As my eyes opened, I was taken back to last night. The girl being mutilated even worse, and if that wasn't bad enough, dream demon was there. How long had he been in my house? Right under my nose and I couldn't see him. I was too blinded by my fears of him that he slipped under my radar. Is he still down there? I shake my head, eyes closed. My head aches from sleeping so soundly on the ground, a headache making its presence known. I try to open my eyes, but all I see is the glare of sun. The surrounding air is warm and comforting, better than what I had fallen asleep on. I breathe in, then get choked. I smell blood so strongly that I feel like I'm going to puke.

 

Then I look down at my legs. Oh, my legs! They're so damaged and torn up. The cool breeze burns and deep gashes cover them. Some blood, however, is still fresh. The wounds so delicate that a single touch hurts. Can I get up? Ugh, my arms! And my wrists, my hips, and my bleeding thigh. Yes, it is still bleeding. I look as if I had rolled in a pool of blood. My mouth and nose still filled with it, every breath now smelling like metal and salt in a gruesome mixture of sorts. My head shoots up.

 

Charlie.

 

I have left Charlie all alone in the house with dream demon! What has it done to him? Ripped his insides out, too, like he did dead girl? Perhaps painted a mural of Charlie's death with his own blood on my walls? Placed the rotting, bloody corpse in my bed? Intestines hanging such as lights over my bed? I didn't want to think of all the sickening ways he could have made Charlie suffer over my escape. I get up, the world twirls around in circles. I run, but it is sideways. Even though I am moving straight, I feel like  I am going off to the side. I am weak. I've lost too much blood to even be thinking right now. I should either be in a coffin or on a hospital bed with tubes sticking in me from every possible direction. I faint.

 

I slide down a tree trunk a few times to vomit up more blood. I won't be eating for a while if I live beyond this week. When I reach the house, I see the broken basement window. Pure evil vibrating from its core. That reminds me, though. I dig around inside the ragged wound to feel something stick me. Great, now I'm bleeding in blood! I pull it out. Blood seeps out of fresh cuts on my pale fingers and more gushes out of my open injury. That I have caused to bleed and feel pain instead of dry soreness. Tiny pieces of glass shimmer in the light through my arms and hands. Some are bigger than others, some are too small to see with the naked eye.

 

I blast through the door. Charlie is in the kitchen, drinking beer. Least it's not my beer, I think. I tip-toe upstairs. Blood still pours and lands on the steps, leaving red and wet polka dots for me to clean up today. I decide to tousle the sheets of my bed to make it appear like I've been in bed.  I toss on some jogging pants and remove the twigs and leaves from my messy hair. I hold a rag to my thigh, soaking up the blood. The pant legs hide the cuts and scrapes. The sparkling glass I leave . . . for now.

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