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The stereo blared the dark lyrics accompanied by the growling electric guitar. ‘Now I can tell you just what I’ve done for you,’ it sang. ‘fifty-thousand tears I’ve cried, screaming and pleading and bleeding for you, but you still won’t hear me,’ James was done spitting insults at the mirror. It was time for action. He held the knife blade to his fore arm, ready to strike like a rattle snake. The song continued, ‘Don’t want your hand this time I’ll save myself, maybe I’ll wake up for once, not tormented daily defeated by you, just when I thought I’d reached the bottom.’ There were now four cuts crossing the front of his arm. He was ready for the chaser.
“Ah, God!” James screamed as he sliced downward, streaking blood right through the middle of the four original incisions. It was a perfect tally marked five on his skin. The number dug deeper into him, daring him to take more pain. “You wuss!” James mumbled. “Do it!” He glared at his reflection, hating what he saw. He hated himself. The cuts burned as the crimson liquid rolled out of his body like prisoners in a jail break.
The scene was dimly lit, with only the light above the glass shinning. His blandly colored, cracking walls seemed even more hopeless now that the bulb was almost out. It flickered, as if taunting the darkness to crush it in its grip. James knew it would go out soon, and he would have to turn on the over head light then.
Acting quickly, he held his arm over the sink. He pressed the silver blade on himself and violently ripped downward. This was followed by a series of small attacks on his left arm. He repeatedly struck to the rhythm of his heart beat, which had become increasingly fast due to all the anger he held in his chest. He finally calmed himself down enough to drop the piece of steel. It left a stain as it fell to the rug below. The sink was speckled in deep red paint. He loved it.
He began to smile as the blood ran down his flesh like tear drops. His arm was crying for him. He put an evil smirk on his face as he looked at his reflection. Those wide hazel eyes spoke laughter. He could not hold it in. “I did it.” He sighed. “I finally did it.”
He grew proud of himself, like the kind of pride you get for accomplishing something. He had won multiple red ribbons for his achievements. It was time to clean the mess up.
He took the wash cloth from the cabinet under the sink. It had already endured multiple stains. He drenched it in water and the run off swept the drops down the drain. One job done. As he began to nurse his wounds he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. In the sink, near the drain, remained a little red substance.
‘The water should have washed that out.’ He thought. Not thinking too hard about it, he turned the faucet on again making sure to rinse all the remnants down the hole. “There, that’ll keep ya.” He muttered as his attention turned back to his bleeding arm. It seemed odd that there was so much blood. In the past, it hadn’t taken this long to clean his scars. The light continued to warn of the shroud closing in around him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mocked the fixture, “I know, hurry up. Someone needs to change that thing.” He groaned to himself. It was a spooky sight, watching the shadows dance on the walls. It was as if someone was lurking up to grab him, but every time he turned around no one was there.
“I must be going crazy.” He began to speak, but was interrupted by a curious sight. The drain was now lined with blood and it seemed to be moving. “What the…” he began to inquire. He turned the water on again and watched the monster slink back in its hole. He turned it off and watched for a few seconds.
“No,” he thought out loud, “I must be tired. I will just grab a beer when I’m done here and forget it all.” As he turned to his arm he saw that the cuts were bleeding worse than before. He scrubbed rapidly with the rag, but as soon as he took it away the fingers reached out, as if a creature was trying to pull itself out of his body.
“Its just blood.” He began to panic. His heart rate increased as he stepped back from the counter. The shadows on the walls no longer danced, but oozed out around the cracked surface. What was going on? He tried to grip reality, but the room seemed to enchant him. Things came alive, as if by some act of magic and if it was magic it was dark magic.
He glared down at the sink to see blood running out of the drain. It took on a gelatinous form, and as he turned on the water, the hex reached out and grabbed his right hand. It was a terrifying scene as the cracks in the walls began to crumble farther and farther. Deeper and deeper, the crevices now etched themselves into the paint like the knife in his arm. Now the blood was pouring through the air, basing its evil on his numb arm and the drain. He grew scared. No fear in the world can describe the terror in the eyes that watched this entity grow and mold itself into a shady outline. The breaks on the bathroom borders now literally bled. It was the same bewitched blood that was taking over his body.
“No!” he screamed as he rushed toward the dying bulb. He reached out but the blob had already gained control of his hand. It snapped back with lightning speed, instantly grasping for the ground. It wanted the knife. James didn’t know what would happen if it got the object, but he didn’t want to find out. He pushed out of the envelope enclosing him, and flexed with all his might.
The blood was thick. It held him in a case that seemed to grow tighter. The broken walls hurled projectiles of red at his body. They grew limbs and began to climb like beasts. They grabbed and pulled his hair, opening his mouth. They pushed their fists in to combine their own powers with the monkey on his back. James broke his hand free yet again, slapping a few of the smaller demons into the air. They splashed into the walls around him which were now looming over like sky scrapers. He reached out for one last attempt at grasping the handle of the sink. The walls shot strings of blood at him. Intercepting his fist, they molded to his form, gripping his body in a tight strain. It began to push the breath out of his chest. He couldn’t tell if it was the light going out or if he was passing out, but it was getting darker. This darkness reached his soul as he lost all hope of ever seeing light again. The shadows grew larger like the monster all over his body. The walls continued to fill the room with a red sea. The form reached in his mouth and down his throat. The mirror shattered as he fell to the ground. The immense pressure crushed the bulb. The water, still flowing, became the only color in an ocean of red.
The creature slinked back into its home in the labyrinth of stress in James’s mind.
When his mother approached the room, she was horrified to find the water running and the sink filled. She gasped as she noticed her son’s blood speckled the walls and counter. The blade was found in his right hand, and multiple gashes on his left. Given all these circumstances, the morgue determined that the cause of death was the water in his lungs.