Frantisek

Insane Clown Posse seems to be blaring on full speaker in the house next to yours, waking the entire neighborhood on this freezing October night. You assume the music must be playing on a radio or something of the sort, since it keeps autoplaying random tracks from a variety of artists.

The sounds leak into your eardrums and force them to feel as if they're oozing blood, so you finally get up from your bed and head outside to tell whoever is playing that God awful racket to shut the fuck up.

The house is a dark shade of blue, naturally decorated with albino cobwebs, old rain resting on every individual thread; crescent mist caressing a building that looks more like a mini cathedral than a home. Windows appear shattered - perhaps as a prank from shitty neighborhood kids - yet, when you peer in, there is no sign of life. The door looks old, paint peeling slightly to uncover black wood gasping for life.

As you knock, there is no answer. You knock again, this time harder, and find the door opening. You hesitate, before the noise pollutes your senses and your anger bubbles up once more.

When you head in, you walk through a dark, black and white checkered hallway with doors appearing every four steps you take. You can hear the draining cacophony become louder and louder as you drag your feet to a room : it appears to have a checkered floor, with splatters of red stains and a large table in the middle, all blanketed with gentle red light.

When you take a step into this eerie place, you can now make out four people sitting on that table, so you rush at them, clearing your throat to talk about them turning down the noise. They do not reply. You shout louder, and they still do not reply. You pat the shoulder of the one nearest to you, only to flinch away immediately as you feel your hand covered in something... wet. As you carefully study the substance, you realize... it's blood.

The head of the body turns to your direction, its face more hideous than any monster Frankenstein ever created - an eye absent from the left socket, the skin around it savagely cut and its wrinkly mouth hanging open, many of the yellow stained teeth gone as the tongue has been jaggedly cut off. You flinch away, surveying how all of the people on this table shared the same scars.

"Hmm, hmm~♪" A voice humms, singing along to the tune on the radio.

You're frozen in shock, so the only thing you can do is follow him with your eyes.

A tall man, 6'4 or 6'3 , with long, black hair that seemed to sway devilishly in the breeze. His clothes look like they came from an older era - his frilly shirt is fully coal-colored and his pants match, with dark red embroidery along the sides of each leg. His shoes are pointed and decorated in white ribbons, stained with what you assume is blood as he dances.

He's dancing with the limp body of a woman, dressed in a red ball gown, her brunette hair tied up in a bun. As he turns around, you notice how scarred up his face is, and how he hides his left eye.

Once he notices you, his grey eye widens and he drops the woman's body immediately.

"D-darling?!"

He calls out, rushing towards you before picking you up and spinning with you in his arms.

"Ah, it's been so long... How I've missed you."

He puts you down, and hugs you.

The thing is, you two have never met before, and everyone assumed that the owner of this house was a woman.. So who the hell is this man, and why is he calling you his lover?