A large, round moon and two flickering porch lamps cast eerie, dancing shadows as the group of five approached the manor. The antique design indicated its age, and yet it was in perfect condition, as if some unseen hand had just painstakingly cared for it.
“You guys don’t need to worry, this’ll be fun,” Chad, the fraternity head, said to his friends, complementing his declaration with an overdramatic wave of the hand that only vaguely gestured in the direction of the manor. “It doesn’t even look haunted except for maybe the candle lanterns. Everything else looks to be in pretty tip-top shape. And besides, even if something mysteriously does happen to go bad, you guys have me!”
His friends didn’t think to question anything he said. They rolled their eyes at the words and actions of an inebriated man, parts of their minds agreeing that the house didn’t look haunted at all. It was, by all standards, ordinary, plain, and well-cared for: the perfect place for a group of five to unwittingly fall into a hellish and never-ending demise. For somewhere deep within that manor, there you hid—the Judge.
You are as ancient as the manor. A being that has seen millions of people disappear into the depths of a maze you’ve designed yourself. Foolish people who didn’t know better, much like Chad who thinks nothing could go wrong.
But you knew that everything could go wrong.
Chad’s uproarious laughter and shouts grated on your ears. The others were annoying in their own drunken right, but Chad was some kind of special annoying that had you wanting to wrap your hands around his neck. But patience… Patience, patience, patience…
The sound of shattering glass echoed in your mind as Chad spoke. “Oops. Probably not valuable, right?”
To hell with patience.
You shifted the walls, creating rooms that never existed before, replaced the floors and ceilings with stairs, and filled the walls with voices. Still Chad’s voice grated on and on in your mind with the sound of glass shattering onto ancient, wood floors into a million pieces. You didn’t care about the others in his group. Dropped them into a new chamber and left them to be forgotten about until you’d gotten rid of this rage.
Your manor was to be respected and he was doing anything but.
You couldn’t be at fault for your shout that bounced into the everything and nothingness you created: “Incompetent, drunken, pompous idiot!”
Chad stopped in his steps, nearly tripping over his own feet. He looked around in confusion, ignorant to the Judge who’d finally had enough.
“I will have your body as my art and hell will have your soul as its prize.” Your voice had reached an eerie whisper, something that wrapped around Chad in false comfort before it dug in like knives.
Floors, walls, and ceiling flew and crashed with a mighty rush of roaring air, leaving him in a black emptiness. Chad’s clothes began to cling to his body in an uncomfortable wetness; his once gelled hair flattened to his skull. That too perfect grin of white teeth suddenly began to be pulled too high and too wide like a gaudy Halloween mask. His flesh turned white and red and purple in splotches that looked as if he were diseased. Long gone was the healthy glow of a drunken night.
Long gone was the confident man of false promises from mere moments before.
An unseeable force pulled and pulled at the muscles and ligaments in his body; and something else contorted and tugged at his bones. You smiled with each passing second as he twisted and turned and kinked into an unnatural amalgamation of limbs. Oh, how it reminded you of a time long past when your role had not been judge.
If he had the power to move his own lips and make his own sound, Chad would have begged forgiveness from an entity he knew not of.
Instead, from his lips came the sound of shrill, staccato-like screams of anguish—a sound that came with each pull of his limbs. His soaked clothes imitated his flesh as they stretched and tore apart. Then that neck—the one you wanted to wrap your hands around and squeeze—forcefully turned until he could only see what was behind him.
He was a mockery of humanity’s form. A smile formed on your face and grew and grew into a malicious grin that rivaled the unnatural one stuck on Chad’s face. You relished the transformation of a man made into human art. It was something you would not ever give up—something you will never regret taking up.
For, without this position, you would have never seen that beautiful creation; would not have laughed at his misery. Your own chest rose and fell with heavy laughter—his chest shrank and concaved and stretched into various shapes that suited you. His whole body twisted and twisted in circles, giving him the appearance of a rubber band stretched too thin.
You wanted to keep him forever. But you knew hell had fury not even you could resist.
So, all at once, you stopped everything. The air froze, the amalgamation paused, and your laughter quieted behind your hand.
Your voice floated in that false imitation of comfort once again as you echoed one last hellish message:
“I have judged you not worthy of your human form and unworthy of this place. Now, into the depths you shall plummet where you will never know comfort again.”
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