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幽霊屋敷; Haunted House; Open
Topic Started: Oct 6 2016, 02:07 PM (2,445 Views)
Slam
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Mr. Danya
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Sandy Bricks continued from Dreams and Reality))

Sandy could barely stand up straight as he lurched through the asylum, leaning on walls and dragging his bag across the floor as if his arms had gone dead. He’d retched for a while, though only hot and heavy nausea had come up, and his head agonised like a thousand nails were buried in his brain. His mind raced with those horrible images of Jasmine’s corpse, of other corpses, of his parents, and everything was a blur as he staggered down into the basement. Eventually, he fell through the doors of the water treatment room, his legs finally giving out as he collapsed to his knees.

“Mom, Dad…” he gasped, finally vomiting onto the floor below. He could see everything so clearly, so unwillingly: they were hunched over the dashboard; he was crying in the back seat. There was blood and glass and metal everywhere, and people were outside but no-one was doing anything to help them. Why had it taken people so long to get there? Why had he had to sit there in the back seat the whole time, seeing everything but unable to do everything? Why? Why? Why?

He fell onto his side next to his own bile, quietly sobbing as his throat grew hoarse. Everything hurt, everything hurt so goddamn much and nothing was ever going to make it better. None of the therapies, none of the doctors, no-one could fix how fucked up his mind was or make anything better. What the fuck was the point of living in a world like this?

The pitch black thoughts were choking his brain, hammering the nails further in and twisting them deep. A minute voice was screaming at him to remember all the work they’d done to avoid thinking like this, how to feel better, how he didn’t have to give up on everything and all the progress he had made. It was tiny and there was so much else that hurt so much, but Sandy could still hear it. He didn’t know how to listen to it, and he was dismissing it in almost every capacity, but it was still there and he wished so much that it could just be a little bit louder, and that he could just be a little bit stronger.

The rancid smell of vomit was sharp in his nose, and he didn’t want to sit by it anymore. He got up, scanning the room, and saw the doors to the back. More solitude, he realised; that was just what he needed. That was what he’d needed all along, and it was finally within his reach.

He didn’t care about his things anymore, leaving them behind as he headed over there as fast as he could through all the pain and misery. Solitude was all he’d ever asked for in this whole nightmare, and he was finally going to get it.
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[ *  *  *  * ]
Nancy set the hatchet down and tucked the screwdriver into her skirt. She had shift it around a bit so that it didn't stick out of the bench, but it eventually went in neatly. She dug through her bag for the first aid kit, opened up, and starting slowly treating her shoulder.

She hissed in pain when the alcohol stung her wound, but she didn't skimp. She couldn't afford to.

She had just gotten the bandages out of the kit when she heard the door to the main room open.

Nancy's breath caught, and she began to wrap the bandage around her shoulder quickly, hoping against hope that she'd be able to finish before whoever it was had found her. She tore off the bandage and fished around for an adhesive, while she contemplated just rushing out without it. Her hands worked regardless, and finally managed to seal the bandage. She hastily threw everything she had into the first aid kit, closed it, and threw it into the bag.

It hit the bottom with a thump at the same time the door opened.

Nancy stared down the boy that had just entered the room. She was drawing a blank on his name right now, but that wasn't important.

She kept his eyes on him as she felt the bench for the axe, her heartbeat drowning every other noise out.

Her hand found it. She stood up and swung.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
No, no, no…

Why? Why couldn’t he just be alone, just for a moment? Why wouldn’t the universe just cut him some slack and leave him be? Why did this shit always happen to him?

Sandy was staring at Nancy (whom he did not recognise in the slightest, but he didn't care about that anymore) as if she was some vile mess on the floor. The decaying blood she was covered sent more screams through his brain, as all the images kept flashing across his thoughts, leeching off of yet another grim reminder in this nightmare.

A terrible thought occurred: was she even real? Was this all just some psychotic delusion brought on by his imploding mind? Was he going to start seeing bloodstained girls everywhere he went from now on? It all seemed too contrived to be really happening.

Real or not, though, she was swinging an axe at Sandy’s face.

Reflexes kicked in as he raised his hands, catching the handle of the hatchet inches from his flesh. There was a moment where the two locked eyes, as Sandy processed what was going on, what he was holding on to, before he yanked the weapon and swung the girl out of the room with a defiant roar. Both Nancy and axe were thrown away as the hatchet slipped out of his grip, flying off into the darkness and making a resounding clang against a distant wall.

He stood there in the doorway, chest heaving as every inch of his form screamed to stop what he was doing before it couldn't take anymore. Then he lunged.
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Nancy head spun as she was thrown through the doors and landed on her back. She tried to get up, but her shoulder gave out as a dull pain shot through it, and she crashed to the ground again.

She grasped air where the handle of the axe should have been, and it took a few seconds to register the clang against the far wall for what it was. By that point, Sandy was bearing down on her. There was no time left to get up, no time left take in a breath.

Certainly, there was no time to grab the hatchet.

Instead she wheezed out whatever breath was left in her lungs, and as the distance between Sandy and her approached zero, Nancy began to move her arms, desperately trying to fend off Sandy's attacks while at the same time trying to hit him.

All it accomplished was an unfocused, directionless flailing.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Sandy ploughed past Nancy’s feeble defence, pinning down the smaller girl with his larger frame as he fell on top of her, the two colliding against the damp tiled floor. He looked at the blood-soaked girl trapped between his thighs, that horrible copper smell mocking his madness and sending him further into insanity, as he raised his fists to beat her down to nothing.

His thoughts dulled as he dropped his hands like anvils on her in an animalistic pounding, giving in again to sheer emotion and hatred as a terrible beast let loose. He wanted her gone more than anything in the world, he wanted everything to go away, he wanted everyone to go away and to just be left in an eternal pitch black isolation where people would finally leave him in peace.

No more people trying to help, no more people wanting to team up, no more people calling him stupid, no more people that he couldn’t relate to or couldn’t relate to him, no more people telling him to get a life, no more no more no more.

He would get rid of it and everything about it and there’d be no more; he was going to smash its face into a pulp until there was nothing left looking up at him, and that was the only thing left in the world that mattered to Sandy Bricks.
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Her head exploded in pain as the blows came down her face. She wanted to scream, but she didn't dare open her mouth. She tried to move her hands to block the blows, but she couldn't coordinate.

Her thoughts were a blur. Colored blotches dotted her vision, brighter than the surrounding room. Another blow came down, and she could feel something shift painfully.

That brought her momentary lucidity. As another fist came, Nancy roared, bringing her hand over to catch it. She was tired, and her hand was pushed back into her face. But it didn't hurt as much, and that's what mattered.

Nancy pushed herself forward, her free hand extending and pushing Sandy off. She followed up with a foot, bringing it upward to catch him right between the legs.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Sandy didn’t register much as Nancy blocked his hand, only intent on following it with another blow. It never came though, as Nancy shoved him back up, sending him staggering on his feet as he tried to keep his balance. Before he could catch himself, fall forwards again and pick up exactly where he left off and resume mashing Nancy’s face into a fine paste, she fired her foot square into his crotch.

He let out a pained gasp as more agony shot through his body, clutching at his junk as he lost focus on Nancy for just the moment. Even with all the intoxicating pain he was already feeling, the blow to the balls was enough to send him reeling, letting Nancy to scramble out from underneath him. As he gripped his nuts, panting for air, he could hear the wet footsteps of Nancy running across the room towards wherever that axe had fallen.

Not deterred for long, Sandy was in hot pursuit, hobbling after Nancy with no intents of letting her escape. The water lining the floor sloshed beneath his heavy feet as she searched for her tool, but she wasn’t quick enough. Sandy grabbed her from behind, pulling her back and sending the two into a violent waltz around the room, as he wrestled for something softer, something more vulnerable, to wrap his arms around and snap in two.
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Nancy was yanked backward near inches from her axe, and spun hazily, trying to get Sandy's grip off of her. She was beyond coherent thoughts now, as she scratched and swung and punched and kicked, trying to get him away. She had to kill him. Otherwise...

At some point, he grabbed her by the neck, his fingers wrapping around the part of her throat not covered by the collar. She let out a noise, half-wheezing, half-squeaking, as she tried to break free.

Somewhere in there, she fell backward. She didn't know whether Sandy had pushed her or she pushed herself back.

She collided with one of the unturned tubs in the room, the breath knocked out of her.
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Sandy stumbled for balance as he lost his grip on Nancy, still aching from the waist down but still blinded with rage from the neck up. His knuckles had cracked from beating against Nancy’s face and blood was lightly dripping from his hands, but that pain would have never registered against the maddening adrenaline that had taken over.

He grabbed at Nancy’s hair as she leant against the tub, pulling and tearing as he tried to get his hold on her again. His hand clawed for her throat, still seeking that delicate and breakable windpipe, as his face pulled back into a grisly expression, but Nancy’s resistance made it impossible to get a good grip.

In all the violent shaking, Sandy got a brief but sufficient look at the filthy, fetid water that filled the tub. Changing tactics, he shifted his weight and forced Nancy’s head down as hard as he could, sending her under the murky surface as water splashed out of the tub and onto his coat. He leaned forwards, putting all of his strength onto keeping Nancy down, making sure there was no way she’d ever surface ever again.
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The cold water hit with what felt like the force of a brick wall. Nancy instinctively squeezed her eyes shut. She swallowed a bit of water, and the taste in her mouth was somehow the most unpleasant thing about this whole experience.

She struggled, her hands gripping the lip of the tub, trying to get her head back above the water. There was bit of give, but it wasn't enough, and her head stayed below the water. Her lungs were burning, now, and she pushed furiously, but she was too tired, and everything hurt too much.

Those few seconds felt like hours, until her lungs felt like they were about to burst. She couldn't stop herself from opening her mouth and letting a bit of water enter her lungs. She coughed and sputtered, sending air bubbles floating to the surface and dirtying the water further with her bile.

Her hands moved, then, flailing wildly, trying to get some sort of leverage, some advantage she could use to free herself.

But it accomplished nothing.
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Nancy kept trying to force her head back up, to get out of the rotten watery grave where she belonged, but Sandy held firm. She swatted at him with her arms in her desperate flailing, but it was no match for the furious strength he pinned her down with.

He watched the air bubbles come up as the shadow of Nancy’s head shook under the water, signs that he was winning and that soon she wouldn’t bother him anymore. The confidence emboldened him as he pushed her down harder, his own hands stained with the brown water that would swallow Nancy and silence her for good.

His face had contorted into a twisted visage of the artist’s former self. His eyes bulged in his sockets, and veins that had never surfaced before pushed against his skin. His flesh was a deep crimson as the blood boiled underneath, and his teeth strained against each other as his jaw locked into its merciless snarl.

Nancy's flaliling grew weaker as the bubbles slowed. There wasn't long now.
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Nancy was going to die a failure. She killed two people, and then just died on the second day. She felt pathetic. Even as she struggled, there was that unpleasant truth coming into her mind as she slowly lost consciousness.

Her flailing became weaker. Was there a point to it? She...

It would probably be better to just... let go. To die on day two.

To be forgotten. What a fucking failure.

Nancy's arms stopped flailing, and she let them drop to her side.





















Her hand bumped something at her waist.

Clarity returned for just a second. A second was enough. In one swift motion, with the last of her strength, as her mind screamed in agony, she pulled the screwdriver from its place in her skirt and stabbed it in Sandy's direction as hard as she could.
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So intent on making sure Nancy died below the surface was Sandy that he didn’t even notice her grab for the screwdriver. Paying no attention to where her arms were going, so used to her batting at him to no avail by now, he had no warning when she finally stabbed him right in his gut.

His arms went as stiff as they could, still holding Nancy under, but his attention moved from her. He looked down at the invading tool with disbelief, seeing it sticking out of his abdomen where it clearly didn’t belong. After a brief but drawn out moment, he realised what had happened.

He screamed, pushing himself away from Nancy as if he could undo what she’d done, pulling himself off of the screwdriver. Blood poured out of the open wound, and everything swam for a moment as the pressure in his circulatory system dropped as sharply as a cliff-face. He almost fainted, his suffocating heavy thoughts suddenly turning light and groundless, but instead he barely clung to consciousness as he pawed at the orifice, trying to stop the bleeding to no avail.

That deep, heavy breathing of a cornered beast turned into rapid shallow pants, as his fight or flight instincts fought for control. He could feel himself growing weaker, his legs turning to jelly, and there wasn’t long left. Nancy was still there, though, still breathing, still not leaving him alone. He didn’t know what to do.

He couldn’t leave, but he couldn’t let her go. He had to finish what he started, because he didn’t know what else he could do. At this point, he didn’t know much of anything anymore.

So, with nothing else and no time to think, he threw himself at her one more time.
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She felt the implement connect. With what, she wasn't sure. But it was something.

She felt his hands releasing her, and she pulled herself out of the water, coughing and sputtering and gasping and panting and she turned around, leaning against the tub. She was seeing bright spots in her vision, and she swore she felt the room spinning. She felt the bile rising again, but she forced it down.

Sandy was still there. She was so focused on living that she didn't even realize that the stab probably wasn't fatal. He was still there, still alive, hurt but not incapacitated. Time slowed down for a few seconds as she stared at Sandy.

It caught back up as he lunged at her again. She gripped the screwdriver, and with one final shriek of anger, she thrust it upward.
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Like a wounded, tired bull, Sandy didn’t pay much attention to what Nancy might’ve actually been doing as he charged her. He didn’t brace himself for a retaliation, or anticipate that she might’ve moved, or anything that might’ve saved his life. All he did was charge.

He screamed in unison with her as the distance between them drew to none, reaching out to grab something but ultimately doing nothing, as the tip of the screwdriver hit its mark and hit him square in the eye.

There was a sickeningly short combination of sounds: the cracking as the lens of his glasses shattered, followed by the sickly squirt of his eyeball popping, ultimately leading to the piercing of his brain like a steak-knife into a hunk of meat. There wasn’t really any time to react to any of it.

There was a moment before he fell, as if he might’ve still been holding on, before he finally dropped to the floor with a lifeless thud. He convulsed once, then went still.

And that was the end of it.

B025: Sanford Bricks - Deceased
92 Students Remaining
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