The Letter

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A Edgar-Allan-Poe style story.

Submitted: May 29, 2014

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Submitted: May 29, 2014

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The Letter

 

Dear Son,

I will not mention you by your rightly given name because of her. There isn’t much time allocated to me, as I write this by the light of my wax candle. No, I see HER in the SHAWDOWS!! No, just a figment of my…imagination. I need to tell you the disturbing tale of the death of my beloved Eleanor. You believed the lies of my disowned brother that she passed because of a stroke. NO, this is LIES! Hearken, this is the real tale. It started some 2 decades ago. I must not waste an inch of space.

I was your age. I was out to make my permanent mark on the world with your treacherous uncle.  I had devised an invention that would spell the end of the candle. THE –shadows, they are closing in. We were heading to the McCollum patent office when I saw the woman that I would wed…. and would become your mother. My late brother, saw this and backed down from his approach to the woman. He knew his time would come. The invention was later turned down. I later found out that your Devil of a family member later sold it to that swindle Thomas Edison. HUUUH! I would like to murder! The shadows- they- are playing tricks! It was a few days later that your uncle found the woman that would bring the downfall of the Usher name. She was just like your fiancée, by dear son, and she was CUNNING!! Oh, she nearly cheated me out of my life savings during a poker game. Your uncle, cursed under her snake charm, did nothing to save me. I did get the confounded money back, but I for—WHY!!! WHY did it have to come to this! The shadows, they are influencing me. I forever held a grudge against that woman. The going got a hell of a lot worse. The very next nightfall, the snake ran off with the devil!!!!  I told my fiancée Eleanor, “I swear till my last breath I will make them SUFFER!”  My Eleanor insisted that I come to my senses and warn the police department about this heinous act. WHY DID IT HAVE TO COME TO THIS! The shadows are watching my every stroke against the paper. I did come to my senses and walked to the police department. I remember every word and detail. Every detail is as clear as gold.

Chief Biggins, the police chief, said that nothing could be done at the apparent moment, but would send a detective along with me. My Eleanor insisted that we shouldn’t go to my devil of a brother’s cottage in Hefordshire. I ignored her timid warnings and set off for my brother’s cottage. I think the detective and Eleanor were conspiring with my brother and his wife. Throughout the journey, they kept trying to convince me with biased opinions like this: You are taking this too far. It’s only money; you can always open up a business in London. BUT NO!! I told them I would toss them off the carriage if they didn’t shut up.

After a few more tense hours, the cottage came into full view. It was a quiet two story, with a thatched roof. The door was made of polished wood from the forest. The rest of the details have been lost because of the ordeal that soon followed. We soon dismounted. Me, Eleanor, and the timid detective made our way to the door. HMM! You should have seen how smart we looked heading to the door. The shadows, shadows they are preventing me from writing down the most crucial part of this tale. I knocked on the door precisely three times. No answer. Another three times. No answer. Still I knocked, this time insistently. Again no answer. At this part I turned to the detective and said, “Knock down the door, sir.” He timidly stammered, “I need an executive order from the chief of police in order to enter the premises.” TIMID I TELL YOU!! I slammed the whole of my frame against the door. The door came undone easily, and I was confronted with a sight that to this very night has never left me. My brother’s bloody head was on the welcome mat. To this I shouted, "WHO THE HELL MURDERED MY ONLY BROTHER!?”

The detective grabbed his pistol and made his way up the oaken stairs. The details of the house have been lost to me in the madness that followed the discovery of my brother’s head. The detective steps echoed off the walls with a deathly silence. Eleanor sat down, dazed, into the nearest chair. I can’t put down these words fast enough. A scream ripped the silence in half. The detective came tumbling down the stairs, clutching the knife protruding from his chest. Eleanor and I immediately rushed toward him. With his last breath he said, "The DEVIL IS UP THERE!!!” I looked next to me to see Eleanor in convulsions. I tried to hold her, but she bit me. She writhed around on the floor, dying right before my eyes. All of a sudden, the lights went out. I tore out of the house into the nightfall. I’m not sure how I hitched the carriage and found the Inn in which I am now staying. She’s coming to finish the job. My uncle’s wife is a hideous creature from the depths of hell. I need to tell you one more thing: If the letter ever reaches you, read it, then burn the accursed thing. I SEE HER IN THE SHADOWS…….

 

Epilogue: The next day, the writer was found dismembered and strangled. Upon reading the letter, the son took the policeman’s gun and shot himself. The woman is still at large.


© Copyright 2018 Christopher Romo. All rights reserved.

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