Incomplete

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Jack has a troubled past, and his simple lifestyle of living isn't always going to cut it for him.

Submitted: May 01, 2014

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Submitted: May 01, 2014

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 It is said that the eyes are the gateways into the soul, if such a thing really exists. But, what if the eyes of a man were devoid of the truths inside him? What if he had learned to hide his soul or perhaps his soul got lost? A lost soul is a form of damnation, and a man like this is unpredictable. A man like this is not a man at all. Then again, maybe no such thing actually exists. After all, if you were to be cut open, would it be there?

Jack Froth, a young man good-looking too. You’d never suspect a man like this to withhold ghastly secrets, but look into his eyes: they are devoid of light. Maybe that’s looking too far into it. After all, Jack is only a simple man, with a simple job, and a simple life. Even his girlfriend, Wendy, is simple. A young woman with short brown hair and a moderately pretty face. She found Jack to be interesting enough for being a simple man. Not to say simple is a bad thing, no of course not, Simple is… Simple.

Wendy stood in the kitchen of her boyfriend’s home casually looking out the window. The house was two stories, not including the basement, and had a pleasant look about it. Sunlight filtered into the kitchen through the window casting a soft light in the room. Upstairs Jack was shuffling about the bedroom. He would have to leave soon for work, a simple job, a car salesman. Wendy began pouring coffee. “Jack! Honey, it’s almost time for you to go!”

Jack’s footsteps resonated through the house as he came downstairs. Wendy turned to him with a mug of coffee in her hands. As he reached the kitchen doorway she offered him a small smile. His face was freshly shaved; a small trickle of blood ran down his chin, a nick from the razor. Upon first glance there was something odd about the way he looked, then is faded off as he grinned. He grabbed the coffee, kissed her forehead and was back out of the kitchen without missing a beat. “Thanks babe!” She heard the front door slam shut then the car started. Her heart sank a little, oh didn’t she hate being in this house alone.

Sure it was a pleasant little place, but then there was the basement. Her eyes shifted uncomfortably toward the door that led into the basement. While the rest of the house held a soft glow, at the door it abruptly ended. The aura around it was rough and unwelcoming. A thought drifted through her head, “I wonder if it’s locked?” Jack always kept that door locked. He had told her when they started dating that he was collecting all sorts of antiques and wanted no one down there until he had felt accomplished in his collection. She never questioned him about it, for one the door simply frightened her, and why should she not trust him?

Sparks of curiosity coursed through her finger tips, making them twitch. She tip-toed over to the door, afraid she might be heard, but by whom she did not know. Her fingers ghosted over the knob and simply hung there a moment. She gripped it lightly and tried to turn it. It was locked. The weight on her heart seemed to lighten a little. Paranoia shook off, she went upstairs. Though Wendy may not know it, a simple wooden door can hide an abundance of secrets. What lies in Jack’s basement though is shrouded in blackness.

Conversation buzzed among the workers at the car dealership. The hottest news in the town concerned everyone. “Have you heard? Another person went missing the other day.”For months now people had been reported missing in Greensville, but recently there were a lot more missing persons than usual. The town was normally a quiet place, so the missing people put everyone on edge, explaining the sparse number of people at the car dealership. While everyone else spoke of the disappearances, Jack sat at his desk thinking of his ex-fiancé. He did this often, thinking back to the last day he had seen her alive. It was three years ago now, but everything was as clear and crisp as if it were yesterday.

When Jack and Linda had first began dating they had been some of the happiest people you’d ever met. The two did everything together, made each other whole. In the truest sense of the saying, Linda was his better half, but as the couple grew older things began to change. Jack took a job at the local car dealership and began getting home later and later. At first Linda hadn’t minded, he was still a good guy, he just got frustrated on occasion. Then she became pregnant. Jack hadn’t taken the news as well as she had hoped. He had thrown a small fit and left the house. That was when the true downward spiral began.

Jack had come home in a drunken rage. In those days he had been a prominent drinker, and Jack Froth was not a happy drunk. Seeing the house in a mess had pushed him over the edge, he went into a fit fury. “Linda! What the hell have you done all day besides sit on that fat butt of yours?!” His petite fiancé was sitting in the kitchen with a plate half full of food sitting in front of her. The woman, contrary to Jack’s remark, was stunning. Beautiful really, a small woman with blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes, of which narrowed at Jack. “Jack!” She hissed quietly. “Would you lower your voice? You’ll wake Rose, and I just got her to fall asleep.” Jack glowered at her. “Are you not going to answer me?”Linda sighed and put her plate in the sink. “I’ve been with Rose all day. I haven’t had the time to clean, ok?” She began to walk away but he grabbed her wrist and yanked her back harshly. “And where in the hell do you think you’re going?” He growled. Linda’s eyes widened slightly. “Ow! Jack let go.” She attempted to pull away but his fist clenched tighter. “Answer me, damn it.”

“To check on Rose! Jack you’re hurting me.” Tears began to build in her eyes. “You always use her as an excuse don’t you? So you can sit around all day on your butt and do nothing. A hard working man should get a nice, warm meal when he gets home and instead I get this.” He grabbed the back of her head and shoved her face toward the sink. “Rose isn’t even awake and you leave your mess for me!”

Linda had tears streaming down her face now. “Jack, what is wrong with you?!” He released her wrist and gave her a violent shove. Her thighs hit the table and sent her sprawled onto the ground. She looked up at him pathetically, her wrist throbbing. “You’re drunk, aren’t you? You went and got drunk, now you’re taking it out on me, you bastard!” Rose’s cries echoed from upstairs, Linda went for the stairs. “Yea, just walk away from the argument like you always do, Linda.”She stopped and turned on him. “Walk away? Rose is crying, Jack!” “Babies cry, Linda. I’m not done talking to you.” The argument lasted hours, but neither of the parents noticed when Rose’s cries ceased. When Linda finally broke away from the argument she found herself in Rose’s room, only now there was an eerie silence. The two month old baby had rolled onto her belly and suffocated to death.

After that night Linda had left and never came back. About a week after she was found face down in a ditch by the side of a road. Jack had barely recognized her in the morgue. Her once slim body was swelled and her once beautiful face was covered in lacerations. The determined cause of death: a drug overdose. That night Jack had went home and broke down. Something in him had snapped, and something else disappeared. He had gone home and wrecked everything. Glass had lain shattered on the floor and embedded into Jack’s hands, and so Jack had sat on his bed bleeding and bawling.

“Hey, yo, Jack. Anybody home?” Jack was brought out of his nightmarish thoughts by a co-worker, and his best friend, Rob. “I was just thinking is all.” He sat up. “That’s all you ever do lately, my man. It’s time to get you out of here, you want to grab a drink?” And when would Jack ever turn down drink?

Upon coming home Jack found Wendy gone, probably back to her own place, and all the better for him. He went back to his car and threw a large black bag that had been residing in the trunk over his shoulder with some effort. Inside the house he dropped it down by the basement door where is landed with a sick thud. He retrieved the basement key from its hiding spot, under a loose stone from the fireplace. After unlocking the door he kicked the bad down the stairs into the black abyss. It was the anti-thesis of light down there, but Jack looked into it unaffected by its cold grip. He took the first step, closed the door behind him and followed after the bag. He switched on the lights and the basement was flooded with a dull light. Nightmares manifested from the darkness.

Bodies, corpses, everywhere. Men, women, children, pets. The smell was repugnant, nauseating, the smell of decayed flesh. Frames hung around the basement, corpses posed with metal wire sat within the frames, mimicked pictures of famous masterpieces. This is what Jack called ‘true art,’ if he couldn’t find what he wanted in the bodies then they could be used for other things. That night in the morgue what had snapped was this man’s sanity, and what he lost was his soul, in its place a cluster resided, a cluster of filth. It had taken him awhile to realize why he felt so empty or angry but after the realization his no longer sane mind conjured up a twisted little scheme. If he had no soul of his own anymore, why not simply take someone else’s? After all the world had taken his, couldn't he do the same?

He looked at the black bag. “Do you have the thing I search for? The thing I so desire?” The silence of the basement was his only answer, so he threw the bag over his shoulder once more and carried it over to a table at the edge of the basement, where he placed it. After removing the bag the woman inside began to awaken. In utter panic she screamed out. Jack quickly brought a hammer down on her head. As it slammed down onto her forehead there was a sickening crack, the woman’s head hit the table and she quickly fell silent, blood oozing from her head. Jack laid the hammer down gently and reached for a different tool, a saw blade.

The killing hadn’t begun immediately after Linda’s death, for a long while Jack sat at home staring at the emptiness. After the first night he became numb to the world. No one talked to him, and he talked to no one. Weeks went by where he never left the house, he simply began to rot. He would sit in the kitchen and wonder why he didn’t feel sad, only empty. More weeks rolled on by and he was over taken by anger. For a long while he went from being empty to being furious. As a child his mother was very religious, but she was long passed now, and he doubted God would be of much help. Despite that he decided he would try it, at least once.

On no particular Sunday, Jack attended morning mass. He stood outside the church looking up; the building loomed over him like a monstrous shadow ready to swallow him whole. Feeling foolish he shuffled awkwardly inside and placed himself randomly into a pew. Curious eyes followed him. Before mass actually started a mother and her young boy placed themselves in front of Jack. The boy looked to be about seven, maybe nine. There was nothing that made the boy stand out, but Jack found his eyes constantly drifting to him during the priest’s spiel, which Jack paid little mind to. Maybe there was something about the boy. His eyes weren’t the only ones that wandered during mass, he found the boy constantly glancing back at him.

After mass ended Jack quickly left the church feeling the same as when he entered, uncomfortable and aggravated. He stood near the doors with a cigarette lit, he had quit when Rose was born, but took the habit back up when she had died. “Mister, that thing ain’t no good for you.” Jack looked over and there was the boy, eyes locked tightly onto Jack. “Yea, bad habit, I guess.” He dropped it and smashed it with the heel of his boot. “There’s something wrong with you, ain’t there mister?” Jack looked at the boy slightly surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s something wrong with you. God ain’t lookin’ at you like he’s lookin’ at everybody else.” The boy’s eyes were fierce with judgment and his mouth was set in a grimace. The facial expression made the boy look much older than he was. “Why do you say that, kid?” Jack asked, a touch of malice in his voice. “Because I can see it, you did something bad. It’s your fault she died you know, your fault both of them died.” Jack’s breath caught in his throat, suddenly he felt the desire to wring the boy’s neck, and at the same time he felt terribly frightened. “Something’s wrong with YOU, boy.” He walked away from the child in great strides. “Mister.” Jack stopped briefly and looked at him. “You ain’t going to hell when you die, you’re already there.” It wasn’t until later that Jack had realized just how true that was.

After having cut open the back of the woman’s skull Jack screamed in anger. “NO! WHY?! Why can I not find it?!” Suddenly the basement door swung open. “Jack? Jack, are you alright?” Wendy had come home while Jack was busy and now he whipped around to face her. She stood at the bottom of the stairs with horror plastered on her face. The grotesque sight of the basement paralyzed her. The man who stood before her looked nothing like her boyfriend. His face and arms were covered in blood. Behind him there was a woman on the table, her brains hung out of her skull, it was like some sick movie. There was insanity in Jack’s eyes, it spread over his face like an infection.

“Wendy…Maybe you… Maybe you have it.” He held up the saw blade, liberally slathered with blood and brain. “Jack, what are you doing?” She tried to take a step back but found herself unable to move. Jack stepped forward his head titled slightly to the side giving him a wild, horrible look. His eyes were ablaze with madness and insanity, and then he was running for her. For so long he had kept this well hidden, this monster, but now here it was. Wendy turned to run up the stairs, but Jack swung the blade out at her, it sliced through her back like a butter knife. Blood sprayed onto his face and she fell screaming. There was no hope for Wendy.

The next morning when Jack didn’t show or work, Rob had decided to go past his house. The moment he pulled into the driveway he could sense something was wrong. It wouldn’t take long for him to find out exactly what. Upon entering the kitchen he found his best friend sitting on the floor, covered in what looked to be red paint. He was holding a mutilated corpse, the skin was in tatters, and it took Rob a moment to make Wendy out of the sagging flesh. “I couldn’t find it… Rob, I couldn’t find it! There’s no soul, not in anyone. It disappears as soon as they die.” Jack looked up; tears had made trails through the red. “I need one, I lost mine.” Rob stumbled back and gagged at the smell, it was a miasma invading his lungs. “Rob…” Jack’s eyes connected with Rob’s, and for the first time Rob saw, there was nothing there, absolutely nothing, there were devoid of life, and even of the craziness that had been there before. “Let me have yours, make me whole.


© Copyright 2020 redhead2349. All rights reserved.

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