The Voice

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Jim has always had voices in his head. But, unlike most schizophrenics he only hears the bad voices. They drive him to do terrible things.

Submitted: January 16, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 16, 2016



In my early life a teacher asked me if I would choose life or chaos, he then presented me with two works of art. Van Gogh’s Cafe Terrace at Night and Cleon Peterson’s Balance of Terror. I was in 11th grade at the time. One of the images presented a beautiful cafe with a few people in the background. They looked like they were sipping white wine and eating small pastries. The other painting presented a cycle of people. One group of the people were brutally beating and assaulting the other group with no remorse. The attacker’s faces were drawn with thin sneer lines for mouths, and their victims pale and screaming for mercy.

I think of that sentiment every time I have to kill another human being. Every time I pull the trigger I think of the people from Cleon’s painting, brutes who maim and murder their victims, but after the person is finally dead I think of the tranquility of the Cafe. Everytime I kill someone the world gets more peaceful. I’m not a psychopath, and I don’t like to do it, but something tells me I do. A voice whispers in my ear every now and then telling me plans for my next killing.

I’ve never gotten caught, the voice took care of that. You see killing, for me, at least is like an addiction. With any addiction, be it sexual, alcohol, or in my case murder, it starts of easy. Then you get to the harder stuff. With drug addicts it’s more crack per day and for me it’s more murder. With my addiction I get the high as I commit the murder, after the piercing screams have ended and my last blow has stopped. Then comes the withdrawal, I fantasize about other killings, the voice begins to speak again saying:


“It’s time for another slashing.”

The voice uses the term “slash” to refer to killing. The voice sounds like a little boy from a horror movie, probably the boy from The Shining crosses with the little boy from The Ring. Whenever I try and think of how many people I’ve killed the voice whispers something distracting in my ear. The voice said I can’t have a TV, but once in awhile when I pass by a store I can see terrible things on the news.


NBC Breaking News: Unknown killer has killed a single man, 35 years of age...

FOX News: Is the killer of 35 year old Gary Sonader the same man who killed two other people this summer…

ABC News: Crime Scene Investigators and the FBI still haven’t identified the killer of 35 year old Gary Sonader…


I want all of it to stop. Today I’m going to talk back to the voice, something I never do. Last time I talked back to the voice I got fired from my office job, now I serve coffee at the Starbucks across from my apartment. I grab a Coca-Cola from my fridge, raise it to my mouth, and let my senses ignite with the flavor of ice cold classic cola. Just as I’m about to take a second sip the voice begins again.


“Jimmmmmm” It was searching for me, it sounded farther away.

“Go away,” I replied.

“Jim, that’s no way to talk to a friend.” The voice said, this time closer.

“You are not my friend!” I yell, throwing my can of Coke against my dirty apartment wall, it falls down next to some half empty beer bottles.

“Jim, that was very naughty, I think you need a punishment.” Voice replied in a sinister tone.

“No, I think it’s time that you go away and leave me alone.” I say back speaking to the empty room.

I begin to feel a presence take over my body. The same presence that takes over while I’m repeatedly driving a knife into another human being. The voice has a power over me at times that makes me think I’m possessed, I blackout and wake up in pain or to find myself back in my apartment covered in blood.

I find myself being pulled to my bathroom, I sit down on the edge of my bathtub and put my right foot over my left thigh and pick up my razor blade. I black out then.

I wake up to a buzz from my phone. I’m lying on the wooden floor of my apartment. I push myself up onto my two feet. A line of pain shoots up from the soles of my feet. I try to look at the bottom of one of my feet, but that puts too much pressure on my opposite foot. I feel more pain as I see blood begin to seep under my feet.

I mutter a curse under my breath then sit down lifting my feet in the air. Blood falls onto my hard floor and I grit my teeth. I remember doing this to myself. This is how it always is. The voice makes me forget the punishing until I wake up and realize what I’ve done. Than I remember the cuts.

I don’t have a mental problem, the voice has told me that. I don’t have a mission or anything, so I know it’s not schizophrenia. It’s the voice ever-present, cold, hating, and demonic, that is my problem. The voice comes to me again as I scooch on my butt to the bathroom to get some bandages.



“Yes?” I reply in an annoyed tone.

“You need to sanitize that cut as soon as possible.”

“No, duh!” I yell back.

“Don’t get sarcastic with me! Tonight we are going to make some more slashings.”

“No, I can’t…” I began.

“I can’t…”


“Yes, you can.” The voice disappears, an image of the landlord of my apartment building comes to my mind. She is my next victim.


I suddenly get a sorrowing idea. I know I will put it to use. It will save the world. It will be my final punishment, and the voice will have no idea. I will be free of torment.


I wipe the blood of my feet with an alcohol wipe to stifle the pain. I grab a knife and walk out, the only thing in my mind is my victim, and how I will kill her.


I arrive at the landlord’s office and I can hear her talking to someone. I nearly shout a cry of relief. I will walk in and attempt to murder the landlord. The other person will catch me and call the authorities. Then I’ll be caught. The voice will not be able to kill anyone else.

I try the doorknob and find its unlocked. I am in a good relationship with my landlord, so she gives me an open door policy. She doesn’t see the flash of the knife until it strikes her desk. She screams and then I begin to lose control over myself. I keep seeing flashing images of the two paintings. Chaos and life were flashing before me.

I woke up to the sound of sirens. I was in a dark place. I tilted my head to find that I was under the bridge near my apartment. My whole body was paralyzed. I heard the voice begin to speak.


“Jimmmm, I knew your plan. You don’t deserve to be punished.”


“I’ve had it with you” I swore.


“You don’t deserve to be punished, you deserve to die. But, before you do, you should know that I succeeded in killing both the landlord and her friend.”


“You can’t harm anyone else once I am dead.” I screamed, beginning to choke on blood.


“Yes I can.” The voice began to laugh and grew distant.


Blood began to flood my throat, choking me, like I’d choke on water at the bottom of the ocean. I finally blacked out after a minute.


The Voice still lurks underneath the bridge waiting for another victim to torture. Soon, he will find one.


© Copyright 2020 Kiah Z. All rights reserved.

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