Room 17

SMASH! The glass showered onto the floor around Anthea’s feet,

“Marc you fucking idiot, that could have cut me!” She screeched. Marc just laughed and smashed all of the jagged edges of glass sticking out the frame with a brick.

“Are you going in first?” Asked Marc,

“Yeah, sure, whatever” Anthea said, looking around, making sure nobody has seen them. With that, Marc got down on one knee and Anthea put her foot in his hands. She grabbed hold of the window frame and hoisted herself up. She slowly dragged herself through as Marc pushed her feet up. Finally, she lowered herself down inside the building.

“Throw me the torches” She said. As soon as she finished her sentence, Marc threw the two torches through the broken window. Luckily, Anthea caught them both. Marc then climbed through the broken window and lowered himself inside. Anthea handed Marc one of the torches and they both switched them on. Slowly turning around and shining the light all around the hallway,

“So what’s the story of this place?” She asked,

“Liam Goodwin, who lived up in room seventeen suddenly snapped one day, nobody knows why, but he did. He grabbed a big kitchen knife and went to see his neighbours; one by one the sick fuck killed nearly all of them on second floor. Somebody downstairs had heard the screaming and called the police. Before they could get there, Liam burnt the place. The firemen saved the place, it hasn’t fallen down yet” He explained, seeming to be an expert on the subject. Anthea walked off in a hurry, when she realised Marc wasn’t following her, she turned around,

“Come on then” She said sternly,

“Where are you going?” He asked,

“Room seventeen, come on!” She ordered.

Not one to disobey, he followed on. The further they walked, the more decayed it became. They finally reached a shady staircase. Marc shone his torch up there and they both slowly climbed them. With each step, Anthea seemed to grip Marc’s arm tighter. Marc sighed, it was her idea to come here, and now she was scared, typical Anthea. When they reached the second floor, everything was black; they shone their torches along the charred walls. Anthea rubbed her hand along a wall and large, black pieces fall to the floor. The slightly damaged gold numbers on the doors seemed to gleam in the torchlight. They both set out to explore the burnt floor. Thunder crashed outside and they both jumped back in fear. Occasionally, lightning would flash and the whole floor would light up.

Eventually, the duo came across a scorched door, with gold lettering reading “17” Marc reached forward and gently pushed the door open. Anthea shone her torch inside; everything within the room was in perfect condition. No sign of fire damage whatsoever. Marc shone his torch on the lime walls and saw a light switch, out of curiosity, he flicked it. A bright light filled the room and leaked out into the hallway. There was a blood table in the middle of the room; upon top were several bottles of Bourbon, some black gloves and a large, rusty kitchen knife. They were both disturbed by the sight of this, yet they moved closer to it. As they both stood over the table, the door slammed shut behind them. They both spun around and a strange sensation came over them both. It felt as if a surge of dancing flames had slowly caressed their skin. They both fell to their knees and the light bulb above them smashed into a million pieces.

“What the fuck just happened?” Anthea screamed.

“How do I know?” Marc spat back.

ARGH!!!

A loud scream echoed around the room. They both shone the torches around the room, but there was nothing there.

“What was that?” Anthea said, her voice trembling.

ARGH!

It seemed very close, as if it was stood right next to them. Something then dripped onto Marc’s shoulder. He brushed it off, but there was another drip, and another, and another. Marc then slowly looked up and shone his torch onto the ceiling. He screamed as the image of mangled and scarred woman was cling to the ceiling by some long, black nails. It then dropped down onto him, pushing him to the floor,

“Anthea!” He cried. Anthea saw the brutalised woman on top of Marc and snatched the rusty knife from the table. She ran over to Marc and plunged the knife into the woman’s spine. She screeched and disappeared.

“Are you ok?” She asked, searching for the woman. Marc got to his feet and ignored Anthea; he just went straight to the door and pulled it open. He stepped out into the hallway, except it was different, there were no burnt walls, it was in perfect condition.

“What the…” Marc said, wondering what in the world was going on. A sudden scream came from behind him, he turned around and saw Anthea stood in the doorway, her eyes missing, with blood pouring down her face; she raised the rusty knife into the air. As he tried to scream, then knife came down. Sinking deep into Marc’s flesh. She pulled it out and brought it down again, and again, and again and again. She continued to stab Marc until there was no blood left in his body. She just stood over his body, watching it.

The next day, an army of wrecking balls and builders arrived. They all smashed the building to pieces. When they removed the wreckage, they found the bodies of Marc and Anthea. Marc was found with the hundreds of stab wounds, Anthea was found with her throat slit, and a haunting grin upon her face…

“Room 17” The Fifth Short Story By Divine-Insanity