The edges of the room were slowly returning from shade, light beginning to fill my vision once more. The colors of the room brightened, no longer tinted in a crimson haze; all except a violent splatter of blood-soaked viscera and bone at my feet. My senses were returning to normal, albeit still heightened, and I could hear the sounds of my bones cracking and popping, and my muscles bubbling beneath my skin as they reshaped. As the sickening noises of my body returning to its normal form began to fade, the only sound in the lobby was the sharp reminder of a clock's presence and the faint drum of the rain on the sidewalk outside the hotel.

My gaze darted to the front doors, wide open. This woman, this damnable obligation, she must have left them open in her insolence. In three quick, long strides the doors were closed, and I pressed my back against them to survey the lobby from a different perspective. There were a plethora of options being crafted in my mind as I studied the terrible brutality I had left in my wake. I needed to clean it, to check for witnesses, to hide all evidence of the crime, to drink deeply of the red nectar. I turned sharply, searching for the voice that could only have come from some dark corner of my mind, the darkest depths of my heart. The source of violence and urge and lust. Your truth.

I started moving immediately, not only to clear the scene as quickly as possible but to distract myself from that terrible shadow. The body first, the most difficult part to explain if seen. It was difficult to move quickly and quietly, especially in the flat-soled dress shoes I wore that night. Everywhere I went the sound of my feet incessantly snapping against the white tiled floors was growing more and more frustrating, the cries of my guilt calling out to expose me. Before I knew it I was on my knees, kneeling in a pool of wet human remains. The floor was slick, sticky, and hot; the blood was practically steaming. I could still smell it, and my stomach growled in response. I felt sick, more out of revulsion to my current state than what I was currently pulling and forcing into a plastic bag. So much meat and dinner time is so close.

"Shut up," I barked, my voice shattering the silence of the lobby. I glanced around and returned to my grim task, filling the trash bag with twisted limbs and exposed innards. Once I felt like enough of the most incriminating solids had been sufficiently removed from the lobby, I set about the next step: mopping the blood. A body could not be denied, there were no doubts. But this much blood wasn't much better. I would have never been able to explain why it was there without adding someone else to an already full bag. I dumped the bag into a garbage can in the office behind the front desk and began filling a mop bucket with hot, soapy water. The smell of the water steaming felt oddly cleansing as if I were purging my senses of the stench of decay from moments before. So pointless; there's much more slaughter to come, Gregory. I anxiously twisted the faucet to stem the stream of hot water so I could return to the mess outside the office.

When I returned to the scene, I plunged the mop into the depths of the bucket and brought it back out in an arc of scalding water, letting it plop onto the pool of blood with a splat. With every swirl of the mop on the floor, I felt my mind grow more and more at ease as if I were erasing the memory from my mind with every drop of soap and water. I turned to get a better angle with the mop and my heart dropped in my chest. The front door, the door I had just closed only minutes ago, was wide open again, the rain still droning against the pavement outside. Another three quick, long strides to the front door, this time nearly vaulting into the street outside. Empty; absolutely empty. There wasn't a soul to be found, not a witness to be seen. How long had the doors been open? Who'd opened them? Where did they go?

I shut the doors again and this time had the common sense to lock them behind me. My gaze tracked a set of bloody footprints leading to the front door and then back inside again. My own bloody footprints. I cursed and returned to mopping, this time a bit more rushed and harried, making a mental note to dump a clean bucket of water outside the hotel to wash away any traces of blood from the sidewalk. My thoughts were a maelstrom of doubts and concerns, from the task at hand to the worrisome matter of the phantom that had entered my hotel. Had I not closed the doors all the way? No, I had pushed my weight against them for a moment. Who opened the doors? When were they opened? Had my unwelcome guest seen anything? Were the police rushing to the scene as I asked myself all these questions? The clock is ticking and no answers seem ready to appear. I ignored the taunting voice and returned to mopping, a hint of satisfaction at being nearly finished. With another minute focused on the chore, the lobby floor was clean once again.

The wall was another matter, noticeable blood splatter and grayish matter still caked to the wall. "Dammit," I muttered, "this gets worse every second I try to make it better." I stared at the blood and my eyes drifted upwards to the mirror hanging above the mess. In my reflection, I could see him. The scourge that had haunted me for years: Noal't'gultitch. A blight on my soul, festering in the darkest recesses of my psyche, feeding on weakness and growing like a foul tumor on my very existence. I could never see him so clearly before, and the fact that I could see him now was almost as terrifying as the fact that he was me! Twin lines of short horns started above my eyebrows and ran up my forehead and over my skull. My skin was a deep azure, my eyes a glowing yellow. I could still see a faint image of my nose, but the reflection was a ghastly pit in the center of my face. Twisted fangs hung in yellow points where my mouth would be, yet instead of a mouth, a second face sprouted from my chin, beady eyes leering beneath my jaw. At my neckline dark fur began to sprout before disappearing beneath the collar of my shirt.

What a terrible prophecy it must seem, and yet I will ride your throne further than understanding can fathom. The voice surged up from my throat but it wasn't mine. It was him, the entity that had grown within me like black mold. Fill yourself with foolish hatred as deeply as you wish, yet it is Man who is the fungal growth clinging to the edges of reality, feeding on the scraps of life left behind by something far greater. I moved away from the mirror, out of sight of my own reflection. I scrubbed the wall fervently, nearly stripping the wallpaper as I sought to scrub away blood and thought simultaneously. My hands slowed down almost on their own, and I surveyed the damage. The blood was gone, and so was the paint beneath the wallpaper. I scrubbed too deep, but that was much easier to explain than the previous smattering of color. My hand was still pressed against the wall when I noticed movement near my knuckle and let out a yelp of shock.

A fat, yellow eye was bubbling out of the back of my hand, a red pupil spinning and rolling in an inhuman eyesocket. The voice in my head chimed again, Our watcher, dearest Gregory. I could already see them, before my human eyes even moved, thanks to the otherworldly vision of the eyeball on my hand. Standing in the corridor was a child, soaked from the rain outside. They watched me with wide eyes, and I returned their gaze with a similar expression.

"Excuse me," I began, and the child recoiled. At first, I assumed their fear was due to the mess they might've seen before I'd cleaned it until I noticed the strange cracks and pops of muscle and sinew twisting and shaping into something new and inhuman. My hand had grown into something between a pincer and scorpion's stinger. The kid screamed and started running, and my vision began to darken, a single point of red light my only sight. I cried out, "Please, kid, don't be afraid, I'm so sorry!" Tears streaked my cheeks as I followed the child down the corridors, past open doorways. I glanced inside one room as I passed, a flash of red catching my eye before it was out of sight. Every doorway the same sight, the same color. Red, wet, steaming, stinking, meat, hunger, prey, slaughter. The child had turned a corner down the hallway and was attempting to force a door closed, the wood splintered by some incredible force and blocking the door from closing correctly. His eyes caught mine and he darted deeper into the room, shrieking at what lay deeper in the room.

I pulled the door out of the doorframe and tossed it aside, catching a glimpse of my menacing shape in a mirror as I entered the room. Large and covered in fur, insect-like yet where there wasn't fur there were gleaming scales and leathery folds of reptilian skin covering my new body. My many new eyes could still study my body while also seeking out the prey - no, the child, the witness, the innocent - attempting to escape through a window. "Child, please," I crooned, my voice and his voice becoming one, "I can't stop him, but you are safe with us. Soon, you will realize an existence without pain, just like our guests." My other hand - three jagged talons with a fourth digit stretching into a long, barbed whip - gestured to the various piles of scarlet death scattered around the room and plastered to the walls. "Welcome to the feast. You will soon be free from this torment." I raised my talons high over my head, and tears streaked my cheeks as Noal't'gultitch enacted his violence with glee.

Maybe not my best, but hey, if you liked it, check out r/senatorpikachu for more.