Witchita

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Some high school bullies get whats coming to them. No, they aint in Kansas anymore, bitch!

Submitted: April 01, 2011

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Submitted: April 01, 2011

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I do my best to help the helpless, but it’s impossible to be everywhere I’m needed at the same time. So many people need a bad ass like me on their side, especially these days, when so many other people need to be knocked down a few pegs.

My nickname is Witchita, but I ain’t from Kansas. I did spend some time there watching the Lord’s magnificent tornadoes descend from the heavens and restore justice to the land. In fact, I tried to harness some of that power myself, channeling it through my hands as I stormed into seedy saloons and smashed liquor bottles with my hatchet to scare away the nefarious drunkards. But that was a long, long time ago. Now I bring my special brand of justice to bear on those who bully and torment poor, helpless souls. I have adapted my methods quite well to the present day, including the use of modern technology. Sadly though, some situations get out of hand too quickly.

I had heard about what those little punks were doing to Nora. I only wish I could’ve made a difference before she hung herself. The most fragile of our lambs simply can’t endure it, but it’s always difficult to predict when someone will choose to end the suffering in that way.

I had a daughter who I loved dearly. I can’t imagine losing her like that. Nora’s poor mother. I will exact revenge. There is a funnel cloud on the horizon. Do you see it, Valerie? Do you see it, Keith? Do you see it, Frank? Do you see it, Ashleigh? Do you see it, Missy?

Welcome to Witchita.

Valerie, a striking brunette with long hair and longer legs, was lying stomach down on the bed in an upstairs bedroom of her parents’ upper-middle class home. She was occasionally texting her boyfriend Keith with her iPhone while simultaneously surfing the Web with her iPad and instant-messaging her pal Ashleigh.

“Can u believe it’s been one year already?” Ashleigh pinged her.

“Don’t even bring it up, Ash. Nora was a slut. She was weak. Can’t stand the heat, go hang yourself. That’s what I always say,” Val pinged back.

“LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Ash wrote. “Only the strong will survive in this nasty world.”

“And we R 2 tuff bitches!” Val replied, while scanning her phone for her boyfriend’s latest text.

“Me n Frank R going 2 jam l8r in my basement if you want to cum hear us,” Keith wrote.

“Nasty boy!” Val texted him back. “I’ll C. If I can get out of this prison. Can Ash cum 2?

“Hell yeah!” Keith replied. “Cum at 9.”

“But I’m a 10, right?” Val wrote.

“U R an 11!” he texted.

“Oh stop. Ur making me hot. C U there!” she signed off and shut her phone.

But as she turned back to look at her iPad, something strange had happened to Ashleigh’s IM box. Her face icon had been replaced with what looked like a tornado, and the text box next to it was going haywire: “xxxxxxxxxxxxxxAshes to ashesxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxDust to dustxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTime to pay for the soul U sucked!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Val pushed her eyeballs closer to the iPad screen, fumed and then retaliated. Her crimson-polished index finger stabbed at the virtual keyboard with violent precision.

“Fuck UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU whoever U R!!!! Stop hacking MY iPad before I TRACE YOUR ASS!!!!!!!!!!”

Just then Valerie felt what seemed like the weight of an anvil come down on her own ass, crushing her into the mattress. She could feel the box springs cutting into her chest, groin and legs. Her back ached and burned from the downward pressure on her ass. She tried to look back over her shoulder to see what was weighing her down, but there was nothing there. She looked again in horror at the iPad screen. It had switched to black with big red letters.

“TOO LATE. I TRACED YOUR ASS, SLUT! C HOW U LIKE IT! A STORM IS CUMMING FOR U AND UR LITTLE BAND OF DIPSHITS! THINK YOU’RE SO TUFF. U DON’T KNOW SHIT. BULLIES GET SUCKED INTO THE WHIRLWHIND AND SPIT OUT ONE PIECE OF INTESTINE AT A TIME. DO U UNDERSTAND, LITTLE SMART ASS? YOU FUCKED WITH NORA. NOW THE STORM IS CUMMING FOR U. BEWARE OF FLYING HATCHETS!

YOURS TRULY,

WITCHITA (AND YES, THAT’S THE CORRECT SPELLING SMART ASS CUZ YOU AIN’T IN KANSAS ANYMORE BITCH!)

P.S. CLICK YOUR HEELS ONCE FOR MERCY, TWICE FOR MURDER, THRICE FOR THE NOOSE!!!

Suddenly, the pressure disappeared over Valerie and she began to sob into her black-and-yellow butterfly bedspread. Reluctantly, she clicked her barefoot heels together once for mercy and stared at the black iPad screen.

One second passed.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

“I LIED. U R ONE GULLABLE BITCH!”

The formerly tuff bitch cried like a baby.

“What’s wrong? You look as white as a ghost?” Ashleigh asked Valerie after she got into the passenger seat of Ashleigh’s white Range Rover.

“Nothing, just get me out of here,” Valerie said with all of the emotion of a zombie. “I just need to hear some loud music.”

“Did your father chew your ass out again?” Ashleigh pressed her.

“Ash, just drive! I don’t want to talk about it!” Valerie snapped, quickly flipping down the visor mirror to check her makeup and avoid her friend’s incredulous stare.

Ashleigh let it go, shrugged her shoulders and hit the gas toward Keith’s place.

?

Keith kissed Valerie on the lips, led the girls down through the hatchway and ushered them into the impressively finished basement of his parents’ luxury home. Keith’s bedroom and jam space took up much of the basement. The girls stepped over wires and past amplifiers to make themselves cozy in reclining chairs next to the jam area. Keith prepared to play guitar while his buddy Frank grabbed his bass, slung the strap over his shoulder and resumed rolling a joint on the top of his huge Peavey amp.

“It’s just us. Johnny couldn’t make it tonight,” Keith told the girls, nodding toward the empty chair behind the glittering drum set.

“But his weed did make it!” Frank beamed as he finished rolling the joint, leaned forward and handed it to Ashleigh, who had been fussing with her long, blond hair.

“Sweet!” Ashleigh said, her eyes quickly lighting up just as the short, burly rocker lit the joint for her. “What a gentleman!”

“Give me a double hit of that, stat!” Valerie declared as Ashleigh took a puff, inhaled and passed the joint to her friend.

Keith, a tall, lean young man with long, stringy dark hair, studied his girlfriend’s face for a second. He, too, noticed she seemed to be weird. Instead of her overly confident normal self, she looked jittery and rattled. She kept fidgeting with her long, black curls.

“What’s up with you tonight?” Keith asked with some hesitation as he started plucking a few strings.

Valerie exhaled, coughed, waved the smoke away and tried not to look at him.

“See!” Ashleigh jumped in. “I thought so, too, Frank. She’s wicked off or something.”

“Both of you just give it a rest,” Valerie barked. “I had a migraine, that’s all.”

“Then we’ve got just the cure, don’t we? Weed and metal! Yeah!” Frank chimed in as he grabbed his bass, performed a few head-banger’s nods with his long, brown hair, and assumed jam position.

“Perfect,” Valerie said, relieved for a chance to escape just as her buzz started to kick in.

Keith ripped into a catchy rock riff and Frank laid down a groovy baseline underneath it. The girls began tapping their heels on the hardwood floor and rocking their heads to the beat.

Then the bass drum made one huge thump.

Everybody froze.

Keith and Frank glanced at each other and then both stared back at the drum kit. Ashleigh looked annoyed. Valerie took another hit.

“What’s the matter?” Ashleigh asked. “Why did you stop? I was just getting into that?”

“Uh … Ash … do you see Johnny anywhere?” Keith asked her.

“No … so?” Ashleigh continued, completely unaware of her ignorance.

“So … the bass drum just went off and nobody’s playing drums, that’s what!” Keith shouted.

“OK, OK,” Ashleigh said. “You don’t have to get pissed at me.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s fucking bizarre,” Keith said.

“Yeah, I mean, we all heard that, right?” Frank added, extending his hand out toward Valerie. “Give me another hit of that wonder drug, quick. This stuff is making us hear shit that ain’t there, man!”

“No way,” Keith said. “That was real.”

“Fuck it!” Valerie interrupted loudly. “Just play louder!”

“Good idea,” Ashleigh said. “What are the chances of it happening again?”

Keith and Frank looked at each other, shrugged and launched into another minute of metal rock.

Valerie was the first one to notice the blood on Keith’s fingers as he pressed them against the frets of his Les Paul guitar.

“You’re bleeding!” she shouted, pointing to his left hand.

Keith stopped playing and held his hand up toward the ceiling light. Sure enough, blood was seeping from all four finger nails and trickling down his fingers. Only his thumb was spared. Frank’s bass also went quiet as he leaned toward his friend to inspect his hand. The girls stopped puffing and looked at each other.

“What the hell is going on?” Ashleigh finally said, breaking the strange silence.

“I think … maybe,” Valerie began haltingly.

The other three all turned to her, shocked she might offer an explanation to the unexplainable.

“Maybe what?” Keith asked with bugged-out eyes.

“This might have something to do with Nora,” Valerie suggested.

“What? Like the ghost of Nora haunting the hell out of us?” Frank chimed in.

“Yeah,” Valerie said. “Earlier this evening my iPad went crazy, like someone hacked into it and sent me all these threatening messages.”

“Like what?” Ashleigh asked. “So this is why you’ve been acting so weird.”

“Pretty much,” Valerie confirmed.

“Well, what was the threat?” Keith asked her.

“Basically, we’re all in deep shit,” Valerie said, her eyes darting all over and starting to look rattled again. “It said a storm is coming. Beware of flying hatchets. I don’t know. I’m freaked out, OK?!!”

With that, Valerie slumped in her chair, put her head in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably. The others rushed to comfort her.

“We didn’t torment the girl that bad,” Keith said, giving his girlfriend a hug. “Missy was the worst. She was relentless. We kind of just joined in. It’s not our fault Nora couldn’t take it.”

“Well … I posted that half-naked photo of her all over the Web a few weeks after she sexted me,” Frank reminded them. “That probably didn’t help.”

“So what?” Ashleigh defended him. “Shit happens. It’s not like she’s the only person who’s ever been burned by sexting someone. Get over it.”

As soon as Ashleigh finished her sentence, a massive rumbling sound pummeled their ears and rocked the room. The teens' eyes were filled with terror and doom.

Seconds later, the basement hatch blew open so hard and fast that it cracked into a million little pieces. Wind rushed into the room and swirled around them. A beer bottle smacked Keith upside the head. Frank crashed backward into the drum kit. Ashleigh and Valerie clung to each other and fell to the floor.

That’s when Missy’s half-nude, lifeless body flew through the hatch and landed with a thud in front of the girls. They screamed in horror. There was a hatchet wedged into her skull right between her eyes, which were still wide open. Her blood was spurting everywhere.

The guys gathered themselves and slowly crawled through the tempest toward Valerie and Ashleigh. Then they all stared at the yellow sticky note that was posted to Missy’s naked chest. Amazingly, even amid the freak basement whirlwind, the note remained stuck to her left breast just above the nipple. It read: “Don’t look up!”

Of course, all four teens looked up.

That’s when four hatchets blew in through the open hatch and crashed into their four skulls simultaneously.

One by one, the teenage bullies slumped to the floor and fell on top of one another. Missy, the red-headed ringleader, was now on the bottom of the pile.

As blood quickly pooled all around them, the wind suddenly died down and moans of agonizing pain were audible.

Then Valerie’s pink iPhone fell out of her jacket pocket and thumped onto the floor. It pinged with the arrival of a new text.

“I KNEW YOU’D LOOK UP. U R 1 GULLABLE LITTLE BAND OF DIPSHITS. AT LEAST NOW U HEARTLESS BULLIES HAVE BEEN REDUCED TO EXACTLY WHAT U R: 1 BIG PILE OF BULLSHIT.

… ALWAYS HAPPY TO MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE!

YOURS TRULY, WITCHITA.


© Copyright 2018 Jack Chaucer. All rights reserved.

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