Plymouth, Massachusetts was never a very exciting place. Sure, it was the home of the pilgrims and people travel from far and wide to visit the sites and attractions, but if you were to ask anyone who lived there year round what it’s like, they’d give you one word: lifeless. Sammy Bundy had been living in Plymouth for near his entire life. When he was almost two years old, his single mother was found hanging in his closet and ever since then; he’d lived with his father’s sister Eve. Sammy was almost thirty two and had just moved into his own home, just fifteen minutes away from Eve.
Sammy slept uneasily the first night of being on his own. The bed in which used to be so comfortable only a night ago seemed to be rocks beneath his back; causing him to toss from side to side and groan with every movement of his mid area. The front of his head was pounding at an abnormal rate and his heart rate quickened, a piercing ring erupting against his fragile eardrums and his body suddenly jolting at the sound. He thumped his open palm to his forehead and growled, “Let me sleep, damn it.”
Sammy didn’t sleep that night.
“The place looks nice, Sam,” Eve said as she stumbled through the door with her eyes wide, clearly examining the rooms that were visible from the front stoop, “Could use a tad of color, but that’s a quick fix.”
Sammy nodded his head and grunted in response, tustling his fingers through his hair as he watched Eve approach with red, drooping eyes. She stared at him with an expression of concern and stepped closer with her hands stretched out in front of her, almost like a zombie. She then reached up to him and traced her fingers over his cheeks, “Are you feeling alright, Sam? Gosh, you look so pale. Can I get you-”
Sammy quickly shrugged her off and snarled, “Eve, I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine. Sleepless night, that’s all. I’ll be okay.” This was infact a lie. The two following nights were just as bad, if not worse. His bed seemed to be shrinking as his head expanded and would occasionally implode with sharp pains, needles, knives against his forehead. The ringing in his ears was reaching the point of unbearable. Small whispers seemed to hiss through his mind, saying simple nothings and things that weren’t exactly able to be translated in a human language. Gurgles, groans, purrs of disparity. With every night Sammy stayed in this new house, the more drained he became.
Within a month, the strange language became totally clear.
Sammy wasn’t looking so hot.
“Ripping, shredding, devouring. Lips so moist, eyes filled with fear, shrieks that will get the ecstasy kicking,” The shrill voice snickered, “Tearing flesh. Tearing rotting, dead flesh. Shoving your way inside.” The voice paused for a few moments and Sammy was left alone in the darkness of his mind, silence. Until the voice started again. “Rope around their neck as the adrenaline takes over, eyes bulging and watching helplessly as you steal them... snapping their neck and clopping the throat,” A hysterical giggle and then, “Kill, death, slaughter. Decapitation, necrophilia, strangulation. Murder is all the same. Murder means power. Samuel, steal the power. Samuel, use the power. Let Eve know who her boss is. Oh, yes. Eve. Very pretty for her old age, don’t you think, Samuel? Tiny, defenseless. She lives alone now that you’re out, am I right?” Sammy couldn’t bare to listen any longer. His eye lids swung open like a revolving door and he shuffled from the bed; falling flat to the ground with a thump and grunt. He squealed uncontrollably and then turned onto his back, gasping for a breath as he stared up at the thing above him.
The man who stand in front of him was amazingly handsome, skin pale as snow, eyes like a black abyss. He smiled and cocked his head a bit, seeming to try to get a better look at the shaking man that lie sprawled out before him.
The man stepped forward and Sammy felt a warm sensation fill his crotch area. Ignoring the fact that he had just wet himself, Sammy lie still with his eyes wide on the white figure that was slowing inching from one end of the room to the side in which he was nested upon.
“Samuel, my boy. Ah, you look just like your mother.” The inviting grin that was once painted on the man’s face had suddenly vanished and turned to a dark grimace, his eyes swimming with hatred and darkness. He continued, “Yes, your bitch mother. She was a cute little thing but she sure put up a fight. Ted doesn’t like ‘em feisty. Fights aren’t what it’s about, eh.”
Sammy was now shaking at a dangerously high rate, his heart pounding against the walls of his chest, his breath slowly becoming non existent. The man seemed to be softening. He held out his almost translucent hand to Sammy directly and said, “Be a man, son. Never let ‘em know you’re scared.” Before Sammy could even take his hand (which he wasn’t going to do anyway), the man snatched it back to his side as if it had been burnt on the air and growled, “Kill, Samuel. Be a man. Be the son you should’ve been. Seize power, Samuel.”
He didn’t remember going back to sleep that night or changing his pants. He didn’t remember waking up the next morning or snagging a quick bite for breakfast. He didn’t remember the beginning or ending of the discussion in which he had had with the man who stood in his room the night before. What he did remember was that haunting face, that pale face, that demonic face. That face, That face. Sammy thought to himself, That consuming face. The voice, magnified with triumphant ness and undeserving pride. The smell, the smell that didn’t exist. The touch, the touch that was never felt. What had his name been? Todd, Ted, Tanner, Tadd? With all these things pushed aside, the only thing that was focused on by Sammy was three words: Kill, murder, death. And then, repeat.
The girl didn’t even know Sammy was behind her until his hands were cupped around her chest from behind her and his torso was pressing hard into her back. “Scream, I’ll kill you,” He hissed into her ear, slowly moving forward and pushing her towards his car. The girl whimpered helplessly and Sammy could feel her little heart beat racing against his palms. The sounds of her whines were maddening as he stuffed her inside and slammed the door behind her. He quickly hopped into the front seat and drove off to his home, for he had nowhere else that he could think of that would hold more privacy. He defiled her. He raped her. He humiliated her. He stole her sense of virgin attitude. He put his blade to her throat and sliced countlessly until the blood was pouring from her skin and onto the carpet before her. The gurgles that bubbled deep in her throat drove Sammy wild; forcing him to pounce back onto her from behind and start from the beginning. She was spitting blood on the ground as he continued, and tried to scream out for help. Hoarse sounds left her lips and she collapsed forward lifelessly.
Hours passed as Sammy huddled himself up to the body which was already starting to reek with a sick and sour smell of disgustingness. His eyes started to close again until a voice boomed from across the room, “Brilliant, son!” Sammy hopped from the floor and stepped back, his head turning from left to right until his eyes fell onto the ghostly figured before him. His feet dangled inches from the ground and he smirked deviously at Sammy, “Powerful, eh? That’s how you feel? Father like son, eh?”
Sammy’s head was spinning and he blinked a few times, nibbling on his bottom lip viciously, “Son? Father? Father like son?” He paused and looked down to the body that lie beside him, splattered in it’s own blood and sprawled in an awkward and desperate position. He stared back up towards the thing and whispered hoarsely, “You made me. You made me do it?”
The man’s smile deteriorated and was replaced by an angry scowl. “Not even the bowels of hell can contain the notorious Ted Bundy, my boy.” He stepped towards Sammy and seemed to touch him. His hand was placed on Sammy’s cheek but he couldn’t feel a thing. “Samuel,” He continued, “This family is a disgrace. Lurking about the smallest towns, laying low to never be discovered by the world.” His voice drifted off as well as his gaze, “Not passing on the name I had so well provided. The future in hold for you is full of power, full of.. magnificent dreams. It felt good, didn’t it?” Ted’s voice seemed to warp into that of an angry dog, howling and bearing it’s mighty fangs. “Every other night, Samuel. Every other night, you will continue my name. And I will continue to meet you, my boy. You will one day be famous. You will one day live up to my name.”
© Copyright 2017 TheWalkingChristen. All rights reserved.
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