[b]DAY 6: CROOKED – ROOMMATES[/b]

There it was again. That abomination, a dark creature that shouldn't exist. Oliver had never done anything shady that could have caused this situation, not a single thing that would have invited this thing into his home. And yet, there it was, wheezing, its crooked head facing him. It would be wrong to say that it was staring at him, because it had no eyes, just empty sockets filled with void. But that probably made it even more unnerving the way it was facing him. Its cheeks were torn, so it looked like it had a wide grin on its face all the time. Most disturbing thing was the neck: it seemed like it had a horribly deformed spine. It was like this thing's spine had snapped and then somehow penetrated through the neck so part of it was sticking out, making the head appear so crooked. It wasn't a pretty sight. When Oliver had seen it for the first time, he had experienced such fear he hadn't felt ever before and had run away from his new home. Nobody would like to be welcomed to their new place by something like this thing.

But now, to Oliver, this thing felt more like an odd roommate. Sure, it had been tough to get used to it, but eventually, Oliver had realized that there weren't really other options to him than to tolerate its presence. He hadn't expected to get a ghost roommate when he rented this apartment, but hey, strange things happen in life.

Who was this specter? Oliver suspected that it was the previous tenant. He had heard that the guy who lived here before him disappeared suddenly, never to be found. Now, that's a breeding ground for ghost stories. What horrible things must have happened to him that now his spirit looked so messed up and disturbing? Perhaps the truth will never be found.

Oliver sighed a little and decided to get out of his comfy bed. The thing had been standing right by the side, and as Oliver started to make his way to the kitchen, it followed him quietly, but oh so eerily. It was a little past midnight and Oliver should have been sleeping since he got work to do in the morning. But he felt like he couldn't get rest, so he chose to make himself some tea to help him relax. The crooked-head seemed to observe his doings like a pet dog. A very odd dog. The being was a tall guy, taller than Oliver at least, but it had a very bad posture. Though, it was always floating a little, like what you would expect a ghost to do, so it was still taller than Oliver.

After he had finished making his tea, Oliver headed to his couch and sat down, turning his TV on. The crooked-head apparently decided that it wanted to do something else than following him and began to drift hither and thither all around the apartment. Oliver found this to be a bit amusing, seeing that a morbid creature like this guy was just hanging around his place. He sipped his tea and immersed himself in watching a police drama series that was currently shown on TV.

Apparently, he had at some point drifted off as he suddenly woke up, realizing that he hadn't moved to his bed. Oliver checked his wristwatch and came to the conclusion that he could still sleep a couple of hours. What a great news. He also noticed that his little ghost friend was again staying by his side. Oliver cranked himself up and started to head to his bed, the crooked-head following him. As he had successfully laid down to rest in a comfortable position, the ghost was floating in the air right by his side, as if protecting him from nightmares.

What a weird guardian angel he had, Oliver thought to himself. He chuckled a little to this silly idea.

And soon he fell asleep.



[b]DAY 7: BLACK MAGIC – SELF-DESTRUCTION[/b]

It was like a mad vortex of otherworldly powers, barely contained by the fragile walls of the forsaken house. The scene was dominated by a mysterious purple glow that reached even the darkest corners of the room. Magical particles were unleashed, dancing in the center together with dark shadowy figures, their movements probably caused by the untamed strange wind that seemed to be blowing in the house. In the middle of this chaos was a young boy, sitting in the center of the room with a book and few candles, though their flames had been captured by the unnatural breeze, leaving only a slight swirl of smoke behind as a ghastly reminder that their lives were extinguished. The boy was smiling a little, feeling no fear even though the room was getting filled with entities of shadows. But instead of enemies, they were more like friends to him.

However, such alliance comes with a price. The boy had nothing but his soul, though, that was all the cold shadows needed. He wanted power and in exchange, he was ready and willing to give his spirit. It's unnatural to give up the most important part of yourself, so the effects of it are severe. The touch of demons was visible in this poor kid.

Once he had looked like an ordinary and innocent boy. But as his mind got lost on the path of doom, his body soon followed. His body was breaking, like dissolving due to gnawing of hungry demons. His skin was cracking, flaking off like old paint, leaving only patches of darkness behind. Some of his limbs had got cut, but were still somewhat intact thanks to an odd purple material that flowed inside of him. This gave an impression of that the boy had become a horrid puppet, the purple matter performing the role of strings which the demons are pulling. And such idea wasn't far away from the truth. But the boy wasn't aware of this, for as long as the dark beings helped him with his revenge, it was all he asked for. His quest for vengeance had completely blinded him.

Family is important, they say. But what if that isn't the case? What if those who are meant to be your dearest people are the ones who hurt you the most? Every child has a right to get loved, but that doesn't always happen. The boy knew it all too well. All the hateful things they say and do, getting punished for no reason… Eventually the boy snapped. He ran away, hid in the forest, it's not like anyone would care anyway. There was a rumor that a witch lived in that forest. This tale came to his mind as he accidentally found an empty house during his wanderings. It appeared that no one had lived there for a long time. The place was full of odd instruments, ingredients and books. That was the moment when his soul was lost, as he opened the pages of a book of black magic.

In the middle of the twister of dark arts, the boy stood up, spreading out his arms as if embracing the dark forces at play. The mad storm seemed to calm a little, bit by bit unwinding. The purple glow remained, but the raging wind had ended. The shadows had also stayed, circling around him, whispering sinister things to his ears.

He was ready.

So, the boy started to move in a disturbing way, since his body was so broken. But his family was to blame, this appearance just was a manifestation of their hatred towards him. He would make them pay. This self-destruction was all their fault. Sadly, when the deed would be done, the demons would swallow his soul completely. But until then, they would be allies and the boy would execute his vengeance.

[i]I'm coming home.[/i]



[b]DAY 8: CROWN – KING OF FOOLS[/b]

Chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, wrapped delicately by cobweb, barely offering any illumination to the throne room below them. It was such a grim and rather repulsive place, but probably fitting for a kingdom of rot. Everything was dominated by blackness, the floor tiles, walls and the few ramshackle pillars that did their best to support the weight of the ceiling. Few cracks here and there in the otherwise flawless surfaces, the fang of time had bit them. Large tapering windows desperately tried to give more light to the place, trying to do better job than the chandeliers. Some of them, however, just brought more coldness into the freezing room because their glass had broken long time ago. Because they were not protecting the room properly, even in indoors you would have to taste the cold breezes of merciless winter. In the middle, the throne room was split by a red carpet that extended from the doors to the other side of the room, all the way to the throne. Once the carpet had been bright and a sign of royalty, but now it was dull and not worth anything.

Finally, the throne. Perhaps it was the only thing that had still some dignity left in this castle that had already lived its best days. It was a glorious sight, still shimmering in gold and jewels. The first owner of it clearly hadn't salvaged in the process of making it into reality, this was probably the masterpiece of a finest craftsman. The seat was padded with a crimson fur harvested from a mystical beast and the uppermost part had feathers of exotic birds spread out like wings. All in all, it was pretentious, but was still considered splendid. It was an echo from the past, when the kingdom was still living its days of prosperity.

But those times are over. Nothing will remain the same. Time is always on the move and it waits for no one. This place was never meant to live forever, even though the ancestors probably thought it would. And yet, there was still some life left in this castle, it wasn't completely forsaken. A group of people, all pale like ghosts and their bodies of nothing but skin and bones, bowing and crawling on the cold dark floor like maggots. They were just shadows of what had used to be, their ancestors probably would be terrified to see what they had turned into.

Then there was the king. Sitting on his throne, gazing at his subjects with sorrowful and tired eyes. Just like the others, he was just as miserable sight as his people, being nothing but skin and bones. There was nothing outstanding about him, he was just bald and a mass of wrinkles, but perhaps younger than what he looked like. All the years of worries and suffering had just taken a toll on him. He had been leading these people for a little while by now, but he was still missing one important thing: his crown.

But that was the whole point why they all had gathered in here. He was ready to be crowned. Through the crowd, one figure was approaching the throne, carrying a small blue pillow where a precious object was resting. The carrier was old and weaker than most, but he would do this sacred task with pride. Slowly but surely, he made his way to the throne, standing right by king's side. The king gave a glance at the dull golden crown, it was pretty plain. But the special thing about this crown was that there were pointy, sharp plates at the bottom. The function of them being obvious.

The old man placed the pillow carefully down next to the throne, being so cautious with it that it was almost like he was afraid it would break. Then he picked up with both hands the object that was a sign of royalty and raised it. For a brief moment he was holding it for the whole crowd of people to see. He got no responses. Then, he shifted the crown so it was positioned above the king's head. It was time to make him the true king.

Maybe it was the force of his ancestors guiding his hands, but the old man struck the crown to the king's head with surprisingly mighty strength. The plates at the bottom sunk to his skull, infiltrating his brain. Now it would be harder to steal the crown. Blood started to flow from the freshly inflicted wounds, staining his bald head red. But he felt no pain. This physical ache was nothing compared to the years of agony he had endured. This was his destiny, to be the leader of these poor people.

The king stood up from his throne. The people followed his example and raised their misery-ridden bodies. Tepid cheering could be heard. This was the time when their fates would change. But for better or worse, nobody knew. It was all depending on their king.



[b]DAY 9: GRENADE – JUST ANOTHER YOUNG LOST SOUL[/b]

It was the darkest night that there had been for a while. Sky looked pitch-black, it was like a void, ready to swallow the world to its murky maw. Below this vastness was a small town, sleeping, not many people were up at such late hour. And yet, there was lights all over the settlement, for those lost souls that still wandered in the soaked streets – there had been rain during the day, but now it had ceased. The only sign of this was the puddles and wet ground, the lights of the town shimmering in them. The plays of lights and shadows were quite fabulous, in their own way, and gave a moment of unique beauty to the town.

One of the citizens in this small place was a teenage boy, Luke. He was still wandering in the streets, but nobody cared, really. Perhaps he was trying to find a proof that somebody would actually care, but so far, his search had been futile. In his hand he had a hand grenade, playfully tossing it into air and then catching it again. Very dangerous play, but he didn't worry about it. He wouldn't mind if it blew to his face. He was dead anyway. He felt like an undead garbage, roaming these streets to just finally find a place to die and vanish completely. But at the same time, he felt like he should linger in this world just a little while longer. After all, this was his only opportunity to experience this world.

Luke had been so occupied by his dark thoughts that he almost bumped into someone. He stopped his going, grasping the grenade in his hand tightly. He realized that this guy was staring at him, having an oddly soft smile on his face. 

“What are you looking at?” Luke snapped at him.

“Oh, nothing much”, the man replied. “I simply want to have a word with you before you… do something hasty.”

“Oh, fuck off”, Luke muttered at him and was ready to continue his maybe final journey in this town.

But as the boy was passing him by, the man grabbed his shoulder, and spun him so they would be face to face.

“Luke, I know you are troubled”, the man spoke oh so tenderly. “Let's have a little chat, okay?”

The teenager looked at him very suspiciously.

“How do you know my name?” he asked, feeling a bit curious now. He was slightly surprised that the man hadn't reacted to the grenade – yet.

“I know quite a lot about you, Luke”, the man answered. “You could say that I'm sort of… like a guardian angel. It is my duty to know things about your life. I know there's plenty of painful things happening in your life now, having no friends, getting bullied at school, the death of your father… I'm terribly sorry for all the harrowing mess you've had to endure.”

The teenager huffed at him.

“So?” Luke snapped at him, visibly angry now. “You can know stuff but that isn't really helpful, you know?”

Frustrated, he began to toss and catch the grenade again.

“There are many young people like you”, the man said. “Lost souls in a pinch, not knowing what to do…”

“How about seeing me as an individual and not as a part of a mass?” Luke spoke angrily. “You can't help me. You don't understand me. I know my way out of this shit.”

“I know that you're upset, but…” The man's voice faded as he looked at the teenager with sorrowful eyes.

“Thanks for fucking nothing”, Luke growled.

He pulled the pin out of the grenade.

And in a few seconds, it exploded, effectively blowing up both Luke and the strange man. The burst wasn't that large, but it indeed did messy job. Parts of bodies in a pool of blood, in such morbid pieces that it was impossible to tell which part was which. This was the end of suffering for Luke.

The man, on the other hand…

The parts of him started to glow in white, beginning to squirm around like maggots. They collectively started to gather to one place, and as they all were squished together in a pile, a figure rose from it, taking a shape of a human. The white glow disappeared, revealing the familiar figure of the man that had just blown up.

“Poor boy”, he stated as he gazed at the gory remains of Luke. “I'm sorry I had to trick you like that, but you know the rules. I'm a demon, after all. And your soul is so tasty.”

The more suffering, the more delicious thing the soul was. A blue bird-shaped object had appeared, floating above the remains of the teenager. The man caught it, touched it tenderly – then gobbled it up. Into his mouth it disappeared. He let out a content sigh, then walked away like nothing had happened.



[b]DAY 10: NEEDLES – BLOOD OF THE MOTHER[/b]

Unnatural darkness had enveloped the world. Nobody knew why. It happened so suddenly; it was like a punishment by gods to a crime that was never even done. Whatever was the reason behind this calamity, the mortals had to act quickly in order to survive. It wasn't the perpetual darkness that was a huge problem, for with the dusk came shadow creatures that would attack anything in their path. The world had become such a hostile place that it was almost impossible to live in it. But the people of certain region were lucky, mostly because they were still devoted worshippers of a certain goddess. In a time of need, she created a safe haven for her people, inside a heap of mountains. In there, they were sheltered from the dangers of the outside world. And the goddess descended into the earth, living together with her people – such thing hadn't happened in thousands of years. But the world was changing, and so would the deities.

Soon became apparent that there was a shortage of food. Some underground rivers did flow through the mountains, so fetching water was possible. But the lack of food was a problem. Perhaps some mushrooms could be found, but that was it. However, the goddess came up with a solution.

It was her blood. If the mortals drank her divine blood, her very essence, they could gain life power. At first, it sounded rather barbaric and the people were unsure about this, but in the end, they didn't want to starve to death. With the leadership of priests, they began to harvest blood from their goddess. They used very thin needles and a tube, sticking the needle to the goddess and the blood would pour to the tube. Consuming this red fluid gave the people a feeling that was similar with an ecstasy. It didn't completely wipe out hunger, but the miraculous sensation they got helped them to forget their need. And for a while, things seemed to be fine in their underground community.

But the time passed by. After some years, these people were nothing but shadows of their former glory. They had grown pale and thin because of the lack of sun and nourishment. They had withered, having constant hunger plaguing them. However, they were in delight in their fragile little minds, incapable of understanding their plight. There was no pain in their dull hearts, there was no hope for something better. They didn't remember the outside world anymore; they didn't remember what their lives had used to be. They were living in a perfect world, if you asked them.

In the center of the mountains there was the chamber of the goddess. The Mother. The space was very large, for she needed a lot of room due to her gigantic body. At the middle of everything was where she was crouching, remaining still, barely moving at all. Her bare arms were filled with small dotted scars, result of constantly having needles sticked to her skin. Even now, few priests were getting that precious blood out of her, with dirty needles that had seen better days. Every now and then few blooddrops would fall to the ground. The people were so addicted to the Mother's blood that some would loiter around her, just waiting for that moment when drops would fall and they would instantly dash to them and start licking the blood from the ground, only to be soon driven away by the priests so they wouldn't get in the way.

The Mother was miserable. To witness her children becoming like these blood lusting shadows was making her heart ache in a way that nobody could understand. But this was the only way she could help her children survive. She was a goddess, but felt so helpless. She could only continue to guard them in the heart of the mountains. Her people perhaps had forgotten the outside world, but she still hoped that better days would come.