Excerpt:

The blood. The blood. They’re dead. That stain on the carpet – blood. All that redness – blood. I hate blood. I hate blood. There’s so much blood. Oh my God, they’re dead. Blood. Dead. There’s so much of it. His thoughts were tumbling; he turned away, wishing he hadn’t eaten those waffles, vomiting them up a second later. He didn’t like blood. He had never liked blood. He was terrified of it, actually. Hemophobia. He could taste more bile in his throat. The redness on the carpet drew his eyes towards it like magnets. Why was he looking? He was beginning to feel lightheaded. So much blood. He remembered when he had witnessed his father accidentally cutting his finger and he had nearly passed out. There was a lot more blood now. So much blood. They were dead.

There was something in his hand, something small and light. It was his phone. He didn’t realize what he was doing; he hit a button and heard it ring. Speed dial. It had to be speed dial. He hadn’t hit three buttons to call the police.

The police. He needed to call them.

Who was he calling?

Whoever it was they were they were taking forever to answer their phone. Should he hang up? He couldn’t make up his mind. Everything was confused in a wave of shock and nausea.

“Hello?”

He didn’t know what he was saying. He vaguely recognized the voice. Words were tumbling out of him in a torrent and he didn’t process a word. All he could think of was the sight of his mother, his father, his sister dead, the coppery smell of blood and the sickly sweet smell of death in his nostrils, and the roaring sound in his ears, and now the soft feeling of the carpet as he collapsed.