The thing on the ceiling

the next victim

She sat bolt upright in bed, her breathing shallow and restless. The thing on the ceiling smiling just as it had before. By now the house stank of rotting flesh and the once cream rug, had turned brown as the blood had dried. The corps in the door way reminded her of the power the thing had over her. The house was quiet. The only noises were from the tar dripping down from the ceiling and an almost silent whimper in pain as the rusted knife tried to pierce her skin. She never had any visitors any more. They were driven away buy the stench of her brother’s corps and the ones that did visit, well they came to the same terrible end as the body in the door way. There was a knock on the door. The thing on the ceiling smiled, the next victim was here. She stood up. Climbed over the corpses and went to answer the door.