Mathew
Only one thing plagued the mind of six year old Mathew Castler as he laid under the small bed in a dark room. He was going to die. Memories of the few words his mother slipped to him after she left him under there replayed in his mind like an amateur movie with a repetitive theme. "Stay here, be quiet, I love you."
Before his current stance, he was in the family room with his mother, father, and his four younger siblings. The large family sat on the torn up couch, reeking of cigarette smoke, watching a movie on the small television that they could afford. They all sat in silence, watching Dr Suess's The Grinch. Due to the fact christmas was around the corner, they decided to watch strictly christmas-based movies to fit the season. Uncomfortably situated in the very middle of the couch, Mathew's mouth lolled open, watching The Grinch sing about stealing Christmas from all the innocent Whos.
A trashy car sped in front of the small, three bedroom house, stopping with a screech. The sound causing everybody in the room to freeze. It sort or resembled a small kin of mice, freezing in fear as they fall into a trap, knowing their fate.
Mathew could see his father whisper into his mother's ear. He could hardly hear the slightly audible words the man slipped to his wife. "Hide the kids- it's the Crips."
The Crips were the rivals of the Bloods, a gang in LA where Mathew and his family lived. Apparently they belonged to the Bloods, causing them to be a target for the evil men outside their front door.
Shutting off the lights and television, the tall, buff man left the couch to barricade the front door. The woman hurried all the children into the "master" bedroom.
Stuffing the four youngest into the closet, she stood there for a moment. Unable to tear her eyes from the small children, /her/ children. Tears flooded her vision, causing her to back away. Slowly turning from the youngsters, she looked at her oldest son, Mathew. Ushering him under the bed, she closed the door of the closet, slipping her final words to the trembling kids. Locking the door, she grabbed a small handgun from the desk drawer. Before walking back out of the room, she gazed at her oldest son, quivering with fear under the discolored bed.
"Stay here, be quiet, I love you." She mumbled, disappearing out of the room.
Now, Mathew just laid there, unable to move. Fear flooding his nerves. He felt trapped. Like somebody stuck on an island, full of dangers with no way out.
BANG! BANG!
Mathew gasped hearing the loud pounds erupting from the front door of the house. A small whimper escaped from the closet across the room. Mathew pushed his hands against his ears, squeezing with all his might to drown out the horrifying screams and gunshots from the living room. Muffled cries from the closet caught the men's attention.
With a simple kick, the door of the master bedroom fell to the floor. The noise caused the children in the closet to yelp, in attempt to hush themselves. Standing over the door, two dark skinned men looked around the room for the source of the noise. They wore low hanging jeans and black sweatshirts three-sizes too large. Navy blue bandanas covered the bottom half of their faces, giving them the look of a common juvenile delinquent, bloodthirsty and evil.
As they walked from the doorway, Mathew could see into the living room down the hall. On the ground, motionless, was his mother. Her eyes wide as if she were looking at him. Further examination of her face, her mouth was open like she was releasing an ear-splitting scream. Tears filled Mathew's eyes as he came to realization; his mother, the woman who cared for him, loved him, watched over him.. was dead. An emptiness filled him, something which he'd never experienced before.
/BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!/ Four gunshots carried through the air, nearly deafening the child. He timidly turned his head towards the closet. The door was opened, revealing the four small children inside. Mathew silently gasped, throwing his hands to his mouth at the sight of his siblings.
Each child was silent, folded over on the ground. A large pool of blood escaped from them, causing a large puddle that spread around the floor like a pot of soup being poured into a small plate.
Mathew fought his urge to scream.
One of the two men dipped his gloved hand into the pool of blood, wiping it across the wall. He continued doing this until muffled sirens could be heard, growing louder every second. After finishing his /masterpiece/, he stepped back, eyeing it proudly. The second man pulled the other, motioning towards the door. As quickly as they could, they both ran out of the house, speeding away.
Cops entered the small room, trying not to look at the dead children inside the closet. Mathew, completely safe and alive, slowly crawled out from under the bed. They ran two him, asking all kinds of questions. Instead of providing answers, he fell to the ground, unconscious.
Before his current stance, he was in the family room with his mother, father, and his four younger siblings. The large family sat on the torn up couch, reeking of cigarette smoke, watching a movie on the small television that they could afford. They all sat in silence, watching Dr Suess's The Grinch. Due to the fact christmas was around the corner, they decided to watch strictly christmas-based movies to fit the season. Uncomfortably situated in the very middle of the couch, Mathew's mouth lolled open, watching The Grinch sing about stealing Christmas from all the innocent Whos.
A trashy car sped in front of the small, three bedroom house, stopping with a screech. The sound causing everybody in the room to freeze. It sort or resembled a small kin of mice, freezing in fear as they fall into a trap, knowing their fate.
Mathew could see his father whisper into his mother's ear. He could hardly hear the slightly audible words the man slipped to his wife. "Hide the kids- it's the Crips."
The Crips were the rivals of the Bloods, a gang in LA where Mathew and his family lived. Apparently they belonged to the Bloods, causing them to be a target for the evil men outside their front door.
Shutting off the lights and television, the tall, buff man left the couch to barricade the front door. The woman hurried all the children into the "master" bedroom.
Stuffing the four youngest into the closet, she stood there for a moment. Unable to tear her eyes from the small children, /her/ children. Tears flooded her vision, causing her to back away. Slowly turning from the youngsters, she looked at her oldest son, Mathew. Ushering him under the bed, she closed the door of the closet, slipping her final words to the trembling kids. Locking the door, she grabbed a small handgun from the desk drawer. Before walking back out of the room, she gazed at her oldest son, quivering with fear under the discolored bed.
"Stay here, be quiet, I love you." She mumbled, disappearing out of the room.
Now, Mathew just laid there, unable to move. Fear flooding his nerves. He felt trapped. Like somebody stuck on an island, full of dangers with no way out.
BANG! BANG!
Mathew gasped hearing the loud pounds erupting from the front door of the house. A small whimper escaped from the closet across the room. Mathew pushed his hands against his ears, squeezing with all his might to drown out the horrifying screams and gunshots from the living room. Muffled cries from the closet caught the men's attention.
With a simple kick, the door of the master bedroom fell to the floor. The noise caused the children in the closet to yelp, in attempt to hush themselves. Standing over the door, two dark skinned men looked around the room for the source of the noise. They wore low hanging jeans and black sweatshirts three-sizes too large. Navy blue bandanas covered the bottom half of their faces, giving them the look of a common juvenile delinquent, bloodthirsty and evil.
As they walked from the doorway, Mathew could see into the living room down the hall. On the ground, motionless, was his mother. Her eyes wide as if she were looking at him. Further examination of her face, her mouth was open like she was releasing an ear-splitting scream. Tears filled Mathew's eyes as he came to realization; his mother, the woman who cared for him, loved him, watched over him.. was dead. An emptiness filled him, something which he'd never experienced before.
/BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!/ Four gunshots carried through the air, nearly deafening the child. He timidly turned his head towards the closet. The door was opened, revealing the four small children inside. Mathew silently gasped, throwing his hands to his mouth at the sight of his siblings.
Each child was silent, folded over on the ground. A large pool of blood escaped from them, causing a large puddle that spread around the floor like a pot of soup being poured into a small plate.
Mathew fought his urge to scream.
One of the two men dipped his gloved hand into the pool of blood, wiping it across the wall. He continued doing this until muffled sirens could be heard, growing louder every second. After finishing his /masterpiece/, he stepped back, eyeing it proudly. The second man pulled the other, motioning towards the door. As quickly as they could, they both ran out of the house, speeding away.
Cops entered the small room, trying not to look at the dead children inside the closet. Mathew, completely safe and alive, slowly crawled out from under the bed. They ran two him, asking all kinds of questions. Instead of providing answers, he fell to the ground, unconscious.
The Darkness
The darkness surrounds me. Engulfing in my lungs... masking my wetted eyes. The fear I felt, it seemed almost tangible. Threatening my existence, while sitting right beside me. I couldn't explain it.
At this point, I was positive there was no way out. No life after this. My life would end, in the darkness. Just the same as it'd begun. Surrounded by piercing, drowning darkness.
Pain, sorrow, fear. The only emotions in which I was capable at this moment. The pain of shortened breaths, caused by the life-threatening deep shade of black that surrounded my frail body. Sorrow, of lost life. Knowing the others around me may be weeping about, mourning my coming death. Fear, of the darkness. It felt like the middle of the night, but there was no moon or stars to comfort the evils hiding in the ever so distant shadows.
I never thought my life would end like this. Lost in the dark, lost in the nothing. The loneliness in my heart, echoing in the nothing around me. My ears rang, the silence filling them, so deeply.
My weak attempts at speaking didn't help. The sounds I could produce from my hoarse voice were very short of the syllables required to be a word. They were nothing but shrill whimpers. Hardly heard.
So I stood there. Cowering in my own skin. Fearful for what could possibly be accompanying me, hiding in the darkness. Ready to pounce right when my body hits the floor. To consume my soul, turn me to nothing.
One thing I never thought of. Something that could end the darkness, save my life. Opening my eyes.
Slowly my eyelids rose, revealing the deep blue shade of eyes in my skull. My pupils widened, a small attempt to adjust to the bright lights filling them.
I tried to bring up my arm, to mask my eyes from the light, blinding me in such a wonderful way. But, it was attached to some cords... or something. Dismissing that, I looked around me. My ears couldn't register but four words.
"Nurse... nurse! She's awake!"
At this point, I was positive there was no way out. No life after this. My life would end, in the darkness. Just the same as it'd begun. Surrounded by piercing, drowning darkness.
Pain, sorrow, fear. The only emotions in which I was capable at this moment. The pain of shortened breaths, caused by the life-threatening deep shade of black that surrounded my frail body. Sorrow, of lost life. Knowing the others around me may be weeping about, mourning my coming death. Fear, of the darkness. It felt like the middle of the night, but there was no moon or stars to comfort the evils hiding in the ever so distant shadows.
I never thought my life would end like this. Lost in the dark, lost in the nothing. The loneliness in my heart, echoing in the nothing around me. My ears rang, the silence filling them, so deeply.
My weak attempts at speaking didn't help. The sounds I could produce from my hoarse voice were very short of the syllables required to be a word. They were nothing but shrill whimpers. Hardly heard.
So I stood there. Cowering in my own skin. Fearful for what could possibly be accompanying me, hiding in the darkness. Ready to pounce right when my body hits the floor. To consume my soul, turn me to nothing.
One thing I never thought of. Something that could end the darkness, save my life. Opening my eyes.
Slowly my eyelids rose, revealing the deep blue shade of eyes in my skull. My pupils widened, a small attempt to adjust to the bright lights filling them.
I tried to bring up my arm, to mask my eyes from the light, blinding me in such a wonderful way. But, it was attached to some cords... or something. Dismissing that, I looked around me. My ears couldn't register but four words.
"Nurse... nurse! She's awake!"
Unfortunate Hallucinations
They said I couldn't do it.
They said I wouldn't do it.
Sometimes I believed them. Though, my plan was bulletproof. Escape prison. Escape death. Just, be free.
Maybe I should've stayed. Faced my death trial. I wouldn't have been as much of a coward, if I stayed.
But now, I'm here. Free. But, that doesn't make me any less of a monster. The darkness inside me was almost as tangible as my heart. My shadow was evil; whispering terrible thoughts to me in the night.
I didn't murder those people. It wasn't me. It was something inside of me... something completely unexplainable. Was it possible? That there was some sort of evil force inside me? Taking control of my body, murdering innocent people?
I was in a small cabin now, away from civilization. It seemed quiet here, but that couldn't last too long. As soon as they discover I'm missing, they'll come. I know they will.
A mass murderer escaping from prison isn't exactly anything they'd take lightly.
I could see them now. All the people I murdered. Only, they weren't really there. They were faint, translucent figures. Mocking me. Tormenting me. I can't take it anymore.
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" My voice boomed throughout the empty cabin, echoing on the walls. Overcome with anger, I clasped my hands tightly against my ears, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. Their voices wouldn't stop.
I squeezed my head between my hands, in a weak attempt to drown out the voices. It felt like my skull was going to shatter into a million pieces, raining down and reflecting an iridescent of color against the light invading from the window.
Then, something changed in me. My expression grew darker, my eyes turned a deep shade of blue. My hands dropped from my ears, onto the couch I was sitting on.
When I brought it back up, my fingers were wrapped around a small pistol. Where it came from, I had no idea. My tips just found it. Unwillingly, I lifted the barrel of the gun in the air, pointing to the nearest hallucination.
It was an elderly woman. She had white hair, blue eyes, and a wrinkled face. I remember killing her. It wasn't on purpose... or perhaps it was?
Without hesitation, I squeezed the trigger. The bullet passed through the air, burying into a small couch behind the old woman. Her translucent figure scrambled, disintegrating.
The booming of the gunshot echoed throughout the house, traveling in ways outside, carrying on the air. I didn't give too much thought about the noise.
I kept working, pointing to the forehead of each passed victim, squeezing the trigger in a sort of skilled sequence.
The gunshots rang in my ears, nearly deafening me.
When I had finished scrambling the hallucinations, I let out a relieved breath. I was alone. Finally.
Just one thing to do left.
My hand trembled, lifting the pistol up to my temple. A single tear eluded the corner of my eye, tickling my cheek as gravity took over.
And then, I ended it.
The cold fingers of death welcomed me, clutching my throat as they pulled me into the darkness.
They said I wouldn't do it.
Sometimes I believed them. Though, my plan was bulletproof. Escape prison. Escape death. Just, be free.
Maybe I should've stayed. Faced my death trial. I wouldn't have been as much of a coward, if I stayed.
But now, I'm here. Free. But, that doesn't make me any less of a monster. The darkness inside me was almost as tangible as my heart. My shadow was evil; whispering terrible thoughts to me in the night.
I didn't murder those people. It wasn't me. It was something inside of me... something completely unexplainable. Was it possible? That there was some sort of evil force inside me? Taking control of my body, murdering innocent people?
I was in a small cabin now, away from civilization. It seemed quiet here, but that couldn't last too long. As soon as they discover I'm missing, they'll come. I know they will.
A mass murderer escaping from prison isn't exactly anything they'd take lightly.
I could see them now. All the people I murdered. Only, they weren't really there. They were faint, translucent figures. Mocking me. Tormenting me. I can't take it anymore.
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" My voice boomed throughout the empty cabin, echoing on the walls. Overcome with anger, I clasped my hands tightly against my ears, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. Their voices wouldn't stop.
I squeezed my head between my hands, in a weak attempt to drown out the voices. It felt like my skull was going to shatter into a million pieces, raining down and reflecting an iridescent of color against the light invading from the window.
Then, something changed in me. My expression grew darker, my eyes turned a deep shade of blue. My hands dropped from my ears, onto the couch I was sitting on.
When I brought it back up, my fingers were wrapped around a small pistol. Where it came from, I had no idea. My tips just found it. Unwillingly, I lifted the barrel of the gun in the air, pointing to the nearest hallucination.
It was an elderly woman. She had white hair, blue eyes, and a wrinkled face. I remember killing her. It wasn't on purpose... or perhaps it was?
Without hesitation, I squeezed the trigger. The bullet passed through the air, burying into a small couch behind the old woman. Her translucent figure scrambled, disintegrating.
The booming of the gunshot echoed throughout the house, traveling in ways outside, carrying on the air. I didn't give too much thought about the noise.
I kept working, pointing to the forehead of each passed victim, squeezing the trigger in a sort of skilled sequence.
The gunshots rang in my ears, nearly deafening me.
When I had finished scrambling the hallucinations, I let out a relieved breath. I was alone. Finally.
Just one thing to do left.
My hand trembled, lifting the pistol up to my temple. A single tear eluded the corner of my eye, tickling my cheek as gravity took over.
And then, I ended it.
The cold fingers of death welcomed me, clutching my throat as they pulled me into the darkness.
A Visitor
The temperature was harshly cold, snow descended the sky atop of me like a cold shower. My teeth were frequently chattering away, my released breaths showed in the air as clouds of vapor, only lasting for a moment.
I walked on; no knowledge of where my feet would carry me, nor how long I could go on. My eyes watered terribly, beads of hot tears streamed down my cheek before they were swept off by the fast wind blowing around me.
My single gloved hand clutched the large weapon tightly, thin claws holding it just a few inches above the ground. There was a glow brightening my eyes, the source of such glow from the weapon.
My sharpened tooth constantly nicked my lip, a thick trail of green blood evading the wound. But, that's didn't matter much. I think the possibility of freezing to death outweighed that problem.
The feet below me kept moving, slowing as the seconds pass. They were large, heavy, and purple. But they were too wrapped up to view the true color, green. But they only looked white, covered in the deep wet snow.
The mission was simple, and I was the only one fit to do it. Find the leader of this world, and slay him. This world was different then most, but it had everything we needed. So, it was necessary.
But unfortunately there was a missed landed, so I ended up at this large cold continent. Just the knowledge that there was a nice warm continent just on the other side of this place was painful.
-Unfinished
I walked on; no knowledge of where my feet would carry me, nor how long I could go on. My eyes watered terribly, beads of hot tears streamed down my cheek before they were swept off by the fast wind blowing around me.
My single gloved hand clutched the large weapon tightly, thin claws holding it just a few inches above the ground. There was a glow brightening my eyes, the source of such glow from the weapon.
My sharpened tooth constantly nicked my lip, a thick trail of green blood evading the wound. But, that's didn't matter much. I think the possibility of freezing to death outweighed that problem.
The feet below me kept moving, slowing as the seconds pass. They were large, heavy, and purple. But they were too wrapped up to view the true color, green. But they only looked white, covered in the deep wet snow.
The mission was simple, and I was the only one fit to do it. Find the leader of this world, and slay him. This world was different then most, but it had everything we needed. So, it was necessary.
But unfortunately there was a missed landed, so I ended up at this large cold continent. Just the knowledge that there was a nice warm continent just on the other side of this place was painful.
-Unfinished
The Barn.
There is a small town called Charlotte in the state of Michigan. One which most people avoid, fearful of the rumors gossiped around the state. Rumors of this town harboring cannibals, even a house for the slaughter of unsuspecting visitors.
Many investigations have been set out, each one coming up clean. No such evidence of cannibalism was ever found. No matter what the media said, neighboring towns remained skeptical. Avoiding Charlotte at all costs.
One family moving in from Oregon, however, didn't get the memo.
They had a young boy, no older than the age of 12. His name was Joshua. He was a curious child, never one to stray from a possible venture through the woods, of any type of abandoned building. The more intimidating the look of it, the better.
Soon, the boy, and his parents, would regret their move.
About a week after they settled in town, Joshua made a few friends at school. Which wasn't uncommon. He was a likable kid. They shared rumors of the cannibalistic people, and even about the Morrison's barn.
The Morrison family were keep-to-themselve kind of people. Never to go into town for annual parades or get-togethers. Hardly to leave the privacy of their own home. Everybody in town was okay with that.
Upon hearing about this, the boy was determined to explore the property. The children of his school warned him, and two other boys joined him. It would be a thrilling and regretful adventure.
...
It was dark when the three boys arrived at the barn on their bicycles. The air was chilled, blowing by them at a slow pace. The barn was a deep red, almost the shade of crimson. There was a faint scent in the air, smelling of rotten and decayed flesh.
Could it have been more obvious?
The boys left their bikes beside a shrub, developing the courage to approach the barn. When such emotion was achieved, the kids ran down the gravel way, disappearing into the barn.
The mistake that would cost them their lives.
The barn smelt even worse of rotten flesh, being the slaughter house. When the boys stepped into the the evil barn, drowning in the complete darkness. Everything was silent.
The boys weren't expecting the owner to appear in the doorway, snapping on the bar lights.
"An' wha' do you thin' you're doin' in my barn?" The crooked voice of an old man rang out from the entrance. The boys stood speechless, unable to create words.
They didn't even hear the man. Their ears deafened, numb by the horrors they saw lining the walls of the barn.
There was a series of hooks hanging on the wall, each holding a flank of dark meat, dripping to the ground in some sort of unorganized motion. Standing just in front of the hooks, was a silver table. An operating table.
The table was hardly its original color, stained with a deep set crimson that stenches horribly. Around the table, hung a set of tools. Going down a row, each one was worse than the previous one.
One of the children vomited, unable to hold back his stomach at the sight. Fear encased all three of them, unable to move or even breathe. It was almost as if the oxygen was shoved out of the barn.
Within seconds of silence, the children passed out, unable to intake any more of the horrors surrounding them. The old man just laughed, slowly walking towards them as their vision failed, slipping into the darkness.
...
"Oh good, you're 'wake." The old man spoke to the young boy, wiping his hands on his stained apron. In one hand, he held a knife. The long, thin blade shined with gore. "I jus' finished harvestin' your pals, over ther'." His southern drawl came out long and thick. Which was curious, considering Michigan was a northern state.
The little boy lifted his head from the table, his glazed eyes scanning the loom of the barn. In a lit corner, sat a small pile of discarded bones and other organs. The child's heartbeat quickened, fear filling him full.
"Well, let's get start'd. Op'n up." The old man walked closer to the boy, holding the large blade. Forcing the kid's jaw open, he grabbed his tongue, slicing the muscle roughly. He threw the tongue into a barrel, turning back to the squirming boy.
Now unable to speak, the child just sobbed. What else could he do? No way he could fight back. Mr. Morrison made positive of that.
"First, we'll git this pesky pelt off of ya'." With that, he took the name and made a long incision down the boy's stomach. Blood escaped the cut, pouring down onto the table. Mr. Morrison wiped it with a cloth, wringing it out in a nearby pale.
Grossly reaching into the kid's chest, the man pulled and pulled, separating the skin from the bones. A series of popping and snapping could be heard as he did so, the pale white skin finally leaving the surface of the his body.
The man worked for about an hour, slicing through the thin skin, revealing red hot muscle, organs, and bone. His stomach was completely skinned now, a faintly beating heart was viewable. The boy wouldn't live for much longer, of course. But, the longer: the better.
Finally slicing the skin off of the child's spine, Morrison went to work on his midsection. He used a handsaw to slice the boy's ribs free. An explosion of snapping was heard as the bones gave way, leaving the muscle. A sick smile appeared of Morrison's lips.
The man reached into the boy's chest, dismembering his intestines. Pulling the thick strains free, he set them in a separate bucket.
"We're almos' done, boy." Mr Morrison spoke once more, but the child no longer responded. He didn't cringe anymore. Didn't squirm. It was obvious; the worst case scenario. The boy was dead
With a slight frown, Morrison said a short prayer for the boy. He always had a heart for little boys. Especially when they died so quickly in the harvesting process. But, everything happens for a reason... Right?
After Morrison finished a prayer, he began to pick dull red meat from the boy's chest. Placing them in a small brown paper bag. He kept working for hours, ridding the small amount of meat from the little curious boy. Just like he'd done with the other children.
Mr. Morrison worked all night, harvesting his food from the child. Come the morn, he aroused from the barn with the pale of rotten crimson.
The barn needed a new coat. And this was just the right color.
Many investigations have been set out, each one coming up clean. No such evidence of cannibalism was ever found. No matter what the media said, neighboring towns remained skeptical. Avoiding Charlotte at all costs.
One family moving in from Oregon, however, didn't get the memo.
They had a young boy, no older than the age of 12. His name was Joshua. He was a curious child, never one to stray from a possible venture through the woods, of any type of abandoned building. The more intimidating the look of it, the better.
Soon, the boy, and his parents, would regret their move.
About a week after they settled in town, Joshua made a few friends at school. Which wasn't uncommon. He was a likable kid. They shared rumors of the cannibalistic people, and even about the Morrison's barn.
The Morrison family were keep-to-themselve kind of people. Never to go into town for annual parades or get-togethers. Hardly to leave the privacy of their own home. Everybody in town was okay with that.
Upon hearing about this, the boy was determined to explore the property. The children of his school warned him, and two other boys joined him. It would be a thrilling and regretful adventure.
...
It was dark when the three boys arrived at the barn on their bicycles. The air was chilled, blowing by them at a slow pace. The barn was a deep red, almost the shade of crimson. There was a faint scent in the air, smelling of rotten and decayed flesh.
Could it have been more obvious?
The boys left their bikes beside a shrub, developing the courage to approach the barn. When such emotion was achieved, the kids ran down the gravel way, disappearing into the barn.
The mistake that would cost them their lives.
The barn smelt even worse of rotten flesh, being the slaughter house. When the boys stepped into the the evil barn, drowning in the complete darkness. Everything was silent.
The boys weren't expecting the owner to appear in the doorway, snapping on the bar lights.
"An' wha' do you thin' you're doin' in my barn?" The crooked voice of an old man rang out from the entrance. The boys stood speechless, unable to create words.
They didn't even hear the man. Their ears deafened, numb by the horrors they saw lining the walls of the barn.
There was a series of hooks hanging on the wall, each holding a flank of dark meat, dripping to the ground in some sort of unorganized motion. Standing just in front of the hooks, was a silver table. An operating table.
The table was hardly its original color, stained with a deep set crimson that stenches horribly. Around the table, hung a set of tools. Going down a row, each one was worse than the previous one.
One of the children vomited, unable to hold back his stomach at the sight. Fear encased all three of them, unable to move or even breathe. It was almost as if the oxygen was shoved out of the barn.
Within seconds of silence, the children passed out, unable to intake any more of the horrors surrounding them. The old man just laughed, slowly walking towards them as their vision failed, slipping into the darkness.
...
"Oh good, you're 'wake." The old man spoke to the young boy, wiping his hands on his stained apron. In one hand, he held a knife. The long, thin blade shined with gore. "I jus' finished harvestin' your pals, over ther'." His southern drawl came out long and thick. Which was curious, considering Michigan was a northern state.
The little boy lifted his head from the table, his glazed eyes scanning the loom of the barn. In a lit corner, sat a small pile of discarded bones and other organs. The child's heartbeat quickened, fear filling him full.
"Well, let's get start'd. Op'n up." The old man walked closer to the boy, holding the large blade. Forcing the kid's jaw open, he grabbed his tongue, slicing the muscle roughly. He threw the tongue into a barrel, turning back to the squirming boy.
Now unable to speak, the child just sobbed. What else could he do? No way he could fight back. Mr. Morrison made positive of that.
"First, we'll git this pesky pelt off of ya'." With that, he took the name and made a long incision down the boy's stomach. Blood escaped the cut, pouring down onto the table. Mr. Morrison wiped it with a cloth, wringing it out in a nearby pale.
Grossly reaching into the kid's chest, the man pulled and pulled, separating the skin from the bones. A series of popping and snapping could be heard as he did so, the pale white skin finally leaving the surface of the his body.
The man worked for about an hour, slicing through the thin skin, revealing red hot muscle, organs, and bone. His stomach was completely skinned now, a faintly beating heart was viewable. The boy wouldn't live for much longer, of course. But, the longer: the better.
Finally slicing the skin off of the child's spine, Morrison went to work on his midsection. He used a handsaw to slice the boy's ribs free. An explosion of snapping was heard as the bones gave way, leaving the muscle. A sick smile appeared of Morrison's lips.
The man reached into the boy's chest, dismembering his intestines. Pulling the thick strains free, he set them in a separate bucket.
"We're almos' done, boy." Mr Morrison spoke once more, but the child no longer responded. He didn't cringe anymore. Didn't squirm. It was obvious; the worst case scenario. The boy was dead
With a slight frown, Morrison said a short prayer for the boy. He always had a heart for little boys. Especially when they died so quickly in the harvesting process. But, everything happens for a reason... Right?
After Morrison finished a prayer, he began to pick dull red meat from the boy's chest. Placing them in a small brown paper bag. He kept working for hours, ridding the small amount of meat from the little curious boy. Just like he'd done with the other children.
Mr. Morrison worked all night, harvesting his food from the child. Come the morn, he aroused from the barn with the pale of rotten crimson.
The barn needed a new coat. And this was just the right color.