I don’t know why there’s blood on my hands. I don’t remember how it got there, or why it’s so sticky. I'm sure it does it on purpose. This is no accident. I can see the body in the hall. The house is dark. A real house made of wood and plaster, and now it’s stained with the blood and entrails of the husk. He is twisted, mangled, and still twitching…
Why can’t I remember this? I can’t see the killing in my mind’s eye. Only the aftermath remains. Lines of light slice through the Venetian blinds cutting the darkness. The blood seeps from the body into the wood floor.
Why? Why did I do this? More importantly why do I let the blood spread? In fact, it smears across the floor. I need to sop it up before it sticks to that too. I must search this house for some sort of-
My feet are sticking with each foot step. I suspect the blood must have been on the bottoms of my feet as well, but no matter. This house is empty both upstairs and down. It’s just me, and the knife, and the husk, and the blood…
The Blood! I can see it getting stickier. In fact it is downright tacky at this point. How uncalled for, You Blood. I will teach you. I am determined to lap you up with my tongue. I will digest your sticky ways and therefore you will bother, no more…
I did not expect the blood to taste quite so good. I believe it was the sticky texture that held the appeal. Mm… It was sweet really, once the blood met saliva. To be honest, I licked the floor spotless. The only unnerving part is that the body still twitched. I can see out of the corner of my eye. Its fingers jittery as if attempting to reach for me. I hope that damn body will find its senses and stop its infernal twitching soon. It is quite vulgar…
The twitching has not stopped. I have crouched all night with the thing and watched. The sun has long since risen, and let me be the first to inform you that daylight has not helped one bit. In fact, it made things much worse. Now I can see every nook and cranny of this foul and vacant thing. This husk I created out of gore and violence, though I can't remember. Oh, what an angry husk I have made…
It is dusk. This hollow wide blackness is upon me once again. The only light will come from the blinds and the oil lamp beyond. The husk now hums more than twitches. When I put my ear very close to its nose I am positive I hear a dull monotonous hum. The husk is now white as a sheet, and it appears to be drying. No, that’s not quite right. Jerkying? Is this a word? Definition of jerkying, the act of becoming jerky. Perhaps the husk will be as tasty as the blood. Oh blessed sticky blood. What delights await me this unhallowed night?
The husk is moving. I am watching it with my own eyes. Only it moves very slowly. It has been in the process of sitting up for about an hour now. It’s empty bones crack, and from the sounds the husk makes perhaps crumble. It also pretends to breath. I listen to the air rattle in and out of the gaping hole that used to be its mouth. It’s quite enjoyable to be honest.
This husk has become more of use than I first thought.
Oh I see it has noticed me.
Why, how sweet of it to reach for me that way.
In fact it's fingers dig into me quite painfully! It is ripping into to me! I can not breath!
My blood is on the ground now. It used be inside me, but now it's all around. I am feeling it growing sticky beneath me. I should be dead. I should not know this. I should not be. What is the husk doing now? It's watching. I should try to stand. To sit up at least. What is it doing now? Looking at it's hands.
Why is there so much blood on it's hands?
Spooky!