Darker Writings

It started with the title of a novel scrawled in blood on my front door. Darker Writings. I knew I was the only one who could see it and so I never mentioned it. If I had I may have been saved. Too late now.

Everyday new chapters, or parts of, would appear in different rooms. All in blood. Hangings, Mutilations, all things dark and nightmarish. Still I looked forward to added chapters to see if there was a point or plot to the horrid writings.

Chapter three was written on the kitchen ceiling. It was fresh red blood, fighting gravity, it fell in small droplets across the floor. More of the same, descriptions of depravity so raw and harsh I will not offend you with the retelling. Just know it was just short of the unimaginable.

Chapter three, four and five were all written across my bedroom walls and door. More of the same with no recurring characters or clues to the identity of the book's villain. Many of the horrid events came from history. Things best left alone to die and be forgotten.

The last chapter I could read was on the bathroom’s walls and fixtures. Large letters splashed on with a bloody finger. There were no punctuations, no order to the paragraphs. No order at all. I felt weak, dizzy. I stopped reading and crawled to my room and literally crawled up into the bed.

The dark writings will remain a mystery to me as will the deep cuts in my wrists. I feel calm as I bleed out on the bed. My breathing is more like panting. I feel some chest pain. Just a little. I just wish I knew who wrote those horrible things.

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