Page 10 of Hunted, Season Three

When he gets a little older?

That shit’ll change.

We’ve already got the plan worked up.

He’ll need his space, and so will we for the same yet very different reasons.

I’m thinkin’ maybe we turn his current spot into a hobby room.

Maybe start putting together model cars.

Me, him, and Kid.

Have something that we can always do together.

No matter how old any of us get.

Seeing our door cracked just like our son’s was instantly has me pausing.

Because it shouldn’t be open.

Just like it shouldn’t be fucking red.

Why are all the doors in the house suddenly red?

Seriously, what the fuck is going on around here?

Did they wake up in the middle of the night to paint this shit, just to fuck with me?

Nudging the blockade with the edge of my boot reveals to me a sight that immediately drops me to my knees on a gut wrenching, “Noooooooooooooo!”

Blood from all three of my slaughtered family members unrelentingly drips from every surface.

Our bed.

Nightstands.

Windowsills.

Even the fucking air conditioner vent.

Taunts are scribbled on our headboard.

The walls.

The door.

Each direction my head wildly turns crimson colors coat whatever they can, turning what was once our paradise into something from my deepest, darkest, most disturbed nightmares.

Nightmares…

Nightmare!

The one word repeatedly echoes throughout my mind prompting my head to slowly shift from one side to the other, cheek scraping against a cold, hard, uneven surface.

Faint groans grow in numbers as nausea transitions into actual bile that burns up the back of my throat in search of an escape.Unfortunately, there isn’t much room for my jaw to lower due to the sticky barrier covering my mouth, leaving me with no choice but to clench my teeth.

Squeeze my eyes tighter.

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