“Die in the past,” Andre garbled, lisp wet, in the choked tone of a suffocated corpse.

As he stepped forward, oil slick feathers grew from under parchment skin. His lower jaw protruded, and then came to a point, teeth tumbled to the mud. One eye became a black orb, though it still held a spark of purple light, still hated. Slick mummified flesh became a riot of meat and bone. Eyes shifted, set above set, until he had eight eyes, half avian, and half a corpse’s leer. Talons stretched, out of his back with the brittle snaps of an egg tread upon. Kayden stepped back, mind assailed by the horrid visage. His brother approached with talons long as a cloak and of a dirty corn yellow. Andre lurched forward at an uncanny speed, despite the bedlam of his form.

Kayden turned away with a shriek. Mind filled with the horror of Andre’s riotous form. He ran. The horn honked in Hooper’s Cheery, sickly yellow eroded to a plum-purple like an old bruise. Out into the bog he dashed.

The words of Astrad the Augur returned. That, in spite of the corrupted Word that infected him, he was the Dreamer in this Dream Land born of his memories. He ran but closed his eyes.

A door formed in his mind. He opened his eyes. It appeared in Blackberry Bog, frame attached to nothing. Kayden laughed, though it was jagged, disconnected.

Kayden ran for it, but a devilish idea seized him. It had been so long, since he’d even thought of Andre, it mused, so it would be a shame to not, at least, look at his brother. The horror, which was his kin, raced through the mire, only the corpse eye remained his human. Withered arms and legs propelled the deformed body, but the talons made its speed unearthly. Sets of wings had sprouted from random places upon the back, one from the upper stomach. Feathers fell, they molted, but more grew to replace them. The lower beak lolled to reveal the youthful face of Andre, eyes filled with terror.

He pulled away from the plea in his eyes. Kayden slammed into the door, blood gushed from his nose. Feet slipped out from under him, and he bounced on the hardwood floor. A table leg struck his shoulder, which stopped his slide. Back to the door he looked, but the door to the Blackberry Bog closed.

“God,” he sobbed.

“Boy,” a choked voice laughed.

Isaac grabbed the table, and briars of rusted iron ensnared it. He flung it against the wall. It busted to pieces. Up onto his feet, Kayden scrabbled, though the mud was still slick on his shoes. He fell back from his father.

The nest of briars drew back into Isaac’s mouth; gut bulged till ready to burst. He bent, smile broad. Out from his back the creepers burst, blood splattered the walls. They dug into the floor and ceiling to corrupt the very house. Rust bit into plaster and wood, steel and glass. As he laughed, his head swelled to colossal proportions. Bones snapped, skin ripped like paper, and his head grew. It fell to the floor, too heavy to be held aloft. Muscles and teeth were exposed, where the skin had not grown fast enough. Kayden screamed, again frozen in horror. Empty sockets were filled with bruised purple light, until twin nests of tentacles burst forth. Instead of suckers, rings of barbs were covered in plum color pollen. Isaac’s laugh was the dull witted mirth of an idiot devil in hell; yet, it was thrice as malicious. Teeth clattered together, and severed the fat tongue. Even when blood sprayed from the stump, the chortle never faltered. Out of the severed end a slick bud grew. It unfurled as a flower faced by the sun, although the petals of rusted skin held red eyes with ruptured pupils.

“No,” Kayden shook his head, but his mind devoured the horror.

Every man or woman held an animal inside, which came to the fore in times of stress. One would fight, freeze, but the other would run. Kayden felt the urge to flee, feeling consumed thought.

He dashed away. Isaac laughed, and every creeper thrummed. A roar boiled up from deep in the writhing core of Kayden’s father. He lurched towards his son, and the house about them began to snap.

The back door to the home led out into the yard. Kayden had entered through it, but every other exit was cut off. It burst open, but he ran into another room in the house. Into the living room he ran, snowy television cast a haunted glow. His mother stared through the screen. Light pooled in eyes, bones of her face sharp. Strings of his heart were plucked, but Isaac came. She was slight in her dress, hollowed out. The mass of flesh and petals crushed all in its path, yet she still sat, crushed in an instant. The next room from Kayden’s house and his family blended into one. Again, his mother sat. Past her he moved; although, he could force eyes from his father; they fell upon her. In his mother’s eyes was one, who had left in all but flesh. No reaction came, when the rusty vine smashed her into the floor.

Again, he bashed through the door. The room’s horror struck and staggered him. So fetid was the filth, he coughed up vomit, but closed his mouth to the compost heap stench. A buzzing thrummed throughout, vibrations sung. The rusty creepers had infected the room. They slithered and slid. About the derelict home they probed. Like a cancer, the room was corrupted by the touch. Blackened veins spread yet his mother still sat. She stared at the television, inert, except for the slight rise and fall of her chest. The malignance spread by Isaac’s corrupted form defiled her, but still she sat, still apathetic to the agony. Dark ichor dripped from her eyes like tears, and it fell from a slack mouth. As Kayden passed, her gaze rose to him with a glimmer, hope of salvation. Resigned to fate, she knew the future, and all the hours of misery.