"The night HE came home."
The first thing to captivate me were your eyes. They were endless black pits that sparkled with unknown emotion. When you gripped my chin the way you always did I would get lost in those eyes. I don't think anyone else quite understood the beauty in your eyes.
I had gone out with some friends that night. You weren't expecting me to be home as early as I was but you weren't fazed. I was like the dessert after the main course. The traps were supposed to take me out before I could do anything to protect myself anyways. As I climbed the stairs to my room I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I shook it off as just being the size of the house. My parents were supposed to be on a business trip somewhere in Europe, leaving me alone at our country house. We were pretty well off and I knew in order to maintain that status they had to keep working. I practically raised myself. But you know that already.
I made it to my room and nicked my cheek on a wire just outside the door frame. I cursed, wiped off the blood, and ducked under it into my bedroom. I was beginning to undress when I heard a creak outside my door. Quickly I put my shirt back on and checked the door. Of course. Nothing. I grabbed the small switchblade on my nightstand and cautiously made my way downstairs. You laugh at me now for my weapon of choice saying I could not have stopped you even if I tried. My family was very prone to robberies and I'd dealt with them before so I was prepared. I was, however, not prepared for you.
I was coming to the end of the spiral staircase when I felt a prick on my foot. Peculiar, I thought, there was a nail sticking up. But we didn't have—There. A flash of black in my peripheral vision. I quietly made my way to the source of the shadow and furrowed my brow in confusion. There was a red box. Right in the middle of the otherwise grey room. The box rattled and I had this gut feeling that I had to leave the room—possibly even the house. But I just had to know what was in that fucking box, didn't I? You know how the saying goes, "Curiosity killed the cat," I was hoping satisfaction would bring it back.
"H-hello?" I called out softly as I slowly inched closer to the box, knife poised just in case. My only reply was a violent shake of the box. Once more I had the oddest sensation of being watched. At this point I felt like pissing myself and when I unclasped the lid of the box I almost did. A mutilated man drenched in his own blood lunged at me and I fell back with tears pouring down my cheeks. He had graying hair and was dressed as a priest. The rosary dangling from his lacerated neck gleamed with the moonlight; speckles of blood marring the holy emblem. Blood seeped into my shirt from the stigmata on his palms when he gripped my shoulders like I was his savior. The crown of his head was adorned with barbed wire and his feet sported rusty nails. You really had a sick sense of humor.
"What—Who—How…How did this happen?" I whispered to him in disbelief, my voice slightly cracking. He was sobbing and trying to form words but couldn't. He opened his mouth to speak and I saw the blood caked stub. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed the image away but even now I can clearly recall the black blood and the metallic stench that made me gag. You had said he was a heretic in his own church and cutting off his tongue was the only way to save him. I know you better now to realize that was a bullshit answer. He kept pointing upstairs and I figured he was trying to say God was going to save him. Then I heard the quick footsteps and creaks in the floor. I knew you were bound to come at some point but I hadn't expected you this fast. Funny how that works. I began running to the next room but the priest was holding onto my leg. "Sorry, Father." I muttered and hit him in the temple with the hilt of the knife and bolted for the door. I was going to hell.