Red Room Terrors.

It is not the vanity of surmise, which without victory of corporeal evidence, remains absurd, that I derive the circumstance of my insanity, it is rather, the quiet intrusion of my rumination, within the macabre conquests of prolific murder. The disposition of my faculty is without pretense, and the informant of time has not betrayed my conviction, that indeed I am not healthy of mind. It is not that, the coincidence of common dysfunction, and the intrusive suddenty of thought, has been neglected, for that theological prejudice of demonology, and unsolicited superstition, but I have not been well since, the nocturnal visit of a voice! Ah! It must have been that of Satan or perhaps his infernal counterpart! I have not delighted to anything of human resort since, and the ideated sensations of fresh warm blood have diluted my pleasures, so that not even the Vampires of Transylvania, can accommodate with companionship, my ensanguined lust. It was a strange voice, one filled with raw terror, rather than the common antagonism of evil, and yet the paradox from which its influence has congratulated my discernment, lies within the fact of my account, which I will not sully with euphemism. I do not seek credence in my surmise, that indeed, it was the ridicule of Satan or perhaps a demon! It is already a convincing attribute, that needs no terrestrial designation. I heard it, and with each, haranguing syllable of its inaudible lament, filled with the monstrous awe of dread, I felt more profane as an audience of its perpetuity. It was on the third night, that I heard it, inform a method of intelligence, and from its abysmal shrieks, it girded the words,

"Kiiiilllll theeeeeem! Aveeeenge meeeeee!" Ah yes and then from that night, like the subduing pulse of the moribund it became utterly otiose, and then eventually quiet. It is then that I had fortified the security of my threshold, by resting all that I could upon its timbre, but many macabre thoughts had been unleashed unto my prospect. It has been many days and I quiver, for now I am in solitude, without a sound to betray the cold miasma of my chamber. The day invites the night, and it dawns with depression, but I hear the voice now, it shrieks once more, but it is without desperation.

"Foooooool It iiiiiiis toooo laaaaate, He! He! He! He!..." And a sudden pulsation of my senses throbs me to hideous sentience, so that now upon my furniture and the window seals, there rests the anatomical plethora of decapitated corpses, and my walls remain the canvas of grimful crimson strokes.