Bloody Hands - Chapter 1

I didn't know how I got here, where my family was, or exactly what I was anymore. Shooting pains pulsated my skull, so gross that I dreaded opening my eyes. I never wanted to be afraid...to be afraid of opening my eyes or crawling off the painfully dreamy bed I laid on. All I knew for certain was that someone - something- was in my room. I could hear the breathing coming from the wet lips of the creature and the wet noises it made while I tried to sleep at night. How many days had I been here? Tens? Hundreds? Thousands? Maybe this was all a dream...

Suddenly, something had grasped my ankle. It's slippery hand was making its way up my crouched legs all the way up to my face. The touch it held had curiosity and aggressiveness, but when it reached my face it caressed it as if I were something important to it. Well, I'm not. I'm not from here. I'm from a small town in Minnesota. Last thing I remember I was teaching my son, Manny, how to fish. Manny... how old is Manny now? He used to be seven. Now he's probably twelve...

The wet hand disappeared, the sounds of a door opening and closing followed it. For the first time in however long I was here, I opened my eyes. The room wasn't too well-lit so my eyes didn't sting too much. Slowly and gingerly, I sat up. Chillingly, my room looked that of a mental patient's room I had once seen on the television... One that was used in the early 1900's. But... it's 2012, how could I be in such an old room?

I looked down to find that I wore a patient's robe covered in bloody hand prints. Stumbling, I made my way to the door in front of me. I looked both ways down the deserted hall, a trail of red hand prints stretching down the hall. I followed them, whatever had been touching me had a certain liking for me. While I walked down the hallway, I heard an ominous growl just above my shoulder.