Stains of black, poisonous blood egressed the deceased body as it lay, unconscious in a disorganised heap upon the dilapidated floor. His skin was cold like an ice statue. Still constantly dripping, like a broken tap, the blood seeped into the many cracked floor boards, exploding onto the cellar floor like a deathly, unearthly bomb...

...Rain hammered down like needles of ice onto my back. They pierced my burning skin, throwing chills of pain galloping up my spine. I ran on through the floods until I reached my destination.

A phone box - a towering, battered phone box. Reflections of it swayed in the water as though they were trapped underneath the skin of waves. The disintegrating door blew open due to the increasing force of the wind. Struggling through the foam, which was trying to thrash and haul me into the fragmenting buildings, I waded further into the box, shards of glass shattered everywhere like leaves thundering down in autumn.
I was inside, not that my safety could be determined inside the collapsing phone box. There was nothing left I could do but to wait for the water level to unhurriedly creep higher. The rest of the street was silent, empty, and the skeletal houses glared down at me. I knew it was nearly the end of my life; and nothing could save me. It was only sheer seconds before the water engulfed my last breath, as the waves pounded on top of me, pulse after pulse.

I awoke. Panting and sweating, yes, but I was tucked in between the mattress and the duvet, as though the events of the storm never happened. But they did. The dampness of my clothes proved it.
My head hit the pillow, and a wave of dizziness slammed into me like a truck. Weariness crawled over me – I closed my eyes, the idea of sunlight nauseating me. I didn't remember how I got home. How did I evade mum...?

... A man stood in the shadows, a psychotic grin plastered on his face. As the blood dripped, as the blood dripped. Pushing back the rotting oak door, he scuffled into the basement, not caring whether anyone heard. One step, two step. The glint in his eyes irradiated his face, though no one was there to see him no one but the corpse, whose eyes where open in fright, as the blood dripped.
He admired his work. No one would know it was him. Not if he, too, vanished from existence. He wouldn't be the first. Strange things kept happening in this town, so constantly that it was a miracle that no one had labelled the town 'haunted'. But that was lucky for him, meriting his job and his own selfish needs.
Nodding in content, he disappeared in an icy shower of vapour, leaving only a patch of cold droplets, slowly corroding away the old wood. As the blood dripped... as the blood dripped.

So... Yeah....