It's All My Fault

I woke up to the smell of rotting meat and sweat. The first thing I noticed was that I was tied to a very uncomfortable chair. I tried to rub my eyes only to realize my arms were strapped down to the arms of the chair at the wrist.

I shuffled my feet around. By the texture of the ground, concrete and slightly rough and bumpy, I'd say I was in some basement. The air was damp and thick, making it hard for me to breathe. I looked around, but it was too dark to see anything in front of me. I could only see the wooden rafters above me, dimly lit by a string of light bulbs. It was almost completely silent, except for the faint electric hum of the bulbs.

When my eyes began to adjust, I looked down at myself. Seeing things more clearly, I now noticed I was covered in blood and bruises. It seemed as if as soon as I saw the gore upon myself, I suddenly became aware of the pain they brought. A subtle, throbbing, annoying pain. In my arms, legs, and head. I assumed my kidnapper had knocked me over the head, then dragged me here.

My eyes were now fully adjusted and I could almost clearly see everything. I saw a shadow in the corner of my eye, and my head shot up to look at the man standing before me. He was fairly tall, had jet black hair, and was wearing a black suit that was splattered with blood and a few chunks of flesh. His face, if you could even call it that, was something I'll never forget. His features were twisted and mangled on his pale skin, curved in every which way.

He walked towards me slowly, his beady eyes locked on mine. He leaned down into my face as the corners of his lips turned up into the ugliest, sickeningly smug grin I had ever had the displeasure of seeing.

"Are you comfortable, my dear?" his voice rough and mocking, "I want to make sure you have the best possible view," he sneered. His words were acid and his breathe rancid, burning my nostrils. I wanted to reply but my voice betrayed me, and no words came out.

He chuckled at my terror and walked out of view. When he returned, he was holding a jug of some sort and dragging a bloody body with him. My stomached heaved as I realized it was my mother. Her expression was blank. I tried to look away but I just couldn't seem to stop staring.

"Don't worry, Annabelle," he taunted, "she isn't dead... Yet. I made sure to keep her alive so you could see the moment she dies. Watch and be helpless as her life drains away," he spoke softly yet so menacingly.

He picked up the jug, which I could now see was gasoline. My heart dropped. I knew what was coming. He poured the entire jug over my mother, who was whimpering in terror, drenching her in it. He made sure to soak her face extra well.

"My eyes!" my mother sobbed, "my eyes are burning!!!" She screamed. The man only laughed a dry, wheezy laugh.

"Oh, darling, the burning is only beginning." As he pulled a matchbox from his pocket I finally found my voice.

"No!!" I yelled. He slowly turned his head in my direction.

"Ahh, so you can speak," he chortled. "You... You sick bastard! Don't you touch my mother!" I screamed. He stared at me for a moment, and I felt really scared, but he smiled. Then he started chuckling. Which turned into laughter. Which turned into uncontrollable hysterics.

"You stupid girl!" he spat, "I am the one who has you and everyone you love tied up and helpless! You arrogant bitch! I am the one who makes the threats, not you!" He scoffed, and with that, tossing the match onto my mother. She instantly burst into flames.

"Nooo!!!!" I cried out. The smell of burning flesh soon filled the room. "No, mom..." I whispered. But she wasn't my mom anymore. Just a mound of black, melted skin and guts, surrounded by ash.

I looked up at the man. "Why are you doing this?" I chocked out, holding back tears.

"My dear sweet child... I am not doing anything. I didn't kill your mother. You did. It's all your fault. And you are going to kill everybody else you love..." He told me. I was going to ask him more questions, but he swiftly exited the room. He came back with my father.

He did this again and again. Dragging out my already half dead loved ones, one by one, killing then in front of me, purposely spilling their blood on me. He electrocuted my father, shot my sister, and stabbed my best friend. All the while I thrashed about, trying to get free and save them, but the chair was bolted, nailed, and chained the floor. I was also restrained everywhere. All I could do was listen to their screams and watch as they fall.

The man kept telling me that it was my fault. All my fault. All my fault. It was too late to save them. They'll all be gone. And it's all my fault. I couldn't take this anymore. The butchered bodies of my friends and family littered across the floor. I had abandoned all hope. My sanity draining from me. When all of a sudden I heard a familiar voice whispering my name.

"Anne..." I quickly turned my head in the direction of the voice. I saw my beloved boyfriend, Mason, being restrained by the twisted man. But he wasn't like the others. He was left unharmed. Confused, I looked up at the man.

"I saved the best for last," he said, clearly amused, "hold on to your seat, this shall be the best show of all!" he laughed.

My anger boiled up inside me. I wildly thrashed about, screaming and yelling, but to no avail.

The man pulled out a knife and ripped Mason's shirt off. He slowly drew the knife across his stomach, making him writhe in agony as his blood spilled out. I screamed and cried. The man grabbed Mason by his blonde hair and bashed his head against the concrete ground. He screamed. I cried and cried. I felt so useless!

"Help!!" He yelled. But I couldn't! I couldn't do anything!! He picked him up, again by his hair, which now was stained red, and dragged him over to me. He couldn't even stand. He pulled him to his knees and held his arm out. He raised the knife into the air and brought it smashing down into his wrist, going in all the way. I could see the blood stained blade coming out the other side. He screamed in pain. I screamed too and tried harder to get free. The man twisted the knife around a bit before pulling it out.

"Help..." Mason whimpered.

"Aren't you going to help him, Annabelle?!" The twisted man mocked me, "maybe if you weren't such a terrible friend and girlfriend, all your loved ones would still be alive right now! And now, here is Mason, the person you care about more than anything in the entire world, and in just a few seconds he will be gone forever, too."

I stared into Mason's eyes, filled with pain and horror. Mason. The guy I've loved for 3 years. The guy who took me to prom, who I let take my virginity. The most special person in my life. We are - were... in love. I don't see mason anymore. I see a bloody, battered mess. I can't let this go on any longer.

"No!" I shouted, "please! Kill me! Save Mason!" I pleaded, begging the man. He only laughed and in one swift motion, slit Mason's throat. With a sickening gurgle, he fell onto my lap, blood pouring. I finally managed to get my arms free, and I held him close, crying. "I love you, Mason... Please be alive..." But he wasn't. He was gone now, forever. Just like everyone else I care about. And it's all my fault.

...

The man is gone now. And we can all finally be happy. I'm not alone. I still have them all here with me. They're not going anywhere. Mason, my mom, and the others. We're all fine. We're great. We have great conversations. Mason tells the best jokes, as he always did. Nothing's changed. They've just all seem to have adopted some maggots as pets. I keep telling Mason to get rid of them but he never listens! He really can be stubborn.

We really all should clean this place up one day. There is a terrible stench of rotten meat. I don't know where it's coming from. Neither does anybody else. We survive on the rats. It's a dog eat dog world down in this basement. The rats keep trying to eat my friends and family! But I always get them first. The others don't seem to be too hungry... But that's okay. We all still have each other! And we couldn't be happier! Happy, happy, WE ARE FUCKING HAPPY!

There's just one problem. There's this... Annoying voice... In the back of my head... It won't shut up... Every day... All night... Even though Mason assures me it's nothing...

"They're dead, and it's your fault. It's all your fault... It's all your fault... All your fault... All your fault..."