Don't bite the monkey, I felt the voice say.
I felt it, as opposed to hearing it- I use this with purpose in describing the voice- it was omnipresent without really conforming to what normalcy was; yet it rang through my entire being. I knew I was not where I would expect myself to be under usual circumstances (something was definitely amiss- but what was it: the table? the fact that the cloth lying over it posed no air of familiarity whatsoever and yet seemed to be in position as exactly determined and appropriate as it should be? The slivered fac- no wait, I'll get to that in a bit), however, it appeared I was already certain of how I ended up here. I'd imagine characters in a game -were they independently sentient- would feel similarly at every save-file boot of an instance in the game.
'Don't bite the monkey- there's the desert still waiting on us. Don't bite the monkey and the television will not stop. Hold on, I think there might be someone outside. This should concern you for the window directly behind you, though separated from the outside's night air by a considerable pane of glass is still easily broken- being unbarred and adjacent to a lawn of green grass, dew-wet, and several, several stones,' the voice pursued its relentless narrative unto each minute component of my body.
Instinct kicked me off the couch. I knew not to be there, but knew not why. Panic seized my being, and ceased my actions. There was no reasoning this out, logic appeared heavily intoxicated, somehow subdued, or possibly abducted. Thought turned sterile, unable to analyse; un-required. My mind raced ahead of me, and wherein I'd made it up to the room with a lock on its door, I realised I had not. The couch still remained before me, the window -somehow larger now- immediately after.
Spinning around in sudden animation, I found myself facing the kitchen window. My forehead against the glass, I looked out. Nothing. Just nothing. But the front door now made a noise. I turned around, and down the hallway I could see the door -still shut- but disturbed. As I made my way toward the door, looking to investigate, the table by the stairway interjected itself into the path between. I started and stepped, looking down in reflexive surprise.
A face, eyes closed met my sight. Rather, the slivered flesh from off a face, forehead-down until the chin: eyelids, lashes, and all. Slivered face, so neatly removed. The ears alone lay un-tethered on either side.