The Goat [Completed]

Wrong Address ●●●

The flying old man flew me into the hard wooden wall. I felt my skull crack on impact. Blood oazed slowly out of the wound staining the books beneath my head red. I was dying again. Hell again I thought. The thought gave me strength; I rose to my feet, took two steps forward then collapsed back into the sea of books.

Beneath the stairs motionless, Megan laid prostrate. Blood oazing out of her hands; she had bitten herself and formed three concentric circles around her body with her blood. Some sort of protection spell. She hadn't bothered about protecting me. Again she had led me to my death; I was so hurt I was as good as death. I searched the my surrounding for the flying old man but I couldn't find him.

"Tom!" Megan kept on calling. I ignored her; I was wrong about her she couldn't help me in anyway. Like the red moon she meant nothing but ill luck. The candles illuminated room which contained three bleeding beings; my sister who always survived, a dead man hanging from the ceiling without a brain and I slowly dying and on my way back to that terrible place; hell.

The more I bleed the weaker I became. Megan's voice eventually vanished like footprints on the beach. I got so weak I couldn't think. Death was on his way; his footsteps as heavy as the bag in which he carried souls.
"The Goat." I smelt the flying old man's forever scent above me. My eyes were opened but I couldn't see. I felt his bony old fingers on my throat. He pressed so hard causing my lungs to fight for air. "I really want to rip out your brain but I won't." He took off his hat exposing his severely stitched head. Most of the stitches were fresh with blood squeezing out of the needle punctures. "I really still can't understand why the devil is still keeping you."

He scratched the stitches which covered his bald head. Grabbing one lose thread , he pulled hard tightening the stitch which ran behind his left ear. Blood squeezed out.
"I'm sorry about that." He held my head in his bony hands. My blood trickled into his palm, he licked it off gladly. "Let's fix you up shall we." He brought out a bundle of surgical thread and an old rusty needle.
"Hope you ain't scared of needles..." he searched his pocket again then brought out a pair of scissors "... or scissors." With the scissors he shaved the bleeding portion of my head. "This will hurt, really bad." He plunged the needle into my head; I felt it tickle my brain. I opened my mouth to scream but he muffled my scream with his hand. "Don't disturb the music." The music silence played.

"Do you know why I harvest brains?" He asked as he took the needle into and out of my head. "Because most people don't make use of their brains." I just listened to what he said; that way I could ignore the large rusty needle making holes in my head. "When I rip out their brains I surgical isolate some parts; the parts connecting the body to the soul. That way I can fully control my body. That way I can live forever."

"What about my sister?" I cared for her though it wasn't a mutual relationship. "Please don't hurt her." Tears ran down my face in shiny little streams.
"She is clever, very clever. Her brain has a lot contained in its tissues. I can't throw that away." His face wrinkled as he laughed. "By the time she stops bleeding I will be able to begin the transplant."

I was going to be the one burrying Megan this time. She too will go to hell and experience the feeling. The brainless corpse hanging from the ceiling smiled, the old man smiled and I smiled. Everyone but Megan was smiling; she was busy bleeding to dead. I saw a bright flash, heard a scream then I saw no more.