A Tale of Madness - part three

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He let himself out into the hallway. It wasn't so much a hallway as it was a crumbling, partially-covered path that led into the garden in the middle of the structure. The lush green oasis looked as if it had taken over the modest courtyard centuries ago. The building itself was only just over a one-hundred years old, but the garden appeared far more ancient than that.

Moss, grasping tendrils of thick vines, and layers upon layers of creeping foliage engulfed the open space. There was a narrow dirt path that took him through the middle of the courtyard. As he passed the green plants and luscious sprigs seemeed to shrink back, wizened by his presence. Tips of recently fresh, sprouting shoots curled back, browning instantly, and beds of bright, gaping flowers retreated into the dark recesses of their habitat.

The madman took no notice of the cowering plant life. He marched on with cold purpose, through another hallway, leaving the exposed courtyard behind him. He entered a tired, abandoned lobby with faded, curling wallpaper and blistered ceiling tiles that hung grotesquely, separated from the rafters. His worn work boots scuffed across the plank flooring where tatters of the green carpeting remained in whisps.

His stomach was fully healed now, glazed over with a sheen of oily new skin. His rib blade swung in one hand at his side. He kicked past some used needles and husks of skeletal mice and birds, his stride never faltering.

As he neared the gaping maw of the entrance--where the once-proud, oak doors hung, half-off their frames, splintered and moldy--the light shifted briefly as a shadow passed over his right shoulder. Whirling around with an unnatural speed the madman danced to his left and raised the curved bone saw. Halfway through his pinwheel his arm met a brief resistance, then traveled around through its wide arc. A hot splash of blood arrived on the rotting bebris that was once the check in desk.

The madman turned back to the door without glancing back, and left the building to its fresh meat. Back in the lobby a scared young man lay on the floor. A wide, scarlet opening stretched from his left hip to his right shoulder. His breathing stuttered as he looked upon his bright, slippery bowels. The intestines were beginning to unravel and slide down over his legs. He heaved two, final, hitching breaths, as his eyes rolled back into his head and the rest of his entrails emptied, steaming, onto the corroded floor boards.

The building sighed and shifted ever so slightly, straightening, as it hungrily absorbed the life blood of the unfortunate squatter. The man continued on away from the dark building, wanting to find more victims before the first blood dried on his blade.

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