23 - Dining Room

Still moving toward the hallway door, he threw a glance across the room. There was no direct light in the room except for some reflections from the kitchen's candles. The room went to the outer wall too, no extra rooms beyond it. Its walls seemed to have a big painting on either side, which he couldn't make out in the dark.
There was a longer wooden table filling the room with chairs on either side. Derrek didn't count as he passed, but a lot more spaces than the table from the kitchen. An older classical chandelier hung from the ceiling, unlit.
The table was filled with stuff. The candles only lighted the outer part of the table, and on it Derrek saw loose notes with scribbles, books, crayons, herbs, and other ritualistic things spread out.
Derrek took it all in quickly, he hadn't time to form any thoughts on it beyond a, Huh, as he passed the room with quick paces. He looked back toward the door to the hallway.
Yves was still there, in the hallway, door handle in his hand. He pulled it shut. Wait, what? Derrek jumped forward, grabbed the handle and gave it a quick pull, but Yves seemed to be holding it.What?! Why is he holding it? I'll just go through the kitchen, then.
Derrek turned toward the kitchen door, but froze after the first step.
The door was moving, pumpkin man, Warren, came from behind it. The pumpkin mask reflected eerily in the candle light. He was way bigger than he expected, the previous times he had only seen him in flashes.
Derrek worried for a second he'd move into the room with him. It was worse, he started closing the door too. Oh shit. He pushed his body into action, moving forward, but Warren shut the door.
"Hey!" Derrek shouted as he threw himself against it. It didn't budge.
Why are they locking me in here? Derrek shoved the door two more times, to no avail.
The lights started blinking in the room. Derrek turned toward the table. Both the lights on each wall and the classic chandelier above the table, flashed in unison.
On the table, Derrek had already seen some scribblings and ritualistic books on the corner. There was more all over the table. Dolls, both baby and straw dolls, equally scary; Carved wooden idols; A Ouija board; were all spread across the table. The edges of the tables were free, mostly. Before each chair was a chalk drawing of a pair of flat hands outlined on the table. All chairs were empty, luckily.
But Derrek's attention didn't linger on the table. While his heart rate was through the roof from the sudden claustrophobic feeling of getting locked in a room with occult items, his eyes were drawn up, to the ceiling. His mouth fell open. Though the flashing lights only showed glimpes, he saw the details in the circle drawn on the ceiling. The perfectly painted lines glittered in the lights. A perfect circle with the chandelier as a center point. Lines curled with intricate symbols from the edges to the middle and back again. Strokes were broad and small, curly and straight, but most remarkable, all were perfect. Not a line was out of place, smudged or misshapen.
Derrek was in awe of what he saw, aside from the feeling of shock still coursing through his body. Wow, that must have taken a lot of time. Poor shoulders, they must hurt like hell after such an endeavor. Derrek looked back at the table. There were a lot of similar scribbles there too, but none were close to the quality he saw up there. They looked like children's drawings in comparison.
Derrek still stood with his back against the kitchen's door. He looked down at the floor.
Clean. How did that not drip all over the place? No one works that clean, it should've— Derrek's eyes grew wide as he saw something below him, glistening in the flashing lights. He stood in a puddle of something thick and red. It was spreading further away from him.
Blood? How? His heart skipped a beat and his stomach turned. He pushed himself away from the door, away from the puddle, moving deeper into the room while turning back toward that door. Red steps had trailed behind him, his steps. He felt over his body. I don't feel any pain, no wounds. What? The puddle kept spreading.
Derrek released a breath. The door? Is one of them hurt? A scream followed, the one he'd heard the entire evening. This time it was really close, like it came from the door. Derrek took a step back, bumping against one of the chairs. Something fell and he looked to see a straw figure behind him. It wore a police outfit. Oh, what the—
A male scream came from the kitchen door, followed by another one from the hallway door and followed by a third coming from inside the room. The third scream came from his own mouth.
No, no, no, I've had it! Enough! Derrek jumped away from the straw mini him, jumped past the puddle and went for the hallway door. He wanted to throw himself against it, but remembered it was a door to pull. He grabbed the handle and pulled one strong jerk. The scream from beyond that door stopped as it opened for a few centimeters before closing shut again.
Can't put my hand between that. But maybe… He put his hand in his pouch and got out his pepper spray. He popped the lid from the can. With his left hand he pulled hard again. He kept his mouth shut and averted his eyes. The door opened less than last time, far enough. He held the can on face height and pushed a single time aiming through the tiny gap.
Another scream came, followed by spitting as the strength disappeared from the door handle. Derrek threw open the door. Yves backed away from the door, hands pulling away his hood and clutching his face. "What the fuck, it burns…" He kept moving though, heading for the front door. Derrek got out of the dining room.