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Sara's Beacon: Prologue by Shanda E
 (12 ratings)
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Prologue
The mirror reflected an image of fear, an image of evil. The cracks that spread through the reflective glass only shadowed and disfigured the fear, only brought out the evil within. Brown thinning hair with a splash of gray decorated and brown eyes dotted the man's fattened face. He lowered himself into his beloved brown leather recliner after stepping over the lifeless body that lay on the floor. The television, although spotted and sprayed with his friend's blood, was brightly displaying a game show that would normally catch his interest but his attention wasn't on the flickering box. An unseen force was trying to control his mind. The evil wasn't strong enough to take his body over completely, and the fear was still evident only because he knew what was going on inside of him. He knew there was no stopping it either. He knew from the experience he had moments ago when he couldn't stop himself from ruthlessly murdering his best and only friend. The memory replayed itself over and over. It was of him, no it was of the evil inside of him, picking up that ten-pound sledgehammer and smashing his friend of twelve years in the face. But it didn't end there; whatever had taken over his body kept lifting the hammer and repeatedly dropping it into his friend's body until there was no movement at all. Until there was no identifying features remaining.
And now, after that horrible nightmare had ended, no matter how much muscle he tried to put into stopping the force, his hand was still reaching for the box cutter razor blade on the edge of the table. No matter how hard he tried, it was as if he was paralyzed and someone was moving his arm for him. His eyes weld up with tears but they never fell down his face. The cold metal reached the skin of his neck when the evil began to rake it from left to right. His eyes weld shut and the tears streamed down as the pain struck him, as the razor began splitting his neck in one long fine perfect slice. Blood drained like water flowing off of a cliff, and through what was left of his voice he spit out a nightmarish gurgling sound. In that instant, as he felt the warm liquid soak his dirty shirt, he knew it was the end. He also knew how easily it could have been avoided if he would have moved out of the horrid place when he had the chance. But now the chance was gone, and there would be no more. The tears in his eyes fell further down his cheek as he experienced the worst pain imaginable. Not only the physical pain he was feeling, but also the emotional pain of knowing there would be no more days ahead of him.
Then it was over. The pain was slowly disappearing and the room around him was going black. He tried to keep his eyes open, but they were stronger than his fight and closing quickly. His body was shutting down, either from shock or loss of blood, and he felt every step of it. It was the worst feeling in the world, and no matter how selfish he was in his life he knew that nobody should ever have to experience a pain so horrible. Surprisingly to him, the emotions hurt worse than the physical throb. Just before he felt the world slip away; he heard the faint laughter of the evil that inhabited him only minutes ago. The man sent one single prayer before he felt the heaviness consume him. He prayed his first last and only prayer to God that no one ever step foot in this house again. He prayed that God take away the power that was given the evil and send it straight to hell where it belongs.
He would never know if the evil was banished to hell. He would never know if mankind ever stood a chance against what only he knew existed. But God help anyone who would put a foot on these cursed floors.
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