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Chimes clapped, cheerily in chirps through tattered pleats of billowing curtains, or rather a pool of sewer rats’ skin, savagely attacked. The stench of brim-full dustbins assaulted the senses and cemented to the nostrils alike to its vexing persistence in pasting itself upon the tongue, cave of the mouth, throat and all skin it could caress. A lingering hint of rotted animal wafted in aura of Lord Grim’s Playroom of Death. The ‘wafting’ I sourced from a king sized bed; naked of its many springs and coils, heinous mattress and old spouses’; sheets and coupled pillows, drowned in over flowing crimson-kisses of a bashful blush.
The missing springs could be identified to be the inhumanely, twisted rods protruding from the maggot haven of a still, gargantuan lump a few feet away from entering the gloomy room.
Once sighting the repulsive mess of limbs and organs, spilling out of the unidentifiable being in horrendously, maneuvered ways would surely frequent the my dreams, nightmares, thoughts and eyeballs. I knew every time I would close my eyes, the beyond revolting scene would welcome me, smirking; this hellish prison. Never have I hated myself more than no. Never, have I hated a specific part of my body more than the moment of unearthing Lord Grim’s, blood-churning pleasures. A photo-graphical print to the inner flesh of my eyelids and an etching of the image into memory, of a once menial brain, would be the least of my reward for having exactly, almost perfect sight.
My heart had ceased its stampede, of before when unlocking the gateway to horror, only to trip and fall into a freeze frame. Next, palpitations quaked through my body. Fugitives of breath escaped through my feeble and shyly trembling lips, precisely before a new flock of prisoners were locked into the jail of my human frame. Each transaction in perfect beat with each quake racketing through the microscopic, prison cells of my living being. All the while petrified, every sense, every being in me, every ounce of instinct screamed ‘MAYDAY!’.
A deathly chill smothered the body and goosebumps plagued every millimeter of my soft, outer animal covering as the Arctic’s essence of ice seemed to spitefully, stroke my bare spine. Thus causing the smallest of hairs to soar straight and forcibly, salute Lord Grim’s dedication to his den of death. Man-made pollution in gowns of waste fumes gushed through the fist-size gap in the smashed window straight ahead. The room occupied a single wooden wardrobe and a waterfall of shredded items, which previously sought refuge in the immense storage space, now at its knees. The king sized bed were placed on the right hand side whilst the wardrobe were on the opposite. Plain and boring burgundy carpet was the flooring of the dirty room and strangely it had not even a crumb of the crimson-kisses, which were carelessly splattered upon the maggot infested mammoth’s covers and cushions. A whisper of minuscule icicles and ephemeral, delicately, patterned flakes of ivory sounded from the gap in the solitary window.