We all crowded in a room together. It's fairly grand, like the rest of the house the colours are dark and gloomy capturing the emotion in the room. I'm sat in front of a heater, the only source of heat in this room apart from our bodies. All the maids are here, they along with the guards reside on the premises and aren't permitted to leave unless sent on an errand. But those that are sent out have been working with him longer than I was ever conceived.
The men that brought me here are long gone. It's been quiet ever since I stepped foot in the room. My back is searing with pain from the heat of the heater, yet I can't bring myself to move. I drop my head back; my scalp immediately setting ablaze by the disagreeable heat. I still feel the gaze of the two guards at the door on me. Their eyes haven't shift since I sat down. I don't know what they are looking out for but I'm too emotionally and mentally exhausted to give a fuck. I close my eyes, aware that I won't be able to find sleep with the disarray my head is in and the intensity of the situation. Flashes of blood whiz through my mind and like the crack of a bullet they penetrate the weak defenses my brain had put up. The shell of the bullet eventually makes contact and explodes. Just like that thousands of images of the blood, bodies, knives, thumbs and teeth web in my head. Like a spider traps dead flies, the images stay planted in the mess of silk that this arachnid extruded. It's like a nightmare, only, I've already endured it. Perhaps this is part of the endurance that I forgot about; it's the part everyone forgets about. The 'next', the 'after', the 'falling action'. But I don't think the resolution is close yet. I don't think I've even reached the climax. This is just the beginning.
A series of gun shots jostle my eyes open. There's a shift in the room now. While fear lingered before it is all that can be felt now. Fear and the unknown. The guards stand up straighter, backs tense and fingers tightening on their rifles. Murmurs intensify between the maids with the odd whimper here and there. I want to cry at the thought of facing spilled blood and dead bodies for the second time tonight. While I first thought that I was the reason for the alarm being called, I now toy with the idea that maybe it wasn't just me exploring the house tonight. More gun shots ring out, followed by snappy shouting. Everyone is on edge now. Even I sit up. There's no more murmuring. If there is, it cannot be heard over the loud wails of the women. A scowl creeps on my face at the sound. Crying is a natural instinct in this situation but the volume of their tears has intensified so much that it could alert someone. Whoever is out there and whatever they're searching for now have the opportunity to use us as leverage over him, but now that I think about it wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen.
The door opens. My heart jumps. The guards quick to point their rifles at it. The speed in which they rose their guns at the ready, is the same speed they use to drop them, fairly quick. Their quivering hands form a salute, their bodies bending to form a slight bow. I move my head, trying to get a better view of who'd just walked in. I first see Igor's scowl; my eye twitching as I spot the splatter of crimson blood on his shiny bald head. I know what I will see if I looked down, but that doesn't stop my curious eyes to essentially follow the trail of blood that wraps around his arm, displaying itself proudly. My eyes land at his hands. Or lack of, seeing as they aren't visible. His hands were slicked in blood, the slimy substance dripping slowly onto the wooly rug, tarnishing it. With each drop another body falling, I wondered how many lives he had on just his right hand; his left, occupied with the switchblade that caused them.
I suddenly felt nauseous. The smell of ichor adamant.
"Thud". The sound of a body dropping. "Thud, thud, thud." The echo of several bodies dropping, well fainting is more fitting.