Part Two
"Confused, Bloody, and Alone"
Arthur stood in his bathroom vigorously washing his hands under the hot water. The blood slowly started to come off. By this time he had noticed that not only were his hands covered in blood, so were his pajamas.
"I don't understand!" He thought to himself, "I don't remember any of this!" He broke down and began to cry half expecting the police to burst into his house and arrest him for murder. Suddenly fear came over Arthur. All of his other poker buddies were here last night too. They would have seen everything.
"Why am I worried? I didn't do anything... Right? He's dead, but it's not my fault... I'm not a murderer..." He sat perfectly still for nearly fifteen minutes, trying to figure out what to do. He unbuttoned his blood stained pajamas, disgustedly threw them to the floor, and went back into his bedroom for new clothes.
He found his clothes from the night before on the floor beside his bed. He hastily put them back on trying to avoid eye-contact with the mangled corpse of David that lay bloody and rotting on the other side of the bed.
Resolved to get some food in his stomach before making any decisions, Arthur opened the door from his bedroom to the hallway. His room was at the end of a short corridor, and in opening his door a few other doors could be seen on either side. Everything seemed normal. The hallway was darkened; It was very quiet, not a sound could be heard anywhere. He turned around and shut the door to his bedroom, and screamed.
Three quarters of the way up the door were deep claw marks about a foot and half long; at the end of the marks he saw a bloody human hand with fingertips stuck in the door. It appeared as if a man had tried to hold on to the door, but had their body pulled away from their hand.
The sight caused Arthur to back away from the door. As he walked, he noticed the carpet that he was walking on did not feel right. It seemed very damp. He immediately felt around for the light switch. When he found it he flicked it on. A spark shot down from the ceiling but the light did not come on. He turned to the first door on his left, a closet, and opened it. He fished around in the closet for a period until he found his flashlight. He turned it on.
The flashlight illuminated the floor. Lying on the floor in hundreds of pieces was the ceiling light. Right next to it was a wet patch of blood soaked carpet. Then a red drop fell from the ceiling on to the center of the patch. He very slowly raised his flashlight. The beam shone against the wall as he raised it; he could see hand prints in blood and scratch marks dug deep into the drywall. Then right where the light fixture should have been he saw the cause of the stained rug. Jeff, his friend from his Friday Night bowling league, hung there bloody and impaled by the pole that used to hold the lighting fixture. His left hand was missing and from the torn skin dripped a steady stream of blood. Jeff had large cuts all over his body and there was a belt pulled tightly around his neck. That was not all. Directly above Arthur, and about a foot or so away from the dead man's pale face, was Jeff's portrait drawn in blood upon the corridor ceiling.
Scared out of his mind, Arthur ran down the hall and into his living room. The poker table was still set up from the night before. Cans of beer lay about the room. Sitting in one of the chairs surrounding the table was another man, just as bloody as the rest. He had Arthur's butcher knife stuck in the back of his head and his skull was cracked open partially. It was David's friend, Mike, whom David had brought for the night to play in the game. Mike didn't know how to play poker. He just figured a friendly game would be a nice way to get away from his wife.
On the snack table most of the bowls and things were scattered about. In fact the only upright bowl was the potato chip bowl. It probably stayed that way because it was weighted by Henry's head that happened to lay in it bloody and body-less staring at Arthur. Arthur, becoming nauseous again, looked around for Henry's body. He found it decapitated and face down across the broken coffee table.
Arthur looked up to the ceiling, and, just as he feared, he saw the portraits of both Henry and Mike painted flawlessly, staring right back at him.
"What the fuck is going on here?" he said.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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