Hell World (Part-2)

 Hello World - Part 2

INT. RAHUL'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

RAKESH stands frozen in the doorway. His lungs refuse air. The phone, still clutched in his hand, feels like a lead weight.

SOUMYA, his wife, sits slumped against the headboard, her body a canvas of crimson. Her head, a grotesque ruin, hangs at an unnatural angle. A gaping wound mars her scalp, revealing the glistening, pinkish-gray folds of her brain. One eyeball, detached from its socket, rests precariously on her cheekbone, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her hands, or what remains of them, are mangled stumps, bone shards protruding from shredded flesh. Blood, thick and viscous, pools on the white sheets, soaking into the mattress, dripping onto the floorboards.

RAHUL, his son, half-lies on the bed beside her, his face smeared with crimson. His fingers, coated in a sticky, dark film, probe deep into the exposed cavity of Soumya's skull, squeezing, tearing. A sickening crunch echoes in the silence as he pulls a piece of tissue, pink and soft, to his mouth. His jaw works, a guttural hum rumbling in his throat. Soumya’s vacant gaze, fixed on the doorway, seems to plead, to hope, even in death.

Rakesh’s mind shutters. He sees, yet comprehends nothing. The world tilts. His vision blurs. The air thickens, heavy with the metallic tang of blood and something else, something foul and primal. His body, a statue of disbelief, refuses to move. A full minute stretches, an eternity of horror, before a jolt, sharp and electric, pierces the fog. This isn't a nightmare. This is real.

He drops the phone. It clatters, a small sound swallowed by the vastness of the horror. His legs, stiff and reluctant, propel him forward. He lunges, a desperate, guttural cry tearing from his throat. He shoves Rahul, a force he didn’t know he possessed, sending the boy tumbling off the bed.

Rakesh scrambles to Soumya, cradling her ruined head. His fingers, slick with her blood, try to lift her, to find a pulse. His voice cracks, raw with agony.

RAKESH

Soumya? My love? Are you there?

He taps her cheeks, a futile gesture against the cold, dead skin.

RAKESH

Are you okay? Wake up, please! We need to go to the hospital. Soumya!

His shouts echo, hollow and unanswered. He stares into her empty eyes, the hope draining from him, leaving behind a vast, desolate pain. Her head lolls, a puppet with severed strings. She is gone. Crushed. Beyond repair.

A sharp, searing pain erupts in his lower back. He cries out, a choked gasp. Rahul. The boy, a feral beast, clamps his teeth onto Rakesh’s flesh, tearing, chewing. A low growl vibrates through Rakesh’s spine. The pain is immense, but the shock, the surreal nature of it all, eclipses even that. This isn't his son. This can’t be.

Rakesh twists, grappling with the boy. He grabs Rahul, a desperate grip, pulling him close. The stench of blood, of decay, fills his nostrils.

RAKESH

Son... I knew it. Your mother and I, we'd die someday. But never... never like this. Not by your hands.

His voice is a broken whisper, laced with a profound misunderstanding. He sees no monster, only a child lost to madness, a mind twisted by some unknown grudge. He struggles, the boy’s teeth still tearing at his back. Rakesh’s strength, fueled by terror and grief, overcomes the boy’s primal fury. He drags Rahul, a writhing, snapping weight, to the bedroom door. He fumbles, his hands shaking, finding a thick rope on the floor, a relic from some forgotten game. He loops it around Rahul’s chest, binding him tightly to the doorknob. The boy snarls, straining against the makeshift restraints, his eyes, once so bright, now a murky, blood-red.

Rakesh stumbles out of the room, his back screaming in protest, blood soaking his shirt. He needs help. He needs to escape this nightmare. He needs... something. He glances back at the thrashing figure of his son, a fresh wave of despair washing over him. Then, he turns, pushes the main door open, a sliver of hope, of escape, in his mind.

A soft, wet drag. A scraping sound. From inside the house.

Rakesh freezes. His blood runs cold. Rahul is tied, in front of him, in the bedroom. The sound comes from deeper within the house. His head swivels slowly, his eyes wide, pupils dilated. He looks past the open door, into the shadowed hallway.

A figure emerges from the gloom. Soumya.

She moves with an unnatural gait, a jerky, lurching shuffle. Her head still lists to the side, the exposed brain a grotesque centerpiece. Her jaw hangs slack, a thin stream of dark fluid dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Her clothing, once a soft nightgown, is now a tattered, crimson shroud. One of her mangled hands, the bone shards glinting, drags along the wall, leaving a smeared trail. Her other arm, a stump, swings wildly. She is a puppet, broken and reanimated, driven by some terrible, unseen force. Her eyes, clouded and milky, lock onto Rakesh. A low, wet moan escapes her throat.

Rakesh's breath catches. A new, impossible hope blossoms in his chest, suffocating the terror for a fleeting moment. He sees his wife. He sees her, alive, or at least moving. His mind, desperate for a shred of normalcy, refuses to accept the impossible.

RAKESH

Soumya? My love? Are you... are you okay?

He takes a step back, pulling her towards him. He reaches out, his hands trembling, grabbing her mangled arm, her blood-soaked sleeve.

RAKESH

Thank God! You’re okay! So injured… come, let’s go to the hospital. We need to get you help.

He tries to pull her, to steady her, to guide her out of the house. His grip is firm, but her flesh feels cold, unnaturally stiff. Her head snaps up. Her mouth, a dark, gaping maw, opens wide. A guttural snarl rips through the air.

Her teeth, stained red, clamp down on his forearm. A searing, agonizing pain shoots through Rakesh’s arm. He cries out, a sound of pure shock and terror. He tries to pull away, but her grip is impossibly strong. He stares at her face, inches from his own, the vacant, milky eyes, the blood-flecked teeth tearing at his flesh. This isn't Soumya. This isn't his wife. This is a monster.

A sudden, violent tug. The rope binding Rahul to the doorknob snaps. The boy, freed from his restraints, launches himself forward, a blur of motion. He slams into Rakesh’s back, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Soumya, still clamped onto his arm, falls with him. Rahul, a snarling whirlwind, scrambles onto Rakesh’s chest. The combined weight, the suddenness of the attack, pins him.

Rahul’s teeth, sharp and relentless, tear into Rakesh’s face, ripping at his nose. A finger, then another, presses into his eye sockets. He screams, a sound choked by the pain, by the blood gushing from his face.

Soumya, on his arm, begins to chew, her jaw working furiously. A wet, sickening rip. Flesh tears. She pulls. The skin on his forearm peels back, revealing muscle, sinew, bone.

Rahul, a ravenous beast, claws at Rakesh’s abdomen. The fabric of his shirt shreds. His fingers, sharp and strong, dig into his stomach. A sickening squelch. A tearing sound. Rakesh’s eyes bulge. He feels a sudden, intense pressure, then a gush of warmth. His intestines, slick and coiled, spill from the gaping wound. His liver, dark and glistening, pushes out.

Soumya, her head still lurching, releases his arm, her mouth now free. She drops her face to his exposed organs, gnawing, pulling. A grotesque feast. Rahul, his face a mask of blood, continues to tear at Rakesh’s face, his fingers probing, ripping.

Rakesh thrashes, a desperate, futile struggle. His body convulses, bathed in his own blood, in the blood of his wife. The pain is a roaring inferno, consuming him. He feels his life draining away, a river of agony. He stares up at the ceiling, his vision darkening, the faces of his son and wife, now monsters, blurring into a crimson haze. He shivers, a final, involuntary spasm. Then, stillness.

Silence descends, broken only by the wet, tearing sounds of flesh.

Rahul, his face smeared, his hunger temporarily sated, takes a step back from the mangled remains of his father. He looks at his mother, Soumya, still hunched over Rakesh’s eviscerated torso, her jaw working, a low, contented growl rumbling in her chest.

He turns, a new instinct guiding him. He shuffles towards the open front door, a grotesque shadow against the dim light of the hallway. Soumya, her head lifting, a string of viscera hanging from her mouth, follows. Her lurching steps keep her a few paces behind, a silent, bloody companion.

As Rahul steps over the threshold, his foot making a wet print on the porch, a sudden, impossible flicker.

Rakesh’s eyes, fixed on the ceiling, snap open. They are no longer the eyes of a dying man, or a dead one. They burn, a fierce, incandescent red. A primal thirst, ancient and insatiable, radiates from their depths.