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Death Welcomes You Home

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Walking home one evening; it was summertime, so I’d say it looked more of a late afternoon. The sun was at its peak and cast its orangey glow over its subjects. I make my way casually to the tatty council flat in which I called “home”.

When I get there, I expect to see youths in hoodies and on bikes surrounding the entrance, hitting strangers with glares with their harsh eyes and the loud yet distorted sounding ruckus they created. However, it was empty. I figured this was a good thing, as they always caused trouble around the estate anyways. But that was of another matter.

I skim the top of my pocket to get my key, but then notice the door was half open. I figured somebody could have just forgotten to close it properly, so I head into the flat regardless. I shut the heavy metal door behind me. On cue, as the heavy door shuts with a magnificent slam which fills the dirty grey corridor to the brim, blackout. There I was, in pitch darkness.

I reached into my pocket to get my phone, so I could use it as a source of light. It was just perhaps another power cut; power cuts happen pretty often in the flat as it’s so old, so the electrics must be wearing thin. As I shone the light down the narrow corridor, I see a corpse which had all three layers of skin torn from it with precision, nailed to the wall upside down, crucifixion style.


In reaction to this, I fell to the floor and let out a piercing scream, with tears trailing out of my eyes and my heart pounding against my rib cage. At the point, the power had flickered on. In addition to the shock of seeing the skinned corpse, I notice the whole corridor was filled with corpses of all different shapes and sizes. The corpses belonged to males, females, children, even babies. All of them had been through the same unsettling fate as the first I saw. Skinned and nailed. They covered the grey walls, which were no longer grey, but in fact painted blood. I rose from that spot from the floor and ran down the corridor to the exit of the building, crying heavily uncontrollably.

I began to feel inside that the further I ran towards the door I ran, the further away I became. But I managed to overcome this and reached the door. I stabbed the button to release the door repeatedly and intensely, yet no matter what, it remained bolted shut. “Hello? I’m stuck! Help!”

I screamed and screamed relentlessly, hoping somebody would help, but obviously nobody could hear my screams, as the streets were empty. I tried to break the door down, slamming my whole body against it with all my strength, not caring that my muscles ached. All efforts fail. I needed a break; time to breathe and collect myself.

Although, it was hard to breath with the sickening stench of blood that contaminated the air. I try dialling the police, no signal. I scourged around trying to find signal. In the distance, I hear faint music playing… it sounded like some sort of nursery rhyme playing on one of those children’s toys. The music becomes more distinguishable over time; I hear slow, evenly paced footsteps.

Mary had a little lamb; that’s the nursery rhyme. However, it was a slow, perverse and fuzzy sounding version from what I knew. The footsteps became more amplified with every step; the person is heading for me. Out of fear, I retried opening the door, throwing all my fear and strength at it. I feel heat against me; it belongs to him, it even.


I turned around to look upon the person whom may bear the task of ridding me of my life, but of course I could be exaggerating when I say that. My eyes scanned his face, of which he didn’t have. He had no flesh. He was a skeleton. A fire burned ferociously in his empty sockets, blood flowed from every opening. He wore a pitch rugged velvet hooded cloak that covered as area of his body, apart from his “skull”. Tension built up in my throat, and then collapsed, making me release a piercing scream. He grabbed my neck with immense force and strangled me.

I choked on my breath. Whilst I felt all life being forced out of me, the lights flickered on and off repeatedly. When the lights turned back on and stable, he let go. He was nowhere in sight. I panted heavily and the door swung open. The stench had disappeared.

The corpses were no longer there when I looked down the hallway, behind me, the streets where filled with pedestrians and traffic, the hooded youths where outside going along with their daily routine of screaming and chaotic sounding conversations. Within a few moments everything was back to normal again. Yet the red imprint of the skeletons hand was still visible and embossed in my neck. I couldn’t tell anybody of this. Nobody would believe me. I have no evidence other than the mark on my neck, which probably fade once anybody saw it. Only a story to tell.


That night I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t feel safe here. If I fall asleep, something might happen. I still continually question myself how I built up courage to even sleep in the same building in which all the grim events took place only a few hours ago… I look out the window. Light shines through the shutters of the blinds, right in my eyes. My eyes water and squint to prevent excessive light blinding me. I see a dark figure a familiar looking red fiery glow present in its eyes. I felt as if the figure was looking over me. I don’t feel safe, because I’m not.

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