She spins around the room, dancing, humming some old, ancient tune as she does, and he sits there, bound to his seat, watching. She crashes onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezes his head against her naked flesh.
“Is this really happening?”
“Of course it is,” she says softly as she strokes his face gently, kissing him on the nose. “Doesn’t it feel real enough? Or are you hoping somehow it’s just another dream, and you’ll wake up, alone in your bed, as you always do?”
“Isn’t that what always happens?” He says as he tries to force a smile, but she knows it’s more for show, than feeling.
“What if this time it isn’t a dream? What if this time, it’s the real thing, and your dreams were just the universe giving you a glimpse into your own future, your own mortality?”
“There’s no such way my dreams could do that, it’s just another fevered nightmare, so do what you must, you’re only something my mind has created to scare me, to make me fear choices I’ve made, and regret sins I have partaken in.”
“Such hope you have, but, dear child, you need to make note, that tonight, your sins will be repaid with the blood that I will suck from your skull,” she says with a laugh as she leaps up, and dances around the room again, this time, with more vigour, spinning around, faster and faster, giggling to herself, and then, she stops, freezing into place, her eyes locked onto his, her smile, like that of a lunatic, from ear to ear, as she still giggles quietly to herself.
“You’re not real, I’ll wake up soon, and this’ll all be a dream,” he says softly, she giggles louder, running at him, and slashes wildly, with claw like fingernails, they dig into his skin and he screams out in pain as they tear at his flesh. Quickly blood escapes from the wounds and he sucks in a deep breath, holding onto it, as panic begins to set in.
“Does it still feel like a dream?”
“This can’t be true, it’s only a dream, it has to be, it can’t be true!” He yells.
“Oh, poor baby, but it is, and you’re going to pay, pay for all the nasty little shitty things you’ve done to all those pretty young girls, the ones you hide in the basement, the ones no one else knows about,” she says as she digs her fingers nails into his thighs, he screams in pain again.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, who are you?”
“Don’t play the fool, I can smell their rotting corpses, I can smell the sin seeping out of your pours along with your blood. If you want me to hurt you more, continue to lie,” she says as she digs her fingernails in, clawing at his thighs, and rips them away, tearing off flesh, muscle and tendon, he screams louder, not just in pain, but in fear, fear because he knows, that his sins are finally about to be judged.
“So again,” she says, with her demented grin. “Tell me about the girls down below, tell me why they had to die?”