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colored walls, I thought I heard someone knock at the door. I
hid under the bed at the sound of the front door opening and
what could only have been the footsteps of a large crowd of
people entering my home. Whoever they were, they came
right up the stairs and into my room. I could see quite the
collection of footwear from where I lay—dirt-encrusted
boots, well-worn slippers, sneakers, even some expensive-
looking high heels. There might have been twenty or so
people in there with me, and besides the sound of them
walking around on the wood floors, I couldn’t hear a single
one of them so much as breathe. They just kept walking
around, moving close to one another and then away, like a
gang of socializing mutes.
“After a while, little drops of blood started falling to the
floor. They didn’t react to it at all, they seemed far too busy
scuffing up my polished floors with their nonstop mingling.
Severed fingers littered the floor next, then all kinds of body
parts. The blood started to pool around me, but I hadn’t even
the tiniest inclination to pop up from beneath the bed. This
went on for several minutes, with whole limbs and heads and
whatnot thudding wetly to the floor. Long after it became
obvious that there were far more body parts than could
have been provided by twenty people, the strangers left the
room—at least, their feet and ankles did. I can’t vouch for
the rest of their bodies—trudging through blood and carnage
as they went.
“Once they were all in the hallway and moving down the
stairs, I could hear them talking incoherently. I suppose they
were just your everyday, ordinary crowd of partygoers. They
just stopped by to wander wordlessly around my bedroom
and shed hundreds of pounds of mutilated body parts. Of
course, the blood and meat has a completely different effect
on me now, but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that. After
I heard the front door close and the voices move out into
the streets, I decided there was no safety to be had inside
the house. It took me some time to gather enough courage
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