"The Other Side"- Living Nightmare

Dylan was in a dimly-lit room, and two figures were standing in front of him. He recognized them as his mother and father, and that the room was in his home back on Earth. They were both yelling, his face father's face was red with anger, while his mother's was filled with outrage.

"How could you?! You bastard! You went to a fucking whorehouse! You don't love me at all, you sick son of a bitch! You've never loved me! All you've ever loved was yourself! How the fuck can you live with yourself?!"

Dylan's mother was furious, her hair was wild, and her face was wet with tears. She was pointing one hand directly at Dylan's father, her pointer finger extended. He roared his reply.

"YOU BITCH! DON'T YOU TELL ME THAT AFTER ALL I'VE DONE FOR YOU! UNGRATEFUL FUCKING WITCH! I'VE GIVEN YOU ALL YOU'VE EVER WANTED!"

"No. You haven't. You never gave me a husband! You're just a damn child! You've never taken responsibility for anything in your entire life! You don't deserve love, all you do is take it away!"

He bared his teeth inches away from herc face, spit spraying from between his teeth.

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK! NOW!"

She shook her head, her eyes full of defiance and disgust.

"NO."

She said the word at the lowest pitch that she could. Dylan now noticed the cell phone clutched behind her back. The screen had three numbers displayed on it, along with three words.

911... Call in progress.

She tried to hide it, but he caught on quickly.

"What's behind your back? What are you hiding?!"

"Get back! Don't come any closer!"

Dylan's mother backed away, only to have her arm wrenched out, so the phone was in front of her husband's face. He looked at it for a moment, then growled.

"You're gonna pay for that."

He pulled a long hunting knife from his belt, then looked at it with a grin. He plunged it deep into his wife's stomach. She screamed. She groaned out in pain, tears spilling from her eyes as she fell to the ground now bloody ground.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"He screamed at the top of his lungs, charging directly at his father. Dylan's soul felt like it would burn forever. His eyes were weeping bitterly, and they were full of the darkest rage that his father had ever seen. He smashed into him like a freight train. His father flew backwards, tripping over a coffee table before slamming into a wall. He half crushed it, so fast had he been thrown into it. He stumbled back up to his feet, only to have a booted foot crack his jawbone viciously. He screamed in pain and fury, swinging the knife wildly at Dylan. It sliced along his arm wickedly, the steel coating itself in red. Dylan gritted his teeth and yelled again, grabbing the wrist of his father which held the knife. He twisted with as much strength as he possibly could, and he the knife dropped to the floor as he heard a hollow pop sound out. As he twisted with one hand, he lunged and swung his elbow at his enemy's face. The blow struck his target in the jaw once again. This time, a sickening sound like eggshells being crushed emanated from the bone. The scream coming from his father only served to make Dylan's rage burn hotter.

Dylan was taller and more muscular than his father, but his father was bigger and heavier. Years of gluttony and neglect had made him fat, but it was hard, almost like muscle. He swung a meaty fist into Dylan's gut, his yell a mixture of agony and anger. Dylan doubled over, groaning angrily. He received an uppercut to his forehead which made his skull ache and his vision spin. Punching someone in the forehead is not a good idea. His father cried out again as he hurt his hand, his screams causing him further pain, as his mangled jawbone sent waves of agony rushing through his head with every movement. Dylan was bleeding, his arm dripping his vital fluids out and onto the floor. He looked down at the spots of red and immediately back up. He kicked sideways into his father's knee, his heavy boot hitting hard into the vulnerable joint. As his opponent teetered off balance as his knee dropped, Dylan threw his right hook, which slammed into his father's temple. This knocked him further off balance, but Dylan wasn't done. He punched with his left hand, his knuckles breaking his father's nose with a crunch. With that, he fell to the ground. His vision was a blur, but it was good enough for him to see his bloodstained knife. He crawled as fast as he could to it, grabbing it and spinning to his feet with a wordless look of malice. He ran at Dylan, the knife raised behind his head, poised to strike. Dylan whipped his booted foot upwards into his opponent's ribs, which resulted in a loud cracking noise. He sidestepped the blade narrowly, the vicious tip passing inches from his chest. He shoved his father away, who skidded across the floor. He turned and charged again, the knife glinting in his hands. Dylan reached down, gripping what he sought in a steel-like grip. As his father closed in on him, Dylan twisted his hips and shoulders in the opposite direction of his father, then spun them back again towards the man rushing towards him. The glass-topped coffee table slammed directly into his father, breaking teeth and bone. Shards of glass showered him, their jagged edges ripping into his flesh. He flew backwards, landing on his back limply.

He sat still for a few seconds before groaning. Dylan stepped on the broken glass, the sound of it crunching beneath his feet completely ignored. He walked slowly over to where his father lay, a look of bottomless rage and determination on his face. His father stirred and reached for the knife, but his hand was crushed beneath a treaded boot sole. He screamed again as Dylan leaned over and took the knife in his hand.

"S-son... I'm sorry... You don't have to do this! I didn't mean to do it! Its all just some sick joke! You... you know I would never hurt her. I... I can make this right! Please, mercy!"

Dylan's eyes were literally spewing fire, and his teeth were bestial fangs. His face was demonic. his glare enough to make his father piss himself. The floor between his father's legs now pooled with liquid.

"W-what the fuck?!"

There were only three words that came from the Dylan-Thing's mouth, and they sounded like they came from the darkest pit in existence.

"BURN IN HELL."

His stare seemed to burn his father's very soul. His father screamed as the blade of the knife crunched through his breastbone and into his heart. He looked at it for a moment with disbelief and utter dread. The Dylan-Thing twisted it with a macabre smile, the sound of his father's death the best thing he had ever heard. The man's face took on a mask of endless pain before it became frozen, his eyes as wide as they could ever go.

After a minute, Dylan looked up, his eyes red with tears as he looked at his mother's body. He couldn't bear to look at her for more than a moment, so he turned his gaze downwards. The floor was covered in blood, coming from all three bodies in the room; His mother's, his father's, and his own. The shards of glass glinted in the dim light. Looking to the window, Dylan knew it was night. He saw the moon high overhead, as if it was staring down at Earth, watching it intently. In the window he saw his own reflection, hunched and bloody, crying tears of misery. That was where his memories ended, and something he hadn't noticed before was revealed to him.

In the window's reflection was a man. He was bald, had a white beard and wore a suit. He was twisting a cane in his hands, playing with it carelessly. What was disturbing, however, was that he was laughing. Laughing. Laughing at him. Laughing at the death. Laughing at the horrible misery that Dylan was experiencing. Dylan's rage lit again, the tears replaced by a murderous glare. He turned to face the man behind him. There was no one. Dylan froze, chills racing through his as he realized how nightmarishly wrong this was. He could feel him there, laughing, twisting his cane, looking at him with a devil's red eyes. Dylan spun back to the window, staring straight at the man in the window. The man simply began to clap, as if he had just performed a beautiful symphony. The points of his eyes seemed to burn the stuff of his very soul, filling him with an eldritch dread.

Without warning, there was an explosion of sound as two holes erupted in the floor to either side of Dylan. A pair of black chains seemed to materialize out of nowhere and wrap around Dylan's ankles. They dug in sharply, grating against his skin, pulling viciously. A moment later, two identical chains burst out of the roof and grabbed his wrists. They were pulling Dylan in two different directions, and he felt his joints began to crack and pop. His muscles felt like they were tearing, and his skin felt like it was taut across his entire body. He screamed in pain, his eyes staring straight at the roof. With a flourish, the man tapped his cane against the window, and impossibly, it began to ripple like water. He stepped through, defying all laws of physics with such a simple thing as a step. His polished shoes clicked as he stepped towards Dylan, his smile stretching from ear to ear, literally. His teeth were as sharp as needles, and he drew his tongue across the with anticipation. Dylan looked down, his stare locked at the center of the man's eyes. The man raised his cane ever so slowly to touch Dylan's chest. As he did so, he burst entirely into flame. His skin, flesh and organs all burned off of his bones within moments, falling as ashes to the floor. The pain was indescribable. Impossibly, he could still see his reflection. He was only bones, wreathed and clothed in a dark, unholy looking fire. Without command it to, his skull contorted, the bone warping into a scowl that would have made the bravest man break into whimpers. He roared, though he had no lungs to do so. He shook as he bellowed out his roars of fury and rage, fire licking his skeletal form. Then all was blackness.

His eyes flew open with a start, locking on the first thing he saw, which appeared to warp itself into the man's smiling face. He tried to crush the life out of his enemy, his rage giving him a newfound energy. Then he knew what he had done. He wished he was dead.