Sinner

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a story that I put down in one night. It is about one person and a ghost that doesn't leave him alone based on the consequences that he acted in his recent past. It is a story with a twist. Enjoy.

Submitted: October 13, 2018

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Submitted: October 13, 2018

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The ghost will not leave him alone, laying there on a long, cold and windy night with his voice driving him to the point of complete insanity.

He’s got the whole world in his hand. He’s got the whole world in his hand. He’s got the whole world in his hand!” The ghost of his former friend sung in his chair when Brad placed both of his hands on his ears.

“Stop it! Stop it! Please, stop it!” Brad tried to get the voice away from him when his former friend laughed like a crazy loon.

“What’s wrong? Sandman can’t get your eyes shut with his magic recipe?” His friend jumped up and down in his office chair like a person who has lost all trace of sanity a long time ago.

“Man, are you the kind of Joe that is all stuck up to the point that you are about to pop.” His former friend by the name of Lane jumped up from the chair and straddled him on the bed.

“You know what needs to be done after they got me down on the street. Just confess. I’ve already been to hell so it wouldn’t hurt for you to get there a little faster!” He laughed when he slammed his fists on each side of Brad’s head.

“You got a lot to live for with Angie that little whore!” Lane sung this disgusting tune when Brad closed his eyes. He can’t get away from the thing that is dead a week ago. He got away with it, thank god. But the tragedy is driving him to the point of just confessing. Just confess.

The ghost of Lane agreed when Brad started to thrash his head side-to-side.

“You’re just the guilt in my subconscious. You’re nothing but the bell in my head ringing off. That is all you are, you son of a bitch! That is all you are and you are getting nothing from me!”

“Oh but I am! I’m going to make you crack like a Sunday Egg in a skillet and let those boys in El Paso fry your ass like a chicken! San Perdido still has the electric chair and they clean it up every day. You’re going to be another victim in its charm to ride the lightning with the person sitting in it! You are going to shake and dance and put a little boogey in it!” Lane spittle this out with some of the saliva launching into Brad’s face when Brad felt the saliva; it is so real. It feels so real when Brad thought of this like a ticking pendulum that is going back and forth in his mind.

“They are going to fry a steak on your lap as your eyes pop out of your sockets. I’m going to be the one flipping the switch as I dance and laugh to your death. That is what you deserve, buddy. That is what you get for letting them kill me after you left me!” Lane thrashed his fists on each side of his head when Brad felt the blows. They are so real! They are so real to him.

“You’re nothing but my guilt conscience. That is all you are! You are nothing but a bad instant of realism in my mind that will not let me go!” Brad draped the blankets up to his neck when Lane in front of him with the bullet wounds of blood soaked his white shirt that he is or now – was wearing when Lane continued to peer into his eyes.

Lane smiled with the locks of his hair dangling over one of his eyes.

“You’re weak. I’m the one to know that. I can smell your fear and it will complete me when it comes around. Oh, yes! It will come around and complete this cycle. Just confess and I will eventually leave you alone.” Lane looked at him with a different personality. It is not the personality of Lane at all. It is the personality of something that died and came back with wicked interest of pouring the living into the point of complete turmoil. What is this with the face of Lane? What in the hell is this that is standing over me?

“If you don’t do this then I am going to keep you company until you die of insanity or you kill other people before the ones that will be killing you succeed. The choice is yours. So let me tell you about the shape of my cock, won’t you bend to my ear?”

Brad closed his eyes rather violently, shaking his head from side to side.

“Oh god, please save me,” Brad pleaded when Lane started in on the shape of his penis when Brad tried to fold the pillows over his ears.

That morning when Brad got up, he heard the sound of nothing through the walls of the house. Tacked up on the wall are the posters of Iron Maiden and Tupac that are pinned by colorful tacks that he purchased three years ago at a cornerstone market that is not there anymore. The room is cool when he woke up, looking at the ceiling fan that is not on when he heard nothing in the room.

Did Lane go away? Brad hoped he did when he got up from his bed, only to look across the room at the ghost that is sitting on the couch, looking at a magazine that came out of nowhere that Brad never owned.

“Hey. Didn’t you hear the word?” Lane giggled, turning the magazine over for Brad to see it.

What is read on the top of the magazine is this:

“Brad Lauder Confesses to murder. The Victim Coaxed into one night killing spree.”

“That is the best true story that I have ever read in all of my time reading this crap. You know?” Lane took the magazine and ripped it in half. The thing that happened next is almost unsettling. Lane took the paper shards of the magazine and ate it, smacking his lips when Brad started to have a mental break in his bedroom.

The fear in his eyes bounced and his lips started to quiver into a smile of insanity when he clenched the blankets that are upon his legs.

“You sure, well you are going to try better than that?” Brad jumped out of the bed like finding a scorpion in between the sheets, running from his room with Lane rushing through his mind in a speed of a thousand miles an hour.

Lane didn’t have to run when he appeared in the living room like a flash of lightning.

“What are you going to do Brad, my boy? Are you going to pick up the phone, call your mom and say, ‘I killed my best friend in that murder spree last week’?” Lane curved both of his hands around his mouth and roared into Brad’s ears. They ring and they ring hard when Brad jumped back with his mouth turning into a crazy smile.

“You are not going to break me, Lane! YOU’RE DEAD! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BREAK ME!” Brad whooped and laughed when he gathered his keys that are on the table.

“Yeah, you go boy. You get it done. I’ll be waiting to flip that electric switch for you to ride that lightning. Don’t let me wait!” Lane flipped at finger at Brad’s face.

“Don’t keep me waiting!”

“Shut up! Just shut the hell up!” Brad stormed out of the apartment and ran down the stairs like the place is rigged and ready to blow any second now. Brad started to laugh when he ran to his car, ripping the tires out of the parking lot, going to the spot where Lane died when he drove way over the speed limit to get there.

Brad arrived there less than five minutes when he jumped out of the car without him putting the car in park. The car idled as it hit the pillar of the town cemetery. Brad ripped and roared down the lots of tombstones that are held in silence when Brad’s face looked like the face of a man that has lost it a long time ago. The leaves are falling from the trees when he came to the spot that is no longer cordoned off with crime scene tape when he stopped upon the ground of where he laid, draining his life blood upon the ground to look at the area, trying to get an answer of what he is looking for. He came upon a tombstone that is reflecting back at him when he reads the name in daunting wonder.

Lenard Crawley

“What are you looking at, bub?” Lane walked up behind her, standing behind him with no shadow as Lane became silent for the first time ever since he came back.

“What are you looking at?” Lane’s voice changed, like the voice of a person that found someone looking at something that they are not supposed to be looking at.

“What in the blue hell are you looking at?” Lane sneered when Brad continued to look at the tombstone like a mile marker at the end of his journey.

“Why are you different Lane, if you are Lane?” Brad continued to look at the tombstone with his eyes tracing each and every word.

“Who are you really? What happened to Lane?” Brad closed his eyes when Lane didn’t speak with no one around. If they saw Brad, they would be calling the police right now.

“When we were seven, what happened to the county 1st prize horse when he placed that bee on its rump that you found on the plank?”

Lane didn’t say anything when Lane started to turn his hands into balls of fists.

“Give me it, word for word.” Brad ordered when Lane for the first time since his appearance is stone cold quiet now.

“I don’t remember.” Lane blurted out when Brad came up from the tombstone, turning to Lane. He knows that he is not Lane. He is not Lane at all.

“You don’t remember for that you are not Lane, are you?”

Lane narrowed his eyes with his mind thinking and his tongue wagging in his mouth.

“Now listen here. I remembered that we went to Disneyland and you had a thing for Snow White.” Lane started to act defensive. That part is true.

“What year was it?” Brad asked with his anger bubbling in his throat.

Lane thought with his eyes working in his sockets. His hands opened and closed. His mouth continued to open and close.

Lane spoke the year when Brad replied with no hesitation.

“Wrong.” Brad insisted with his pale face becoming beat red.

Lane worked on this harder with his hands opening and closing more.

Lane took another stab at it.

“Wrong again. You know who I think you are? You are Lenard Crawley and Lane is dead! You took the shape of him the second he died and you are haunting me. Why? Just tell me. Why?” Brad felt like his heart his breaking when he knew that he couldn’t do a damn thing.

“Why are you doing this, just why,”

Lane stood there with his face turning and his expression turning into another face that is slowly coming into the light that is getting brighter. It is the face of being revealed. It is the face of something that is underneath this charade.

“What are you? Are you Lenard?”

Lane didn’t look like a person that is going to drive him to the point of insanity anymore.

“No. I am either Lenard or Lane that is before you. You are going straight to hell soon and I can see that. When you get there, I’ll be waiting. I am the demon that is behind your every shoulder. I am the beast that is licking your sweat until you bleed. I am the one that will continue to guide you in despair. Justice will be done through the justification of the living and you will rot in a cell before the end. That is the truth of what I see in your eyes. You will die a horrible death as I see this and read your end!”

“What in the hell are you?” Brad ordered the demon that is before him.

“I am the soul sucker from the deep. I am the creeper that is hindering you to do the deed by whispering in your ears. I am the sin that keeps you awake and keeps you guilty to the point where the cancer inside lashes out to do something naughty. I will be around after your kind is laid to waste and the cornerstones of your achievement will be laid in a waste of cinder and rubble when the riders come to destroy the rest of it in fire and brimstone. I will watch when they catch you in due time. I will be watching.”

Brad broke his mental stability when he walked back, tipped over the tombstone, and ran from the scene with his voice whooping and hollering for this pain to be released that is eating away at his mind.

The demon continued to watch and wait as time continued on that is endless for the demon that has seen the fallen of every man, woman, son, and daughter. The demon was not smiling anymore when he too feels the pain. It is hell. It is hell indeed.


© Copyright 2018 Adam Steele. All rights reserved.

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