The Revenge of Randolph Pewter

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
okay, this originally started out as a writing warm-up i did for C4K. Talk about things getting out of hand, right? I just started writing it, and then it all flowed out and I couldn't stop it. I hope you like it:)

Submitted: July 18, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 18, 2008

A A A

A A A


THE REVENGE OF RANDOLPH PEWTER

I ran down the basement stairs of the office building I worked in. I was breathing hard, running for my life. My heels clicked as I hobbled down the stairs as fast as I could wearing my tapered pencil skirt. When I reached the landing, there was a door. I turned the knob, but the door didn’t open. I rattled the knob furiously, pushing and pounding on the door. It opened about an inch. I tried to push it farther open, but couldn’t. There was something blocking it on the other side. I slammed my body against the door with all my might.

Wham! The door burst open, pushing whatever had been blocking it out of the way. I heard heavy, angry footsteps behind me. I heard the ferocious growls and curses of my hunter as he sped down the stairs. I quickly squeezed through the door, slamming it shut behind me. I fumbled for the lock in the pitch dark. Just as I found it, I heard a large fist slam against the other side of the door, rattling the hinges.

I yelped in surprise, pushing my body hard against the door. My hand shook as I searched the wall on the right for the light switch. A small wave of horror rushed over me when I failed to locate it. I tried the wall on the other side of the door—nothing.

Bang! Bang! My body shook with the vibrations caused by his fist. “You either open this door now, or I’ll break it down!” a gruff, murderously angry voice shouted threateningly through the wood.

I started breathing harder, worrying. I squinted into the darkness, searching for a lamp, a flashlight—anything I could grab that would help me see where I was, and therefore, be able to find something to use as a weapon, if this lead to a confrontation; I hoped desperately, though, that it wouldn’t. After squinting into the darkness for what seemed like hours, searching, with my back still pressed against the door, holding it in place, I saw a small sliver of light, seemingly located on the back wall of the room, near the top.

I felt around with my foot, for the thing that had been blocking the door before. I found a large, heavy box and dragged it toward me with my foot. When it was close enough, I pushed it, as fast as I could, against the door.

Bang! Bang! I tried to ignore the feeling of terror that washed through me as my attacker’s fist came down hard against the door again.

As soon as I got the heavy box against the door, I scrambled away, toward the yellow pinpoint of light. On my way over to it, I tripped and stumbled over things—more boxes, crates, and other random items that littered the floor.

Eventually got over to the back wall and stood right under the sliver of light. I stretched my hand up and touched something cottony on both sides of it.

Bang! Bang!

I reached my other hand up and pulled back the short curtains draping the small basement window. Light burst into the room, illuminating boxes and knick-knacks. I quickly glanced around, curious. It was just a normal office basement—file cabinets, cardboard boxes full of records, old computers, etc.

I looked around for a chair and found one lying on its side next to a rusty file cabinet. I grabbed it and propped it up under the window.

Bang! Bang! Crack. I listened in horror as the unmistakable sound of splitting wood echoed from behind me. Frantic, I scrambled onto the chair and unlocked the window. I pushed upward, praying for it to open. With a little effort, I managed to slide it all the way up. I climbed on the top of the back of the chair and put my arms through the window.

Bang! Bang! Crack! The door splintered some more as my assailant pounded his homicidal fist against it.

I pulled myself up into the window. I grabbed the shrub outside and tried to extricate myself from the small opening. I couldn’t. The window was tiny, and I wasn’t small enough. I wasn’t going to fit. I wiggled and shimmied, trying desperately to escape.

Bang! Bang! Crack! The wood splintered for the last time and my attacker came running through the door, growling and laughing with murderous humor. I tried to push on the wall below me with my feet, attempting to push myself though the tiny window. He was getting closer. I was out of time. If I didn’t escape now, there was nothing I could do. I pulled, pushed, and wriggled one last time, trying my hardest to squeeze the rest of my body through the window. I failed.

My hunter grabbed my ankle and pulled me down, out of the window. He swooped me up into a strangling cradle hold. I cringed away from him. Holding me with just one arm, he reached his hand around and grabbed my jaw, forcing me to stare him in the eye. Rage, victory, and malice glinted fiercely in his dark eyes. His scraggly, gray beard scratched at my cheek.

“Now what, Miss Lancer?” he growled. He still had a firm grip on my jaw, so he obviously wasn’t searching for an answer.

“You see what happens when you mess with Randolph Pewter?”

I closed my eyes, not even praying for my life, because I knew it was hopeless. Now, I just wished that he’d make my death quick and painless. I had a feeling, though, that it wasn’t going to work out that way.

“Shall I explain?” he asked. He began, again, not waiting for an answer. I had a feeling he’d be doing all the talking for a while. “Your company sued me for all I was worth. Why was that, Miss Lancer?” He let go of my jaw.

“You know why,” I spat.

“Yes, yes, I suppose I do. But you thought if I didn’t have money to pay my mortgage, I’d have the money to pay your lawsuit?” he asked, angrily. “You milked me for all I was worth, and then ripped my life out from under me. It’s your fault my wife left me. It’s your fault I live in a cardboard box.”

“I did nothing,” I argued.

“Shut up!” he growled, and grabbed my jaw again. “You were in charge of it all, Alice, were you not? You were the one to ruin my life! You and only you!” He shouted.

I couldn’t say anything.

“You don’t deserve to live after what you did to me; what you did to my family.” He dropped me on the floor and I scrambled away as fast as I could, a last glimmer of hope popping into focus. But that glimmer soon disappeared as I was yanked up by my hair, onto my feet. I felt something sticky trickle down my neck. Randolph Pewter threw me at a row of filing cabinets. I slammed against them and they fell on top of me. I couldn’t move. My ribs screamed in protest as I lay in a disgruntled heap beneath the records and rusty metal drawers. I felt more blood oozing down my arms and legs.

Suddenly, the metal and paper was ripped off the top of me—or was I ripped out from under it? Randolph swung me over his shoulder, carrying me back over to the window. He forced me into the chair, and I didn’t protest. I was broken and bleeding all over. There was nothing I could do to escape. I watched as he pulled out a small knife from his jean pocket. He approached me and hastily ripped off my light gray suit jacket, now stained red. He pressed the knife against my left shoulder and dragged it down, toward my wrist. I screamed in pain as the metal cut through my skin.

He laughed. Then he pressed the knife against my right shoulder and did the same thing, dragging it down until he reached the base of my hand. I continued screaming in agony. He did the same thing to both of my legs, then finally, when I must have lost at least half the blood in my body, he ripped off my white (now blood red), silk, collared tank top. He pressed the knife between my collarbones, dragging it over my chest and down my stomach. Blood spurted out, staining everything red. My eyes swam with crimson and I slumped over. The last thing I heard was the deranged victory laugh of my killer. Then I went numb, the pain floating away into an abyss of death.


© Copyright 2017 Catherine . All rights reserved.

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