammering, I pulled Joe by his hand in a confident stride down the corridor. If we had to do it, we were going to with dignity. I noticed too, that the floor was a dull mint colour - the same as always. This guy either didn’t like being messy about it or cleaned up afterward. As we reached the intersection - where the corridor went passed a wider one that joined on at the right of us - I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Suddenly, darkness engulfed us like strong gauze, trapping us. I lost Joe’s hand and I yelled. The lights clunked back on and flickered for a while. I was alone. Was he still here? The sterile corridor loomed in front of me, taunting me to carry on.

But I stayed firm and breathed deeply. My hands felt empty without Joe’s comforting squeeze. I clenched my hand to try and replicate the feeling and my nails dug into my palms painfully. But I daren’t let go - not one bit. I could feelthe perspiration on my forehead and my nervous swallow and my shaking hands and me biting my lip. I felt scared - for Joe and me.

I stuck out my right foot and stepped loudly on it, continuing forward with determined purpose. My breathing became jittery and I could feel my jaw quivering. My heart pounded in my ribcage, beating a tattoo on my chest. I walked, appearing confident to anyone watching but I felt the rigid fear course within me. I didn’t want to close my eyes for more than a moment and I didn’t want to turn around. I reached the door we - Joe and I together - were meant to reach. I took in a staggering breath. I felt my whole body shake with fear but I couldn’t stop. Not now.

I wanted to run - I wanted to leave and never ever come back. But I stuck true. I looked at the door - not a single mark. There wasn’t even a single fingernail scratch. I put my trembling hand on the handle and wiped my forehead with the back of the other. I pulled the door open, feeling my stomach tear itself apart in trepidation and my throat claw its way out of my body.

The stench hit me with the sickening heat. This was the boiling room and there were pipes on either side, emitting heat and steam. The floor was not, as previously thought, a dull mint-green hospital colour. It was a grate with nothing beneath for a metre or so. The heat had obviously encouraged the smell to ferment over the night and I felt like I was going to be sick. But not just because of the smell.

The first signs of the struggle began here. On the grate beneath my feet, blood dripped from the metal. On the pipes, someone had held on for dear life with bloodied hands, searing them with the searing heat and creating burns. Bloody hand smears grappled along the boilers and the other pipes. On the door at the end of this tight room, there was a small glass window. On there lay one hand smear - one that had been wrestling to hang on. As I saw the blood drip pleadingly from each crevice and the odour wafted up through my nose menacingly, I could hear and see everything. The screaming; the begging; the laughing.

I gazed at the scene that engulfed me, feeling everything buzz around me. The blood; some old, some new, still gave off a nauseating reek and the steady drip, drip of blood - together - made me retch and I lowered myself to the floor, placing a hand on the blood. Once composed, I lifted my head and gazed at the window in the door. Had there been eyes; a face? Fear tugged at my throat once again and I quickly moved my hand to rub it, leaving smudges of blood. I gazed down on my hand - the blood of a stranger on it.

I heard nothing, save the hiss of the pipes and my breath; heavy and disjointed in my throat. I felt tears prick at my eyes, itching their way free. I clapped my hand to my neck, feeling one sweat drop slowly run from my hair. It was too hot; too stuffy in this room. The stomach-turning odour breathed into my face mockingly whilst the crimson liquid dripped from every place I looked. I wanted to get out of here; needed to, but if I went through the door behind me I would be caught. If I progressed through the door ahead of me the...well goodness knows what I would find. Through the deafening pulse of my blood slipping through the veins in my ears, I heard a vague noise. A person, a cackle. My heart-rate increased, the steady thud in my ears growing more rapid; more out of control.

I had to leave. Maybe if I went through then nothing would happen! Maybe I’d have passed some sort of test. But what would happen if there was something in there...which haunted me until my death? What if I couldn’t ever sleep again, having seen whatever was in there? What if I lost the ability to...? No I was being foolish.

I took a shuddering breath and rose to standing. I reached out, my hand shaking. The handle, coated in blood both dry and dripping, turned easily under pressure. I closed my eyes and opened it, feeling cold air rush onto my face - but it wasn’t fresh. I opened my eyes.

My mouth dropped open, my lip quivering and my brow rising in disbelief. I took in jittery breaths through my nose, smelling the ever-present odour of blood whisper into my throat. Tears suddenly sprung from my eyes; a terrified yell erupting from my open lips. I surveyed the scene with wide eyes.

Joe. And the boy who we didn’t know but had come to see. All against a surface, a sword thrust through them. I turned to Joe. His eyes flickered open. I shrieked in pity for him, supported by the sword rammed through his neck that held him three feet above the floor. He whispered my name, tears falling from his eyes. His face was smudged in blood, his hair with cerise streaks and his eyes dilated and with blood pouring from a cheek. He was missing a hand, a stump dripping with blood. His clothes were stained with blotches and his lips quivered as he murmured my name once again.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away. There hung my whole world, hanging by a sword through his neck that he slowly fell down, lacerating his skin millimetre by millimetre. His hair was plastered to the blood that ran in lines down his cheeks and chin. He took small intakes of breath with each tear in his skin. He whispered my name with a choked voice again. I ran to him, and touched his cheek. Tears fell from his eyes as his face crumpled in pain and fear. His hands twitched uncontrollably, his legs all but motionless. I couldn’t cry out anymore. I physically couldn’t make any sound - the smell and sight were suffocating me and my short, shuddering breaths. Instead, I breathed my sobs out, one by one.

I turned my head to the ceiling to escape it, removing my hand from him. But there hung a sight I never want to witness ever again. The boy we came to visit was held to the ceiling by a sword through his forehead and one through his abdomen. The handles were caked in a brown-red substance that ran motionless down the side of it; a large pool still slightly wet sat in the centre of the floor. His face was shaped grotesquely into one of horror - screaming...or begging. His arms and legs hung limp from his lifeless body, blood frozen mid-run. I felt my stomach churn as the smell once again wafted against me, the sight piercing my eyes painfully. All handles everywhere were bloody. Everywhere was blood. On everything was this sticky hot substance which was running so hastily through my body. On everything lay the mark of this man.

With pain sprinting fearfully through my veins, I turned back to Joe. I gently lay my hand once more on his cheek. He gave a smile and whispered the three words that said so much. I repeated them silently, tears streaming down my cheeks. Then with a small, poignant smile, his eyes dulled and his head drooped a little. His struggling ceased and he hung like a rag doll.

I crashed to the floor painfully but paying no notice. I put my hands over my eyes, shaking my head and rocking back and forth on my knees. Sobs escaped my lips, but I quenched as many. I started singing a little song that usually quelled my fears and inner turmoil. But today it only reminded me of what a situation I was in. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I looked around me, worried he was there. My red, blotchy, puffy face crumpled as I sniffled through a heavy nose and stared around me. I couldn’t escape these sights; ever.

Suddenly, the lights died. Everything was thrown into darkness and I stayed on my knees, staring through my fingers now. I daren’t breathe, but I heard a cackle anyway. He knew I was here. He knew where I was and how to get to me. And I couldn’t see a thing. All I had was my hearing. I heard a sword being unsheathed from behind me and I let out a long breath, then everything went black. No, blacker.