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Previously on Listening For That Sweet Tune:
It tasted so sweet it tasted like heaven; it tasted so sweet it tasted like heaven. The record is skipping, my life is skipping, it feels like bugs are crawling underneath my skin and biting at my insides. I rub at my arms hoping that whatever is underneath wont be the death of me. My body feels healed, I feel so fine, the records still skipping. I breathe in and I can smell the dampness in the air—its soaking wet, I am soaking wet. If it was any lighter in here I could look around and just see the air to be some fine red.
Left leg pierced with wood, a key was in my leg, my right hand was stabbed, a crescent like figure from a necklace was inside my palm, my right arm—my shoulder really—had a piece of glass inside of it. Battle wounds that have happened to me to what feels like a few hours but I am sure it has been longer than that. I reached into my pockets after the previous thought just to make sure I still had the objects that have created my soon to be scars. I should be screaming in pain right now but its like someone has chewed out my own throat, I have not screamed and I felt no pain at the moment. I should not be able to walk but here I am with no limp in my steps anymore, the only thing that I could complain about right now was that I have a headache.
Its still skipping, playing the same three seconds over and over—I’m still skipping. I closed my eyes and then I raised my right hand using my thumb and index finger to rub my eyes up to my nose, a great pain was throbbing in my head. As soon as I opened them up again I felt a great rage inside of me and I instantly started turning tables over with such a big anger inside of me—I had to stop that sound, that infernal sound. After thrashing and looking around for several minutes I finally used my head and listened to where the Gregorian chants were coming from and then I soon realized that it wasn't even coming from this room. It sounded like it was right next to me right next to the wall I was standing by but it wasn't. It didn't even have a muffled sound but it was somewhere else.
Before I left the room I went back to my diseased visitor. During the struggle I noticed that he had a handkerchief in his back pocket, I reached down and grabbed it. I then walked back into the hallway, heading further down it getting me closer to the window at the end of the hall and there was another door to my left and a set of French doors to my right. The sound was coming my left so I headed towards that door. I used the handkerchief to clean off my face with all the blood surrounding my lips, when I looked at it afterwards it was just filthy with another mans blood. I then wrapped the handkerchief around the piece of glass that was penetrating out of my right lower shoulder—closer to my armpit now—and ripped it out as fast as I could. It was a clean fix, nothing broke in my arm, no cuts were put on my hands—it felt like a picnic.
I kept the handkerchief though as I threw the glass out of my hands, my other wounds--especially my arm--were still bleeding. Instantly I swung open the door to my left and before I knew it something swung back and hit me—it was just swinging back and forth. I took a few steps back—being surprised a little—to get a full glimpse on what just hit me. It was a man—a dead man to be exact—hung by his neck right on the other side of the door. There was so much adrenaline going through my body, I didn't care, I just pushed him aside as I entered the room, like he was some curtain. Looking back and forth I noticed that several bodies were also hanged in this room, some missing arms, others eyes and so on but that sound, I had to find the sound.
It was to my left. There was a table up against the wall, which is the same wall I heard it coming through when I was in the other room. The sound was coming from a rather large phonograph that appears to have fallen off the ledge and tipped to its side. I approached it and I took off the record to look and see if anything was written on it. On the center of the record it said 'The Prayer To The Morte'. It had no meaning to me; I was still in a mood even though the repeating sound wasn't going off anymore. I flipped the record around a few times in my two hands, I felt like destroying things so I did. I took up my foot and started to smash the phonograph then I turned around to throw the record to the other side of the room. It swung up hitting the upper part of the wall on the other side and before I knew it all the bodies that were hanging from the ceiling dropped like their ropes were cut.
The record shattered into millions of pieces but looking at where the record hit a little white light was coming out from the wall shining brighter up to the point that it was nearly blinding me. I soon saw movement in the light and it looked as if the bodies that were on the ground were creeping closer to me. I soon couldn't see anything and even with my eyes closed the light seemed to pierce through my eyelids. I felt a tug on my leg like something was trying to get my attention and before I was able to open my eyes I lost all feeling in my limbs, I fell to the floor and I joined all the bodies in this house for a nice long rest.
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