His Canvas

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Warning: Proceed with caution. Graphic content, strong language, and a sickening twist.

Submitted: November 18, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 18, 2015

A A A

A A A


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She could feel it; the excruciating pain that followed the blade of the knife sliding across her smooth skin, as the tip dug into her flesh, allowing the crimson red liquid seep out over her pale complexion. Her teeth bit down hard onto her bottom lip to stifle the screams that wanted to escape, but no matter how loud she screamed, no one would hear her. Morgan pulled on the brown leather restraints that bound her wrists and ankles to the uncomfortable wooden table beneath her naked and exposed body. The teen kept her eyes squeezed shut; focusing on anything else besides this very horrific moment, but when the blade dipped down over her stomach, another piercing scream echoed off the walls of the small, dark room. Nothing but a lightbulb hung over the very spot she was placed.

 

No recollection on how she got there, but a blurred vision of a much older man with glasses flashed before her eyes. His crooked smile, the whiteness in the little hair he had on top of his head, and the scar on the bridge of his nose from a previous surgery to extract the remanence of the cancer that began to gather there was all Morgan could remember. Bits and pieces of waking and falling unconscious over and over again came to her mind.

 

Waking up in a dark room with her clothes torn from her body and the coldness brushing over her exposed skin was something the teen had never thought she would ever experience. It was as if she were living a nightmare, yet instead... It was reality, and the pain and blood was proof of it. Morgan could taste her own blood on her tongue as her teeth let go of her swollen lip with another scream as she felt her skin pulling apart.

 

Torture. That's what it was. No reason. No words. Just the pain and the tears as they slid down her pale cheeks and wetted her dyed, auburn hair. Morgan clenched her fists; red-painted nails digging into the palms of her hands, blood and nail polish clashing together in color. Even as the knife left her body, Morgan could still feel the pain, and the cool air that whipped over the wet blood on her torso as the man stood from the stool beside the table.

 

Was he done? No. That was just the beginning.

 

Morgan's chocolate brown eyes opened; tears still spilling from them as her gaze settled upon the man who wore nothing but a black cloak around his rather tall figure. The hood, along with the shadows made it difficult for the teen to recognize his face, but there was no doubt in who he was.

 

He was a torturer; a psychopath. Organized, malicious, devious, and intelligent. He was a patient killer that waited until the right moment to seek out his prey and attack. Overall, the bastard was a monster; someone who forced pain upon limitless amounts of pain on his victims until they couldn't take it any longer.

 

By then, their heart didn't beat, the blood didn't run through their veins, and the cries and the screams had stopped. They were gone, and the only thing left to remind him of his most exciting moments was the blood left behind that stained the already blood-colored wooden table beneath their bodies.

 

Morgan knew that was her fate, and it was what she wished for. To see the light at the end of the tunnel; to take her away from such a dark and painful place. Yet, her killer wasn't stupid. He knew how to drag out time. He knew how to manipulate her, twist her, torture, and tear her apart piece by piece. He knew every curve of the knife, and the anatomy of the body that made it exceptionally easier for him to keep the torturous acts going on for days. And when he is done and through with her? She'll be just another teen...

 

Another victim...

 

Another damaged girl with a life that won't be missed.

 

Another nobody...

 

But a prized possession to add to his growing list.

 

How long has it been? Morgan couldn't tell. There was no sun. No bright light shining down from the moon held up in the night sky. It could have been days, weeks, or possibly months since her captor had brought her into this nightmare. The pain was so unbearable, Morgan would find herself growing unconscious; only to wake with the sound of the steel metal door opening and closing. He waited so patiently to do this; watching and studying for weeks before he finally found the courage to attack. No one would miss her. Why? Because Morgan was a runaway; leaving her hometown of Philadelphia to get away from her alcohlic father, and drug addicted mother. No longer could she stand the slurred words, unreasonable punches, and feeling like a mistake to her family. They didn't care. They didn't notice her gone for months, and they sure as Hell wouldn't notice her dead. They were able to live freely without her bearing down on their lives.

 

Morgan was brought out of her reverie with the sudden sound of metal clinking against metal. Despite the fear, charcoal hues never averted away from the cloaked monster as he moved skillfully and quietly around the small room. It was a shock how he could move so freely in such a condensed space, with the wooden table taking up most of it. Her head lifted slightly off of the wood beneath it; a shock of pain consuming her skull, causing the teen to gasp out quietly through her chapped lips, and rest her head back down once more. 

 

She was a bloody mess. Just one glance at her, and you would notice the blood covering her body like a newfound fashion statement. Small cuts, bruises, and burns were also noticeable on different parts of her body, along with the new artwork that ran from between her cleavage, and down towards her navel. Her hair was oily and matted due to the excessive amount of tears that soaked her auburn strands. Eyes once so beautiful were now a dull, puffy red, and lips that were now swollen from the countless bites that have been forced upon them to mask out the screams that erupted from her throat.

 

This was his undoing. He loved the sight of her crimson blood painting her pale skin, the screams of pain echoing off the walls, and the way she trembled and squirmed beneath his touch.  He knew every crevice of her body, every ridge and dip, and every tick that set her off. She was an experiment; a piece of art in his growing collection of treasured works. 

 

Yet, he was done. No longer did he desire the accentuated cries and pleas that passed her once full-lips. He craved a new body; a new sound, a new piece, a new canvas to practice his artwork on. Morgan was no longer needed. 

 

As he turned to face her, Morgan's eyes locked onto his brooding gaze, before falling onto the 6in blade held so securely in his right hand. He seemed so confident; that he's done this countless times before. And he has. Victims upon victims. Canvas' upon canvas'. His hand wasn't shaking, and his posture was held high. He held no regret. No remorse. This was just the end for her, and a new beginning for him.

 

Morgan's breath caught within her throat as she realized the look upon her torturer's fearures, and the way he looked at her with an emotionless expression. There was something different, though. Even as the threat of death stood mere feet away from her place on that blood-soaked table, Morgan felt...relieved. No more torture. No more pain. This was the end, and the thought of a lifetime of darkness was something the teen had been waiting for. He noticed this. The way she seemed so patient. No cries of mercy came from her lips. Held within those brown eyes of hers was a thank you.

 

A moment passed of pure silence, before suddenly, his face contorted into anger; the shadows of the light dancing perfectly upon his features as he launched forward, and held the blade high with both hands clenched tightly around the black handle above her chest. He was angry; angry with the fact she wanted this. She wanted death. She wanted to be set free.

 

Before he knew it, the blade came down swiftly; the sound of a choked gasp escaping Morgan's parted lips, along with blood seeping from the corners of her mouth as the blade dug deep into her chest. He didn't stop there, though. His anger took control, and he pulled the blade out, only to stab her once again. Over and over again he did this. Blood splattered his face, blinded his vision, and angered him even more, until finally...

 

He stopped.

 

Heavy breaths could be heard as he took a step back; Morgan's bloodied and torn body illuminated by the dim light hanging above. The blade still stuck out from her throat, and as he stepped forward to pull his weapon out, her eyes captivated him. 

 

Dead, and filled with darkness.

 

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All written work is copyrighted under the pen name 'Ever A. Darling'. If such action is taken in stealing this story, there will be consequences. Think before acting.

© CopyrightEverAfterDarlingAll Rights Reserved 


© Copyright 2018 Ever A. Darling. All rights reserved.

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