Numb - updated

My god, that night. Like some twisted nightmare from a demented horror novel. Yet it was real and I was living it. My fathers lifeless body lay at my feet, a look of utter shock and terror frozen on his face. And the blood, it was everywhere, spilling out from huge gaping slashes all over his body. I remember thinking how surprised I was that a body could hold so much blood. I was numb, in a kind of detached haze, unsure what had just happened. The last thing I remember was coming home from school and getting ready to go to my friends birthday party. I liked going to parties because I got to wear my favorite dress. It was all white, long and soft with flowers embroidered on it and it had a sash with a bow in the back and short ruffled sleeves with lace on them. It was so beautiful. My father had bought it for me for my last birthday.

But how did I get here? I was in my fathers shop... but I wasn't allowed in my father shop anymore. My father was a master swordsmith, the best in the region. I remember he had been asked to make a special sword for some client. He'd been working till all hours of the night, eating and sleeping out there when he wasn't working and I hadn't seen him in days. Every once in a while late at night I'd get woken by strange sounds coming from the shop. Sounds that I didn't recognize, but they gave me chills just hearing them. I'd go and wake my mother but she never heard them. She would just say it was a bad dream and let me sleep with her the rest of the night.

My mother wasn't happy with the job and didn't like the man that had hired him. They had argued about it but he insisted he had to complete the sword. I think that's what bothered her the most. He had... changed once he started working on the sword. He become obsessed and short tempered... distant. He had actually yelled at me one day when I went out to watch him work. Something I'd done many times before, but this time it was different. I'd barely got through the door when he became enraged and screamed at me to get out. My mother came running out and took me into the house and told me not to go out there anymore. I was crying, my father had never spoken to me like that before.

It was winter and the shop was cold, cold enough to see your breath. I remember being strangely fascinated at the steam slowly raising out of the bloody wounds in my fathers body. That's when I noticed the laughing, an eerie maniacal laughter. The kind that sends chills up your spine. At first I couldn't tell where it was coming from, it seemed distant and otherworldly. Then with horror I realized it was coming from me. How could it  be coming from me? I wasn't laughing... I wasn't crying either. Why wasn't I crying? I couldn't feel anything, just numbness. The laughing stopped.

I looked around the shop trying to understand. There were odd things scattered around the room. The lights were off, but there were burning candles everywhere and papers, very old looking papers with strange writings on them. The center of the room had been cleared out and there was a large red symbol painted on the floor with smaller symbols and candles surrounding it. There was a strong spicy smell in the air, oddly pleasant and calming. A strong contrast to what I was seeing.

I saw him in the doorway, a cloaked figure. Nothing visible except his hands. Pale and old looking, just skin and bones, with long almost claw like nails. The hooded head turned towards me and I could see his mouth. It was curled in a sort of satisfied smirk and it spoke. His voice, cold and dark, powerful yet hollow and frail seemed to echo as if I were hearing it in my head as well as with my ears. The words like searing knifes piercing my thoughts. I screamed with the pain but still I heard him clearly. As if there wasn't another sound in the world.

"Well done my child. Not many get such a pleasure. You should be grateful to me for allowing you to experience it. Perhaps you will prove to be wiser than your father. No, is not something I like to hear. Remember that."

And with that he turned and was gone. I was trembling but even with the pain of his words I couldn't seem to cry. I still don't know why. I looked at my fathers body again, laying there motionless, and slowly, in my numbed haze, I walked out of the shop towards the house.

As I entered the house a cold fear gripped me. More blood. I staggered slightly as I slipped in the blood puddled on the smooth floor. Over near the dinner table was my mothers body, cut and bleeding like my father. That same look of shock on her face. In the next room was my little brother. His head laying a few feet from his body. Strange how there was almost no blood though. Nothing like my father or mother.

I continued through the house to my room, and as I entered I noticed the dressing mirror on the wall. At first I didn't recognize the little girl staring back at me. Then I noticed the dress she was wearing, my favorite dress. Except where my dress was white, this one was almost completely red. There was blood splattered all over it and on her face. My face, and it had an odd expression I didn't quite understand. Sort of calm and unfocused with a strange glint to the eyes. My hair was matted with blood, I was pale and sweating, and where there wasn't blood I had dark smudges all over me like I'd been playing in the dirt or something.

That's when I noticed the sword. I had a sword in my hand, the one my father had been working on. It was beautiful, obviously my fathers best work. The blade was covered in blood, and as I looked back down the hall I could see a trail of blood leading from it back the way I had come. The sword felt warm and comforting in my hand, but at the same time it made my skin crawl holding on to it. If felt... bad. Bad like I'd never felt before. It scared me and I tried to command my hand to let go of it, but it wouldn't respond. I looked back at my reflection. I could see my body trembling but couldn't feel it. A wave of pain and exhaustion washed over me. Like I'd just ran ten miles after rolling down a mountain. Every part on my body ached. I slumped against the wall and slowly slid down the wall till I was sitting. Then I just sat there staring into a strangers eyes and waited to cry.

I was twelve.