Cold winds of the night woke Theodore, a lanky silver-haired boy aged twelve. The little wisdom the boy had told him that was a horrific indicator of something gone wrong. Upstairs from his room, the smell of iron was ever-so present and growing with every step. His twin sister laid in her bed, sound asleep. The air stood still.

“Wake up, sister.” he whispered out. The silence looming from the stairwell crept unto his mind. It consumed him. There wasn’t a sound to be heard aside from his own heartbeat. Her breath, he thought. Why’s it silent?

The answer was in front of him, but he couldn’t accept. He wouldn’t. “Open your eyes!” he begged unto her. Tears streamed forming what seemed like it would be a never-ending river. The child took hold of her blood-coated shoulders and shook the life back into her, reanimating her corpse. “You must wake! You must.. We’ve lessons in the morning.. We’ll be scolded if we’re late again..” he shouted in confusion and anger in between coughs and mindless whining.

“What is it, Teddy?” a familiar voice came from the open door. “Why are you in your sister’s room?” Time froze. Theodore’s breath stopped as it felt like his neck was being squeezed shut by a murderous grip. He opened his mouth to speak explanations but nothing came out except for a shallow, shaky breath. He could taste blood.

Despite the lack of light in the room, her intuitions spelled out the situation in blinding illumination. His mother unsheathed a small knife from behind a candle. “You’ve taken another, this time your own self.. You won’t take any more, demon.”

“Mother, it isn’t what you think!” Theodore pleaded to no avail as his mother charged at him with the knife raised above her head, the reflection of blood filling her bloodshot eyes. The boy raised his hands in defense and squeezed his eyes shut with pursed lips as the knife was swung down towards him.

SLICE.

A cold breeze consumed Theodore’s body but spared his mind that was melting over the fires of hell. He opened his eyes to find the blade dug straight through the palm of his hand, the hilt resting on his skin. “Ma . . .” the child spout before a darkness flooded from the seams of his vision. He laid back with a thump on the bed next to his sister, bathing in bloody sheets.

Suddenly Theodore’s consciousness sparked, his airway being constricted. Both of his hands reached up to pull at his mother’s, wrapped around his throat. The knife through Theo’s hand bent forward and back as he put pressure against his mother, fighting for his life.

With one motion, the conflict came to a halt. An arrow plowed through the forehead of his mother, splattering blood over his cheeks. Her hands lost all strength in an instant. The both of them collapsed, Theodore losing consciousness yet again.