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warmcupofbloodinfusedcoffeebeans · 3 months

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Memorial Drive.

There is a house in a field at the end of Memorial Drive. The field occasionally has cows in it, sheep, horses even. There's a little concrete milking barn in a grove of ancient peach trees with bearded wheat wrapping around the cinderblock foundation. Nature has begun to cling to it, and has begun to rip apart the walls with Her slow, unyielding prowess that continues onward no matter the circumstances.

Within the abandoned cinderblock building, under the rotting rafters and moldy shingles, there is a rotting skull. Bovine, in nature (If you'd mind the pun.) The skull is picked clean around the base - Ants, most likely. The most jarring thing, however, is the crying and bloody person in the corner, holding onto their stomach and trying not to cry out in pain.

They were soaked. Blood, sweat, their hair hadn't been washed in weeks. It was knotted to their skull like a nest. They cried, cried, cried silently as the repeated wracking sobs sent flaming-hot searing pain down their side, and into their gut.

At the end of Memorial Drive, there is a house in a field. The house is just as abandoned as it's little milk barn - the concrete foundation is falling apart, the timbers are so wet and termite-infested it's like you could touch it and the entire house would fall on top of you. It looked like it had just rained - brimming with soaked-up water. The ground was dry, the clay dirt was crumbling and filled with gopher holes.

The door falls easily under your palm. The frame crumbles under you and your hand feels soaked, chunks of old rotting wood coming off and sticking to your hand. As you enter the building, there is a stench. A stench so powerful it practically punches into your lungs - violating your very insides. Such an unwelcoming, gut-wrenching stench that you debate turning back, it's like it was ordering you out, but your curiosity still lingers, and you look back for just a second.

Your little red truck is out there parked outside the gate. The cattle grate was rusting and old, a testament to how those old things are so resilient. For just the split-second you look back there, you think you see the silhouette of a figure, shadowy behind your shitty two-seater. You glance back again, only to see it gone again.

Odd. You think. Must've just been my imagination. You turn back into the little house. Rotting stairs on either side of the foyer, with a banister connecting them. There is absolutely no way that those stairs are safe - yet you can see very clear foot steps impressed upon the soaked wood, like someone had just recently been inside.

Blue hells this place is nasty.. You think. As you make your way into the house, you flick on the little flashlight you brought with you, flashing it up into the banister, and over to your left and right.

The foyer opens up into five paths. Left, into what looks like a dining and kitchen room. Forward, in between the stairs into a living room, and the two sides of the banister - both leading into incomprehensible darkness. On your right, there's a door. The door, in fact that entire wall, seems much, much newer. Like it had been replaced recently. The wall was clean, apart from some water damage. The door was of solid oak, and there was a bronze handle on it.

It is bright. Too bright. So bright you can barely look at the door and wall for long enough to take any details in - yet it stays in the wall. The rest of the house is dark, musty, and moldy. The fuck? There's no way this is normal, but you must just be seeing things. Maybe the mold was getting to you.

You cough. The stench had mostly settled into your lungs, but you could still smell it. You made your way into the living room, not daring the stairs, and apparently not feeling too hungry. As you do, you hear loud creaks on each and every board you step on. Your boots leave deep imprints with each step you make.

The living room is a mess. A torn couch sits in front of an empty entertainment center, filthy books are littering the floor, and there's chairs set up around the, again, rotting, entertainment center. pulling your shirt up to your nostrils, you can barely help to not run out of the house. You look back - the door was still shut. The windows on either side of the farmhouse door were still musty and dirty. The shapes of dirty form into people, and you shake your head. Did you know that the human brain is so good at recognizing people that it makes it incredibly easy to create faces in specks of dirt, in bark, and in other, non-human things?

You look back to the living room, and notice a door to your right. There are no windows in the living room - it's darker and mustier here than it was in the foyer. You flash your light across the entire room, and spot a little black nightstand in the corner, set up very delicately. As you approach it, you notice it's not a nightstand at all - it's an altar. One you've never seen before. It was made of a blackened wood, curling and writhing into a platform that held unlit candles. There was a deepened bowl fit within the curling wood, filled with a liquid you couldn't make out. Black, with writhing shapes within it, it almost screamed for you to leave - to never come back - but you shook off the feeling as stupid metaphysical bullcrap.

Probably just nerves, right? You turn around, and you walk towards the books on the ground. You've always loved a good book, but these ones are incomprehensible. What pages weren't wet and burned, were made up of incomprehensible scribblings. These looked like journals, in some language. Chinese, maybe? Japanese? They didnt look like any sort of language you'd seen before - maybe they were just chicken scratch.

You look to the hallway that shot off from the living room. It's silent, and you look around with your flashlight, but you swear you can feel eyes on you. Like you're being watched. Like theres intense, angry eyes looking down on you and telling you to leave. You're being watched, and you can feel it. There's someone here that wants to leave.

You stand up from your crouching position and you dust yourself off. Your knees are soaked, and you can feel water inching into your boots. That's weird, You think. These boots are sealed pretty tightly. Feels like i need to get new boots though. You make your way to the hallway, creeped out to say the least, but not enough to make you leave. You never believed in that hocus-pocus bullcrap anyway. Nerves are nerves! You tell yourself, stuffing those feelings down and ignoring them.

Imagine what they'd say if i came back without any sort of cool stories to tell. You think. This isn't exactly urban exploring but it'll definitely make some of the guys at home happy. You make your way to the hallway, and shine your light down it. Before you can even react, there's a loud, uncompromising BANG behind you, and you stumble forwards, into the wet, moldy carpet and through the floor.

You land on a hard, rough concrete floor - and you cry out in pain. Tears well into your eyes as you feel the moldy carpet under you seep it's disgusting fluids into your open wounds - freshly ripped open from the rough landing, and from the sharp concrete under you.

You sit up after a while, and get ahold of your surroundings. Your hand clutches at your arm, and you try to wipe the filth off of it, only partially successful. You find more success with your t-shirt. Your surroundings are cluttered. The smell of mold isnt as strong here, just dust and old things. Insulation is scattered below you, and you look at the rotting boards surrounding you. You're extremely lucky no nails got stuck into you, there were quite a few still in the wood.

There's a creak from above - You can hear feet sloshing around in the soaked, muddy carpet of the living room. You inch away from the hole you just made - scooting from your position under the hole and towards the darkness of what seems to be a cellar. You bump into a crate, and wince. Something in your back hurts like hell, your right arm has begun to throb, but you ignore it. Fuck.. you think, wincing in pain as you clamber into the deep darkness of the basement. You look back - and there's a shadow looming over the hole you made, and a single shaft of like - almost taunting you - beams right onto your flashlight. You dropped it when you fell, and didnt pick it up.

There was no time to waste - you'd deal with the consequences later. You stumbled further into the darkness, stubbing your toe and running into crates as you felt your way across the maze of crates, cardboard boxes that were soaked in only certain places, and a new, much less welcoming stench filled your nostrils. One of metallic copper. You pushed past the smell, ignoring it. You finally stumbled into a poorly-lit room, one with dim, flashing florescent lights that made it just barely better too see. As you stepped into the room, you noticed the change in flooring - no longer was it rough-hewn cellar, it was a checkerboard black and white tile, ever so slightly tilted, your feet struggled to find solid ground.

Your boots were still soaked from the carpet up above, and you slipped a little while stepping into the room. The metallic scent was strong here, and as the lights flickered on for just a second, you saw what horrifying sight was causing it - The room was coated in blood, hanging carcasses stared at you with empty eye sockets that told you off for even venturing onto the property. These weren't cattle, you could tell. No cow has skin like that.

The smell of blood sickened you - it penetrated your deepest crevices and forced its way into your lungs. You could barely take it, and you held back the vomit you oh so wanted to expell. You stepped forwards, and slipped - landing face-first into the pool of blood that wasn't your own, tears driping down your face as you struggle to stand again, and you heard the slam of a door - crying out as you slipped, and slammed your head into the tile. You tried to stand, your own blood mixing with the other's as you clambered back towards the cellar, but you could hear the soft, calm footsteps of a figure entering the killing room. You heard a door open, god knows where, the room didnt have any that you could see, and you felt a rough hand grab you by the hair.

"NO, GOD PLEASE NO!!" You scream, begging for mercy as the hand dragged you further into the killing room, soaking your already nasty clothing in stranger's blood, suddenly, you heard a grunt of irritation from the figure who had a hold of you - you heard a sickly RIP as they ripped something out of the carcass on their right, and then you felt a disgusting, wet, slimy thing be stuffed into your mouth and tied behind your head.

There was a painful crack across the back of your head, and you were out cold.

#horror #gore #gore tw #lots of gore #description of gore #horror gore #something i made idk i think its okay #my fic #horror fic #horror fiction

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