The Swaying Corpse

Gideon broke the paralysis first. He bolted for the wooden stairs, his boots thundering against the steps in a desperate rhythm. The frantic footsteps snapped the rest of the group out of their shock. Duncan followed close behind, grabbing the wooden railing to pull his weight up the steep incline. The others scrambled up in a tight pack, their breaths ragged, driven by a primal need to not be left alone in the living room below.

As Gideon hit the final step of the second-floor landing, a suffocating, metallic stench slammed into them like a physical wall. It was thick, raw, and fresh. The smell of copper coated the back of their throats. Duncan gagged, throwing a hand over his nose and mouth to block the sickening odor.

Gideon stopped dead in his tracks. He stared down at the floorboards, his brow furrowing in deep confusion. The long hallway carpet was spotless.

Haley stepped up beside him, pointing a trembling finger at the pristine runner. "How is this possible? The blood... the massive puddle from this morning. It was right here!"

She looked at Gideon, her face pale and her eyes wide with disbelief. There was not a single speck of crimson left. The fibers of the carpet were dry and unstained. It was as if the gruesome, sticky aftermath of the morning had been scrubbed from existence by an unseen hand. A disorienting, supernatural dread settled over the group. Had they hallucinated the morning? Was this house playing sick tricks on their minds?

Tessa let out a strangled gasp, her voice echoing in the quiet hall. She pointed a shaky hand further down the corridor.

Everyone tracked her gaze toward Chloe's room. Beneath the solid wood door, a thick, glossy pool of fresh blood inched its way into the hallway. The crimson liquid crept forward like a living thing, seeping into the edges of the clean carpet they had just been marveling at.

*Bang!*

A freezing gust of wind tore through the corridor. The heavy hallway window slammed open against the wall, rattling the glass panes in their frames. The sudden draft churned the metallic stench of blood, forcing the sickening smell deep into their lungs.

Duncan muttered, a cold sweat breaking out across his scalp as a fresh wave of terror hit him. "Fuck, what is going on?"

They all fell dead silent, staring at the thrashing window frame. A terrifying realization hit them one by one. Gideon had secured that window himself this morning. He had pulled the sash tight and locked it, testing the latch twice to ensure it was sealed against the storm. No amount of wind could force that heavy metal lock open from the inside. Nobody had come up to the second floor; they had all been huddled together in the living room. The only living person on this floor was the chained patient, who was supposedly bound to a bed.

So who unlatched the window?

A cold chill crawled down Gideon's spine. Could it be Chloe, returning from the dead?

He pushed the impossible thoughts aside. Standing out here guessing would not save them. He needed answers. He took a deliberate step toward the creeping pool of blood.

Haley grabbed the fabric of his shirt. She shook her head, tears welling in her terrified eyes. "Gideon, stop! Do not go in there! Please."

Gideon did not look back. He gently peeled her cold fingers off his shirt and dropped her hand. Duncan stepped up beside him, his jaw set tightly. He gave Gideon a firm nod, signaling he would back him up. Seeing Duncan move, Edgar, Tessa, and Haley had no choice. They swallowed their mounting terror and huddled close behind the two men, terrified of being left alone in the drafty hall.

Before wrapping his hand around the doorknob, Gideon paused. He glanced back over his shoulder at the banging window. Tessa caught his meaning. She dashed over, wrestling the window shut against the wind, and clicked the lock firm. Gideon gave her a curt nod of gratitude.

He took a slow breath, gripped the brass knob, and pushed the door open.

The scene inside hit them with stomach-churning horror.

Tessa unleashed a piercing, deafening scream. Edgar doubled over, vomiting onto his own shoes. Haley clamped both hands over her mouth, but a wet retch tore from her throat as she collapsed against the wooden doorframe, heaving onto the floorboards.

Maya hung suspended from the heavy iron ceiling fan. Her body swayed, the metal joint above creaking under her weight.

The killer had turned her torso into a grotesque, bloody display. Her ribs had been split down the middle and pried wide open like a pair of skeletal wings. Her internal organs had been hollowed out, leaving a gaping, butchered cavity in her chest. Torn flesh and muscle hung in jagged strips. Fresh, dark blood poured from her open torso, streaming down her legs and pooling in massive quantities on the hardwood floor below.

Her neck was snapped at a brutal ninety-degree angle, her head lolling unnaturally against her left shoulder. Yet, despite the unimaginable agony she must have suffered, Maya’s face bore the exact same serene, peaceful smile as Chloe. Her half-closed eyes stared blankly toward the doorway. Dead center on her forehead sat a round, dark hole, identical to the fatal wound they had found on Chloe.

While the others recoiled in sheer panic, Gideon stepped directly into the room. He waded through the thick, pooling blood, his eyes locked on Maya’s swinging corpse. He needed to see if her skull had been emptied too. He stopped inches from her dangling, blood-soaked feet, holding his breath as he studied the horrific wounds from a closer angle.

Gideon finally broke the silence, his voice tight with concentration. "She died the exact same way as Chloe. But the killer escalated. They opened her ribs this time."

His gaze shifted toward the adjoining wall, piercing through the plaster in the direction of the patient's room. He remembered the heavy iron chains. He remembered their tense conversation from earlier that day. Could that patient have somehow slipped their bonds? A dark, heavy suspicion settled in his chest.

Haley shrieked, her voice cracking in pure terror. "Wait! Chloe is gone!"

She pointed a shaking hand toward the center of the room.

Everyone froze, tracing her horrified gaze to the bed.

Chloe’s corpse had vanished. The bed, which had been soaked in thick gore just hours ago, was neatly made. The sheets were pure white, smoothed flat without a single wrinkle, stain, or drop of blood.

Where had Chloe's body gone?

Or was Chloe really dead?