Gwendolyn’s skin crawled as the lights flickered on and off, on and off, on and off. The hideous stench reappeared and she turned around to run, but her body, amid all the chaos, her body wouldn't move as if an uncontrollable force doused her in plaster. She could hear him breathing, she could hear all of them breathing, surrounding her and choking her soul, her sight slowly ebbing away.

    Just when the woman’s lungs gave out, it all stopped.

    The blood rushed back to her body and she moved her eyes to see her hands, which had clutched a cross, start to blacken and burn. She shrieked and threw it against the wall, and after she did, the wall itself began to darken.

Like a plague, the color corroded the otherwise blue paint and streaks of red, like the veins on the woman’s hands, started to form. Gwendolyn fell onto the floor and started sobbing, praying and cursing her fortune. A tinkling laugh came from within the walls and her pupils dilated as she rushed to the door, only to see the cause of the laughter.

Timothy Greene, her four year old son whom she had drowned three years before stepped towards her with his blackened palms outstretched. She shrunk from the boy and turned to see her deceased husband and daughter, Michael and Hope Greene, walking towards her with their hands outstretched, too.

The temperature of the room increased, as did the beating of her heart, the figures moving towards her at a quicker pace. Timothy reached her first, and as his hand touched her head, a geyser of water erupted from her mouth and she started to choke. A sinister smirk touched his face as his sister touched their mother’s arms and cuts surfaced on her skin. Then, Michael Greens, the man that Gwendolyn pledged to love till death do them part, whom she poisoned with cyanide, touched her lips.

The woman’s body writhed on the floor, blood pooling underneath her, her mouth open and retching a never ending stream of acidic liquid. It would only be a matter of time before it stops, she hoped, but soon after the thought crossed her mind, a rivulet of blood streamed from her ears. The pain started to disappear, but after a while it would come back, over and over again, her soul ready to escape from its chambers only to be shoved back in. Timothy held his father’s and his sister’s hand as the walls began to cave in. A bolt of lightning struck the house, but still they stayed next to the woman, each of her breaths shorter than the last.

The house started to burn from the outside, but nobody could see it. The name Gwendolyn Greene was erased from all the books in history and nobody would ever utter or remember her again. Timothy made sure of that.

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Stay tuned.