The third-story bedroom was like a miniature horror in the household. Jane was merely a little girl. She didn’t understand that she had consequences for her actions. She couldn’t comprehend the terror that was held in that room. So, her mother never told her. She was protective of her daughter, and remained silent about the subject. She never came to the realization that maybe that wasn’t the best idea. She didn’t allow Jane anywhere near it. Jane was never one for listening, though.

It was a beautiful summer day, when the boredom was so strong the minutes felt like hours and the sun never went down. It was a nice day to go outside and play, but for some reason, Jane didn’t feel that way.

She wondered why her mother kept her once favorite room under lock and key for no one to see. Jane didn’t apprehend there were boundaries when it came to asking questions, and this was most certainly one that crossed that line. She wanted somewhere new to go, for there was no Peter Pan, not in this world, and she was most definitely not Wendy, so she remained in an awful universe where there were rules.

Rebellion was in her nature, so she let it take over. She slowly climbed the steps to the second-floor, then the third. Creak, creak went the floorboards. Squeak, squeak went to the mice that just happened to rest underneath them. What a suspenseful tale, that could easily turn to tragedy. Jane just didn’t know it yet. She didn’t realize that it wasn’t just rebellion taking over.

The voices of reason spoke in her mind, warning her, screaming at her. “Don’t do it.” The whispers of everything that was good and evil invader her, but she was in a trance. She was like a zombie, focused, targeting its prey.

The door was now in sight, and Jane knew nothing could keep her out. She didn’t know what was happening to her. It was like she could see everything she was doing, feel her skin crawling. She sobbed, begging herself to stop, but she was stuck inside her own mind, no power. Something, someone, else was taking over.

She was no longer Jane.

The thing that devoured her didn’t need a key to enter, the piece of metal hanging on the doorknob just melting away, without even a touch. The door was ripped off its hinges, being pulled open by “Jane”. It was almost like how Jane’s mind was being ripped apart, into little pieces and thrown to the wind, drifting away.

As she entered, she felt a bone-crushing weight. Snap, snap went her body and she was on the ground, reaching out to find a grip on something, anything, maybe even reality. She looked up at the ceiling, everything a little bit blurry. A red liquid clouded her vision and she felt like her head was exploding, on fire.

The room was coming alive. The bird wallpaper blended together, and Jane thought it was her imagination when she saw one of them peel off the 2D substance. She hurriedly rushed to open the window, needing air. She heaved in uneven breaths and felt like she was drowning above the surface.

Suffocating is an odd feeling.

And suddenly, the window is slammed shut on Jane’s fingers and her wails are silenced by the thing taking a hold of her.

The birds become real flesh and blood, one by one, feathers scattering everywhere. This is not how Jane thought her day was going to go. The squawking of the blood-thirsty winged creature bursts her eardrums, and everything is too loud. Loud, loud, loud.

Until, everything stood still. It was a deafening quietness, and Jane’s thoughts that weren’t her own stopped racing at a hundred miles a minute. The birds dropped to the floor, not moving. She could finally breathe again, and the once gray, almost black sky returned to a bright blue. Everything was normal.

Have you ever heard the saying, “the calm before the storm”?

She could taste metal in her mouth, filling it with ghastly flavors. The fear that once consumed her turned into terror that swallowed her. She could feel herself choking on her own misery. The birds’, doves, Jane assumed by appearance, movements were in unison, dancing together like a wave of water. Funny, she always thought doves were a symbol of peace. Obviously, they were not here to make peace with her.

She frantically pulled her fingers out of the window that trapped her, keeping her in the spot. She desperately yanked her hand out, not caring if some parts were missing.

The fantastic but horrific birds swarmed around her, circling, like she was just their dinner. Really, she thought she was worthy enough to be dessert.

Everything smelled of death, prickling at her skin. The birds attacked, and it was definitely death touching her. They overtook her and the whiteness she entered did not look like heaven.

The walls, once a pretty pink and purple color, became splattered in red.

Now, the door remains closed. And it does not open.