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One afternoon, a boy went out to take a stroll through the woods that surrounded his house. He started to feel really tired, so he sat down in the shade of a large oak and closed his eyes, and he fell asleep.
He woke up a quite a few hours later. The sun had set, and it was dark. Very dark. He got up and started hurrying home, wondering if his parents had started worrying about him being out so late. He finally reached the edge of the woods, and there was his house. But something was strange. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it until he realised that it was very dark, yet the house lights weren’t on. He didn’t think too much of it though, and just kept on running. He got to the front door and realised that it was already ajar. This was where he started to get worried.
He slowly opened the door and looked inside. Not being able to see anything, he fumbled for the light switch. Finally he found it. He switched the lights on, and he gasped at what he saw. The lounge & kitchen was trashed. Chairs were broken, tables lying on their side. Practically everything was on the floor, broken into pieces.
He turned the bloody doorknob and opened the door to his parents bedroom. He stood in the doorway. Frozen. Frozen in fear and shock by what he was seeing. Laying on the floor were his parents. At least if you could still recognise them, that is. Their bodies had been hewn apart, bit by bit, joint by joint, so that what remained was pieces. Half a finger here, another kneecap there. However the abhorence of this scene was that all the pieces had been place back in order. Some sick twisted thing had hewn their bodies into tiny pieces, and then tried to put them back into order. Like some disgusting version of puzzle.
The sight of it al was too much for him. He bent over in disgust, and emptied his stomach of his half digested lunch. Suddenly there was a noise from behind him. Someone must have heard him vomit. He turned around, ready to bolt, but he was too late. A fast moving wooden plank emerged out of the darkness behind and hit him square on the back of his head. He was knocked out cold. Completely unconcious.
He woke up with a gasp. He looked around, trying to see where he was. Suddenly, he realised. He was sitting in the shade of the great oak. The sun had set, and it was dark. Very dark. Just a dream he reassured himself.
It was just a dream.
He got up and started hurrying home, wondering if his parents had started worrying about him being out so late. How could I have slept for so long, he thought. Finally, he reached the edge of the woods, and there was his house. Something was wrong though. The lights were off.
No, it couldn’t be, he thought. He was sure that it all had just been a very bad dream. A very bad nightmare. Realising that the last thing he remembered in his ‘dream’ was been hit in the back of the head, he slowly rose his hand. Time slowed as he raised his hand to feel for the bruise that prove whether it was just a dream or not.
It was just dream, he thought. Or wasn’t it?
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