Fracture || Xmen

7

Blood. Blood is everywhere. It seeps into every crevice of my vision, an omnipresent tide staining the floor beneath my feet, splattering the walls like some demented artist's final masterpiece, and chillingly, painting me as part of its canvas. My eyes dart around, heart hammering, as the grim familiarity of the surroundings claws at my sanity. This isn't just any room; it's a bedroom—a domain ruled by a blood-stained king-sized bed that dominates the space with morbid authority. The sight of the gun on the nightstand, bathed in the same sinister hue, slams the realization into me with the weight of a thousand nightmares: I am in the lion's den. This is Michael's room.

How did I get here? I have to leave, I have to leave now. The metallic sheen of the gun seems to be mocking me under the dim light as I get up to run, panic threading through my veins like ice, urging me to flee from this hellscape. My steps are erratic, driven by a primal urge to survive as I lunge for the door, its knob smeared with blood—a visceral reminder of the nightmare I'm ensnared in.

But then, the world explodes with the sound of a thunderous crack, freezing me in a tableau of terror. Every instinct screams at me to keep moving, not to look back, but my body refuses to obey, to carry me to safety; instead, it cruelly twists me around to face the source of my dread.

Michael—or what remains of him—stands before me, a grotesque caricature of humanity. His head is barely in tact, his brain exposed as his forehead is split down the middle so deep that it looks like his already protruding eyes are about to fall out of their sockets. A smile, if it can be called that, stretches across his mangled features, bloody teeth bared in a final, grotesque grin.

I'm trying to turn around, to run like every nerve in my body is screaming at me too, but I can't. I can't move. I'm stuck! Paralyzed, my gaze drops to the nightmare at my feet—a pool of blood that now ensnares me, pulling me down like quicksand crafted from terror itself. The dread is palpable, a physical weight that chains me to this spot of horror. Michael's demonic laughter cuts through the air, a sound so vile it morphs into the soundtrack of my terror. I can hear him choking and gurgling on his own blood as his laugh fills the room, escalating into a cacophony of madness. With each step he takes towards me, the belt in his hand a harbinger of unspeakable pain, my heart races, a frenetic drumbeat echoing the crescendo of my fear.

He takes a terrifying step forward, the belt in his grasp trailing through the blood like a dark promise. My heart beat is in tune with his steps; thundering, loud, and beating so fast that I'm sure that it's going to burst from my chest in sheer terror. He cracks the belt as he approaches, his laugh now so loud that it seems to be reverberating through the very confines of my skull. I'm struggling against the floor, trying desperately to get out, but the more I struggle, the louder his mocking laugh gets.

He looms over me, the belt raised, his laughter now a cacophony that fills the room, permeating the very air I struggle to breathe. "Stop!" My fear is so uncontrollable I can barely register my own words, a shriek lost in the maelstrom of my nightmare. He's so close. "Get away from me!" But my cries are swallowed by the darkness, his laughter the final note before the belt descends.

"NO!" The scream rips me from the clutches of sleep, my heart a wild beast in my chest, its beats a loud, frantic reminder that I'm still alive. For a moment, the terror lingers, a shadow at the edge of reality, before the mundane glow of the lamp offers a tether back to sanity. I look around, still expecting to see the zombified demonic Michael come out of the walls, but dawning relief and realization hits me. It was just a dream. Right, it was just a dream. My heart still racing, I get up from the bed, sleep evading me for what seems like an eternity right now.

The nightmares are frequent. If they're not nightmares, then I don't dream at all. It's been like that for as long as I can remember, not a single good dream to my name. Where most kids were dreaming of rainbows and unicorns, mine were a preview of horror movies, starring my very own boogeyman who didn't vanish with the morning light.