Afternoon's Bloody Doorknobs

What I remember most of all was the smell.

An awful stench filled the house that one afternoon when I came home from Hylton High. It wasn't there right away, but only about an hour after I came in and settled down, grabbed a soda. As the cold liquid sensation came to my lips, only a small sip of Coke fell on my tongue when I got a hint of something. I set down the can, and yet there was the scent again, stronger. It was very strange and unique, though I can't very well say it was a smell I found pleasant.
The can clanged on the table, shaking a few liquid drops to the table. I stood up from the comforting chair, and walked down the hall. My experience with awkward smells convinced me to look in the kitchen. Though the kitchen was a bit, "off," it wasn't what I was looking for. And so I decided to look upstairs. Walking into the living room where the staircase was located, I realised the smell HAD become stronger. I figured it must've been radiating from something gone foul on the second floor.

As I made my way up the carpet-lined stairway; gripping a rather unstable hand rail, I turned my head a bit to the right, where my parents' room would've been located. Yep, it was definitely coming from there.
I made my way up and around down a very very short carpeted path into my parents' bedroom, where I would first come across my father's side of the room, neat and tidy, smelling somewhat of cologne (I'd also mention that it smelled like shitty carpeting, but my entire house did at that).
On the other side was my mom's territory, covered in journals, clothing baskets, excersise equipment, make-up of which that side smelled, and of course; clothes.
I walked around a bit, but the smell didn't seem as strong in here.
I thought to myself, "How strange. But if that's the case, then where.."
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of clanging dishware in the kitchen downstairs. Being the paranoid twit that I was, I quickly slammed the door, locked it, and backed away to furthest corner of my father's side of the room. I leaned against the bed, then pushed myself on top of it as I pulled my flick blade from my pocket and "flicked" out the blade. I readied it in a position as if I was prepared to slit the throat of asshole who dared to come within ten feet of me.
Then the footsteps. My heart began screaming with terror, as well as I did, silently of course, as I heard someone walking up the stairs, he steps creaking every second they were put under pressure. I readied myself for anything, even for pissing my pants while running towered the door as it flung open, while I kept my eyes clothes, screaming like a fucking maniac as I swung my knife like an excited baby does a rattle.
That didn't happen.
What did happen was some more creaking that was closer to the door. I braced myself.
There was creaking IN the door, as if someone was pushing on it, attempting to get in without even considering what a doorknob does or that such a thing even exists. Not that it would've worked much anyways, since it was locked. But at that point I almost did soak my unneccessarily tight jeans like an infant. It was the scariest thing that happened in my life by far, and I was just about FREAKING the FUCK OUT.

At least until the creaking stopped. It did, and it didn't last that long to begin with. I began to heave a sigh of relief, though I knew the trouble wasn't quite over. It wasn't of course. Because the smell returned.
It was overpowering, mainly because it had mixed with some other stench, one that I can very well say gave me the urge to blow chunks all over the floor. -- I should mention that I now recognise the odors as blood and death. I hadn't known what either smelled like then, I've never gotten a strong urge to sniff my cuts or inhale the aroma enshrouding a dead relative's open coffin at a funeral. --
This wasn't helped at all when a familiar red liquid was noticed under the crack of the door. First a drop, then a trickle. Soon it was gushing from every orifice in that door. I almost thought that if I opened it up, I'd drown in blood. That seemed like the only thing I could think of. I stood up slowly, and readied a shaky, unconfident fighting stance on the floor next to the bed. I was scared out of my damned mind, but I was gonna at least try to put up a fight of some sort against WHATEVER the Hell was behind that door.
Then the bleeding stopped. I paused.
The lock clicked. Then the door flew open faster than my pathetic human mind could comprehend. What was standing there screamed at me, and I didn't urinate, but a load of shit did flood my pants as I screamed back, mine a scream mixed with terror, rage, and mostly reflex. I threw my knife at the being that not even the most disturbed and insane mind could imagine. The blade twisted and turned through the air, passing through the object of my horrors, and struck the wall behind it, the "thing" fading into mist as the blade flew through it. The knife fell to the floor. Along with me. Then I cried.