A Horrible Dream (Post Twelve)

He could see her through the open door, seated in a straight-backed chair and looking out the window with her back to him.  A glass vase sat on a wooden end-table next to her, spring flowers draping in stark contrast to the hysterical sense of panic growing in his chest.  Several picture frames lined the walls, all depicting family and memories from years past.  The tiny twin bed sat sullenly in the corner, its pink sheets grey in the gloom.

Sam didn't move except for her head, which swayed lethargically from side to side as if she was listening to a lullaby.  The rain must have cleared for the moon bathed her, its silvery light strange compared to the deep shadows that enveloped the rest of the room.  Shadows that seemed to move and slither in the corners of his vision.  Always just out of focus.

Taking a tentative step into the room, he swallowed hard in an attempt to wet his dry throat.  More sweat was beginning to trickle down his brow and it caused his skin to crawl.  The air was cool and clammy.  He took one step towards the chair and another after that, his feet feeling leaden.  He nearly leapt out of his skin when the old wood floor creaked beneath his weight.  Suddenly he noticed a faint noise coming from in front of him.  It was Sam.  She was humming.  Her voice was soft, almost inaudible.  The tune carried a dark and eerie tone and rose and fell with her head.  Every once in a while she chuckled to herself, but then always fell back into her humming as if nothing had happened.

"Sam?"  She didn't respond.  Her head just continued to bob, ever so slightly, ever so slowly.  His neck prickled as he heard a whisper from behind him in the dark.  Turning, he saw nothing but the inky blackness of the hallway beyond the room.

"Wh-Who's there?"  His voice cracked as he spoke; the fear taking root in him was now impossible to keep down.  He didn't care.

Another whisper flitted to his ears from just behind him, the words impossible to make out.  He tried to catch the shadows but their movement always stayed just out of his focus.  The next whisper was so close behind him that the hackles on the back of his neck rose.  "We play."  The words felt like ink running down his skin.  Fear told him not to turn around.

A slow and sullen scraping sound grew from the walls, soft as it was menacing, causing him to turn away from the door.  He noticed that the daisy wallpaper had began to peel, cracks ebbing their way through brown stains that seemed to come from nowhere.  More whispers found him from all corners of the room.  Some made no sense; others repeated things that he didn't want to hear.  They described his death and the pain that they could make him feel.  They chided him and cooed to him, whispering sweet and oily nothings into his ear.  It made him cringe and shudder, feeling fowled to his core.

A sudden thumping from behind caused him to swiftly turn around.  The blackness was growing, drinking in what little light was left from the moon.  It was too dark to see clearly, but he was certain that something moved just outside the door, slithering towards the stairs.  The whispering grew more insistent. Something cold brushed against his leg and he knew that he had to get out.

He turned sharply back towards the window, every fiber of his being screaming for him to run.  "SAM!" She was gone.  A cloud must have drifted in front of the moon for the light was suddenly no more.  The flowers were dead and rotting in a cracked, dirty vase.  All of the faces in the pictures were now scratched out or burned.  Through the window he could see the old oak in front of the house.  Something in the branches was watching him; two purple orbs nestled inside of a much larger and darker shadow than anything else surrounding it.  He sat transfixed, unable to move, until suddenly the orbs were gone.  It was as if a switch had been thrown and he ran from the room, tripping in his haste.

He skidded into the hallway face-first, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth from where he bit his lip.  The sound of heavy objects being slid across the floor emanated from the other bedrooms, the closed doors chattering on their hinges.  Many soft voices carried the haunting tune Sam had been humming through the house now.  He scrambled on his hands and knees for the stairs, unsure as to whether or not he really wanted to be outside or inside the house.  Regardless, he still had to find Sam.