Creep (Ticci Toby One Shot)

Day One: Nuance

[Mood: The Killing Moon by Echo and the Bunnymen]

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Suddenly, sunlight danced across my closed eyelids, tinted green as it filtered through the trees in the forest that surrounded the outside of the abandoned house I had chosen to sleep in last night. I slowly opened my eyes to take in my surroundings. The stained and broken mattress I used as my bed creaked as I sat upright, my striped pullover falling to my lap. I had used it to stay warm last night. I sat there for a moment, thoughts fuzzy from sleep, and stared at a cobweb on the baseboard in the lower corner of the room, to my left.

Trying to recall what had brought me here through the amnesia-like grogginess, I sat unmoving for a moment. Something big had happened last night. I gently reached up and rubbed the sleep crust from my eyes and blinked a few times. 

And then I remembered. Well, somewhat. 

I had killed someone last night. It wasn't planned. They had been following me. When I confronted them, they mocked the way I talked and moved. He. I mentally corrected myself. My victim had been male. He wasn't imposing but the things he said had been hurtful and rude. I lured him to this house.

My muscles suddenly implored me to get up and check the kitchen of this three bedroom home. With hoodie in hand, I stood, the mattress' old, rusty, broken springs popped as I did so. I made my way from the bedroom into the long hallway that led to the kitchen. The two other bedrooms were connected to the corridor as well. A few ominous bloody hand prints marked the walls here and there, fading continuously and then stopping altogether as they got closer to the bedroom that I had rested in.

The walls themselves were coated in cheap wallpaper, now moldy and peeling. Dust in the air had settled on the cheap cracked linoleum on the floor. Cheap light fixtures dangled from the crumbling ceiling, wires forked out, as if someone had tried to tear them out long ago. There was a damp, musky odor that filled my nose each time I took a breath.

I shuffled down the hall, examining the handprints that I realised were mine and not my victim's. I followed the trail around the corner, and that's when I found his body.

His eyes were green. Not that light green that you'd usually expect. They were dark like an evergreen tree. They were wide open, as if his face was frozen in a look of horror or excruciating pain. His nose was small, angular with a light upwards tilt. His cheekbones were high cut. Eyebrows seemed to be well groomed, but thick and natural in color. It kind of made me sad. His slender, delicate features would have been pretty had they been full of the life I took from him. His artificial orange hair was just under medium length - for a male - with an undyed undercut. A good majority of it was stained goopy dark red with his coagulating blood.

He was laid out on his back, left arm across his chest, right arm bent at an unnatural angle. I was pretty sure I had broken it while torturing him. I couldn't remember very well, honestly. I had been out drinking with some of the other guys, so it was mostly blurred. Adrenaline and booze did not mix well for me. I let out a dark chuckle and I moved closer to the body. Since I was so engrossed in my kill, I didn't step around the blood, which stained the white trim of my sneakers now. The blood fell off my soles in thick strings and clumps. Squish, slop.

I noticed that his grey tank top was stained with blood, torn at the hem. I squatted down and pulled it up to examine his stomach. There were long, cerise slashes across his pale skin. The edges of his wounds were puckered and bruised. Violaceous marks clashed against his almost paper white skin, now tinted with blue. My fingers spasmed and I dropped the fabric. I giggled. He must have struggled, making things fun and more interesting. Oh, I wished I could remember it fully. Holding my stooped position, I grabbed his broken arm with both hands. I carefully examined the appendage with slow, slender fingers. I found a complete fracture at his wrist, with bone fragments protruding from his skin, bruises around the punctures. With a steady fingertip, I traced the splintered edge of his rusty white bone. Moving on, I kneaded and massaged the rest of his arm gently, working my way towards his elbow. There seemed to be a clean break just above his now somewhat stiff joint.