Mortiz woke up. 

The pain inflicted on his face was no longer stinging against his eyes, mouth, and other areas around. It was like the coalescence of his suffering flourished out of his mind and soul, and he was once pure from sin again. 

He felt baptized. As if the sun was kindled against his fur and skin with a welcoming embrace; Vincent felt like he could shed a tear of comfort as his purification blessed him.

As he stared at the ceiling above, he felt a feathered mattress supporting his back, held by a wooden frame below instead of the hardwood floor. His feet touched the timber ends, realizing that the crib was the exact size and height of himself, from top to bottom. 

The room filled with the essence of salts and vinegar, a familiar smell which the lupine enjoyed being submerged in whenever he woke up from his slumber. 

Vincent scanned the area. Before his eyes, revealed the interior of a small, wooden room. There was a desk and a wooden chair tucked inside from across the bed, and a nightstand adjacent to it. There was a candlestick melted onto the table, and a small book and quill laid in front of it.  

The ceiling was tilted down to the right side of the room, almost like the place itself had the roof as its infrastructure. Almost like an attic. 

He couldn't remember what he dreamt about, but it was dreadful enough that his fingers would be stained with tears upon wiping his eyes. What he saw through his sleep felt almost real; Mortiz felt like he was transported in a never-ending tale of nightmares before he could wake up again. 

Mortiz relaxed into his bed a little, as the Vincent family's cabin felt warm against his skin. 

Shuffling out of his bed, he went over to the trapdoor far across from where he woke up, unlatching the exit by pulling on the lever sticking out on the floor. He slowly treaded down to the stairs which led to the living room and kitchen. 

From the end of the stairs, his eyes met two more pairs: at the supper table, sat both parents: Joseph and Elestera Vincent. Mortiz's father was a white-furred wolf, and Elestera was a gray. As the young lupine inhibited his father's crimson eyes, he also inherited his mother's fur pattern, instead of what was expected to be an arctic-like attire from Joseph. 

Both of them seemed occupied while waiting for the boy to wake up- Elestera was knitting, and Joseph had just finished the newsprints of 1750 in order to transcribe historical artifacts into a journal. His mother was suited with a blue blouse and an apron, and his father wore his casual white dress shirt, accompanied by some thin overalls which were hooked from his brown trousers. His cap hung by the end of his chair. 

They both looked at their son once he trotted down the stairs.

He felt at ease upon seeing his parents, especially her mother. She had the aura of hospitality- her hair as glossy as the stars he counted through the windows before he slept, and her eyes glimmered of the effervescent moonlight. She was an angel whose wings were plucked. 

“You missed breakfast." The lupine's father began, after clearing his throat. He took a sip of his boiled water, his other hand pulling the chair next to him.  “Sit, there's some stew left. I got a good deal from the nightforager in a fortnight, and your mother was peculiarly keen on cookin' you something nice and special, today." 

“Hey, tell me a day where I cut my efforts on filling your bellies!" Elestera let out a laugh, nudging her husband with the sharp end of her knitting stick. She eventually gave herself a brief pause on her little hobby, and stood up towards the kitchen and stove. There laid a metal pot, which seemed to be piping upon Elestera opening the lid. 

Mortiz didn't know what to say.

He felt like he should have a sense of familiarity by then, but something felt off, as if the reality around him was sickly warped. 

Everything felt like a deja-vu, even if he felt like the day was anew. 

He shook it off, and quickly walked to the table, sitting next to his father.

“I am sorry that you had to wait before eating without me." The lupine replied, rubbing the back of his head semi-sheepishly, and semi-pensively. “I… I think I had a catastrophe of a dream." 

“You were screaming in your sleep last night." His mother added on, grabbing a ceramic bowl and a ladle, stirring the contents inside of the pot. “Did you read something violent again? Have you accessed your father's bookshelves?"

“No… I haven't thought about touching it for a while." Mortiz looked down at the table, before focusing on his father once again upon hearing the old man loudly sigh. 

“Again with the bookshelves!" Joseph rolled his eyes, partly-humored by his wife. His voice was husked, mainly from his mild irritation from Elestera. “My beloved, I can assure you that my contents are stored inside of a box, which is locked beyond our son's comprehension. Would you bestow upon me a break?" The older male lupine sighed, turning to his son. “But yes, your mother is right. You were suddenly crying. Shrieking as if you were being swarmed by a bunch of Whipper's. It got worse over the early dawn. You were suddenly laughing after all that. Like a fiended yeen finding a cadaver to feast on." 

“Have… Have I been really?" The lupine looked down at his lap once more, feeling embarrassed upon the circumstances. 

 
“Could you not have found a better way to describe things without a spick of mentioning death, Joseph Maracel Vincent?" Elestera laughed, before sliding a thick plate of mush in front of Mortiz. “Your father had to come up to the room with my kitchen knife when it started. But enough about your sleep. You'll feel better once you eat this, Tizzy. I've made it nice and warm, just for you." 

His mortification would soon go away upon feeling Elestera's lips pressed against the young wolf's forehead. He smiled, before picking up his spoon. The texture itself was almost at a thick consistency, but the lupine did not mind. He was grateful that he was living the moment. 

“So, your mother and I have decided." Joseph started, putting up his newspaper once more. “It has been long overdue. I've saved up enough from the factory, and I think you're old enough to own a typewriter."

Mortiz blinked twice, in shock from this news.

“A typewriter? Are you sure? They're not thrifty, father! How did you manage to propose that?"

“Well, luck may be on our sides, despite these trying times." Elestera smiled down onto her husband, who smiled back at her.

Mortiz beamed. For a while, he dreamed of getting a typewriter so he could make stories. He used to write them by hand, but he knew once he could master the writer, he'd be efficient enough and sell his mind to the public. He loved reveling in philosophy.

In the said moment, however, Mortiz stopped mid-scoop because of a sudden pop that came from the pot. It came from a bubble made inside the stew, but it was loud enough for all three wolves to notice.

Another pop followed. But this one followed with a much more, aggressively explosive sound. Almost like a gunshot. 

Mortiz dropped his spoon; the amnesia he had suffered began to wear down. Memories began to flood within a millisecond after the sound. 

“No…" The lupine breathed out, pushing his chair back upon jerking himself up from the seat.

“You're…" He stammered, backing up from the two, whose faces were now stagnant of emotions while they stared at their son without a single blink. 

Vincent was not in the other world, rather, stuck in the desires held in the back of his mind while he remained unconscious. His breaths were in unkempt motions, as he tripped backwards and fell on the floor. His vision uncontrollably blurred, and his face was reduced into desperate tears. 

He blinked again, and the room became a sight of bloody grandeur. 

Windows were broken, and large splats of red cells were dispersed all over the kitchen, living room, and the Vincent's bowl of soup. 

Mortiz looked up at his mother and father, a fearful shriek shrilling the room. 

What was mother's head and glossy hair, was now spread, opened like four velvet, fleshy petals which hung by her scalp. Her right, crescent eye hung low out of its socket, also painted with red. 

Father's lower muzzle and jaw was what remained; the upper half of his body was a fleshy stub, as if he was open cut like a tree. Teeth and tongue dangled, the foundation of his face was diminishing. 

Mortiz's sob started to turn into a violent wail once the corpses of his parents stood, and towered over him. Covered by his parent's blood, Mortiz could only back up against the wall behind him, as the kitchen started to melt like candle wax. 

“Hwaeeeeeeeee. Uhhhh." Let out a hoarse whisper from his father. With no upper jaw, he could only produce vowels.

“Yourrrrr….. Tiiiiime…. Is….. Nooooooot…. Uuuuuuup." Whispered her mother, as breathless as her husband. 

As the two cadavers began to inch towards the vulnerable wolf, he felt the floor start to sink in, with the wolf falling down into a dark abyss. 

He fell, for what felt like hours, watching the house shrink and crumple into atoms before his eyes, alongside with his parents.

Unknown to where and when he landed as his body thudded to the deep bottom, he spent noo time standing up. Mortiz was dazed, but he could not feel his heart racing against his chest. 

The room was dark enough that he could not see the contours of his own skin. 

He was thankful enough that he could hear his own, frantic panting, which soon came to an end when his eyes soon caught another figure a few meters across from him. 

The lupine watched as the small figure remained seated, back slumped down away from Mortiz; it was as still as a ventriloquist doll without its owner. 

As Mortiz took a few steps forward, he paused again once his eyes found the back of a thin, blue peacoat. It seemed to be worn out from muck, and the ends were covered and rolled in dirt and mud. 

It didn't take long, until Mortiz started to run the other direction. 

He knew this nightmare, all the same.

Ever since he killed that boy, it was the only dream he could suffer through. 

However, he could not run from the carcass, who began to slowly stand up. Its movements were janked, he could see ankles were twisting, cracking beyond an animalic representation. Sprinting was futile; Mortiz was still in place. 

The lupine's huffs soon manifested into a high-pitched set of heaves; his red eyes could only stare as the cocoon of Herrington V's body began to metamorphosize into God's shameful abomination. 

The boy's face began to tear and gape with small, fleshy holes, opening forth thousands of eyes once again, writhing relentlessly against its new cage. The open wound of the young wolf's throat split itself wider to the point of decapitation, and the figure's back began to follow into an arch, until the body bended into a bridged posture. 

Mortiz watched in absolute horror when he witnessed his head dangle from the confines of his neck; it soon turned into a scream once Herrington V's open neck erected forth the boy's spine, detaching the remaining flesh from the neck, and reconnecting it to the top of the first bone, creating a longer, lankier neck. 

The lupine fell back onto his rear once more… He was, again, towered by the demonic figure. 

The creature stared into the lupine's eyes, its jaws opened beyond the bone's support, skin between his lips torn into flesh. 

“YOU. SHALL. PERISH!" 

The figure lunged towards Vincent.