Horrors of the Night (Attempted Creepy pasta)

Part One

Dark. Overwhelming dark. Where were the stars? The lights? He fumbled for the light switch and felt it give under his trembling hand.

Why was it still so dark?

Oh no no no no no. Oh no, he was blind. No no no no, not possible. No.

"Hello," a voice whispered.

He whirled around, knife in hand. Why did he have a knife in his hand? Why was he sleeping with a knife in hand? He lashed out with the knife. Some kind of liquid splattered off it to... Somewhere.

Where was it? The whisper?

"Blood," came another from his other side. He turned around and more liquid splattered. Not liquid, no. Not liquid. The whisper was right, it was blood. Why was there blood on his knife?

Why was he blind?

Another jab. The knife sank onto the wooden wall. The wall! The wall... The wall whispered! It made so much sense to the man that he started laughing. He pulled out the knife, sure that he silenced the voice.

"Wrong!" shouted a girl's voice. Where? Where did it come from? He cannot remember what happened last night, memories lost under a haze of alcoholism. He gripped the knife tighter and tighter.

He was gripping the blade. More blood, oh oh oh oh more blood!

He was suffering from a headache.

"You took blood," the whisper continued.

"Our blood," agreed someone - something? - else.

"Who?" croaked the man. Maybe if he knew, he could drive them off with his knife. There would be blood, more blood oh sweet blood.

A baby flashed in front of his eyes. His blind eyes. It's back is facing him. It's playing in a tub of oh that sweet blood. He reached out. He wanted to touch, taste, smell that beautiful blood.

The baby turned. Its mouth is stretched into a maniacal grin and when it spoke, its mouth stayed in that expression.

"It's us, Daddy, us! Don't you remember us?" the baby cried gleefully in its high pitched voice.

The man grabbed his head. He was going insane. He needed blood blood blood blood for it to stop.

The baby disappeared.

"You took Mummy's blood!" cried the voice of the baby in his left ear. Yes, he did. Oh, it felt so good to have that blood blood blood.

"You took our blood," the girl shouted.

The word blood is enough to send him into a frenzy. He let out a guttural scream as he clawed the wooden wall with his knife.

"Why don't you go to Hell, Daddy?" the baby suggested.

"Daddy, there's blood in hell." said the girl.

"Lots of blood," added the boy.

"Why don't..."

"You just..."

"Kill yourself?" finished the baby.

The man felt the loving - painful - no, loving, caresses of the knife on his neck.

It would give him blood.

More blood.

More blood forever.

Beads of the red liquid appear as he pressed the knife to his neck.

There's blood and he felt it drip down his neck.

He cut his arm and there's more of the sweet metallic liquid.

It finally dawns on him that he won't have enough blood. He lifted his arm like a wounded, wild animal and ran out of the house. He banged his head several times but ignored it due to the blood flowing into his mouth from a bitten lip.

He knew where to go, he could sense the blood. The blood was guiding him.

A child is sleeping on the floor. A child, oh oh oh! A child has a sweetest blood of them all!

The child saw only empty eye sockets before it - a he or a she? It didn't matter - died.

Within a single night, all parents could remember were empty eyes that knew the way and screams of dying children.

They are surrounded by whispers of their children.

"You let us die."

The man stumbled back into the house. Still not enough blood, never enough blood. He stabbed himself in the chest.

The three children watched as their father died.

Surrounded by what he loved most.

Blood and ghosts.