A Life of Misery

Reads: 105  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
The life of two people, a timid but determined helper and a blood thirsty killer, who just happen to share the same body.

Submitted: May 07, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 07, 2012

A A A

A A A


 

The young lady in the corner of the room is bleeding profusely. She isn’t breathing, at least, not as far as anyone else in the room can tell. Her left eye is completely out of her socket. She is missing huge chunks of skin and a few fingers. She must be freshly dead, because blood is still pouring from her open wounds and washing across the grey linoleum floor. The remains of her body are chained to the wall. Those chains are the only thing stopping her body from completely falling limp onto the floor.

“Oh what fun! We really should do this again sometime, Ms… Ms… oh how silly of me, I seem to have forgotten your name.”

He sits there, watching the body bleed, continuing on with his conversation. As he does so, he rubs his right forearm through his long sleeved black shirt. He knows what is there, and what is on his left arm, his legs, his chest. He can’t remember her name, but someone does.

He jumps up, looking around frantically. Spying the doorway that leads back up to his house, he bolts up the stairs, leaving the body back into the basement. The kitchen is on his immediate left as he goes up, and he rushes inside, snatching a large knife out of one of the drawers. He lifts up his black shirt, revealing names etched into his chest. There is an open space between “Carly” and “Samantha” and he slowly, carefully carves something new in that spot.

He moans and stifles a scream as he works, blood running down his body. He can’t make the cuts shallow. There is no use for a shallow cut on his body. When he is done, he looks down to inspect his handiwork. There, in between the other two name, is Katie, as bloody and tore up as the body downstairs.

“What have you done? You Monster…”

He puts his shirt back down and makes his way into the living room, wincing at the sharp pain in his chest and trying to stop blood from leaking onto his new carpet. As he passes the basement, he takes one more look at the body then closes the door. It was a nice body too, very good looking, and he felt proud of his work. That’s what she is to him, always has been and always will be. A body. Just an anonymous body that he can throw into the pile later tonight and forget about. Or so he wishes. But he knows what the Kid was doing while he was away. He chances a glance at his chest to see if he can make out the name under all that blood. It appears to be Katie. Of course! He remembers now. He remembers meeting her at the bar, inviting her back to his place, and taking her to the basement.

Of course, he also remembers what he did after that. He remembers every slice as if it were yesterday, and, in fact, it were today that he did it. It is so clear in his memory. He pours a glass of scotch and turns on the television, hoping to forget about all of this. It wont work though, it never does.

There is still almost a full bottle of scotch left, and he downs most of it. It burns his throat as it goes down and he is tempted to stop, but he knows how this goes. He knows the routine. The Monster is going to go back down to the basement in a little bit, dispose of the body in the backyard, grab his coat, and go back out to find some other unsuspecting victim.

That is, of course, if he’s awake for that. It’s his job to protect as many of these girls as he possibly can, and if that means burning his throat so that the Monster will pass out, then so be it. The bottle is almost all gone when he stops, and he can feel it starting to kick in. The room spins a bit, and he wants to puke…. But he can’t. He needs to keep as much alcohol in him as possible. The Monster can handle it much better than he can, so if there’s not enough, then it won’t stop him.

Damn that Kid.” The room is still spinning when he stands up. He looks at Wheel Of Fortune on the television and he can’t tell if it is moving or not. He stumbles over to the door and tries to put on his coat. His arms just don’t want to go through the sleeves tonight, so he throws it on the floor behind him in anger. “Damn that coat too!” He leaves the house, eager to find a new playmate.

He stumbles off of his porch and looks around the darkness, trying to remember where he parked his car, a simple black sedan. He lives in a fairly small, not too well kept, ranch style house. A small forest of trees separate the house from any neighbors, and a thin layer even makes it hard to see from the road. After feeling around in the dark for what seems like an hour, he finally finds his car, starts it, and pulls onto the road. There is a bar not too far away. Its small and off to the side, but still seems to always be packed.

The road is almost pitch black. He swerves and almost drives off the side, shocked at being in charge behind the wheel so suddenly, but then catches himself and keeps driving. He knows the destination, though he’s never driven there before. He has seen The Monster drive there before, many times. Twice in one night though?

“These are getting more and more frequent,” he mumbles under his breath, putting some more weight on the gas pedal. The car speeds up, and the dotted yellow line on the road seems to be melding into a solid line. There is one other option though. One thing that he’s never been able to do. Usually the grip of the Monster is always there, looming over him, ready to take control at the last moment should anything go horribly wrong. But right now, he feels undeniably free. He grips the steering wheel of the car as hard as he can, and jerks it to the right. The car goes flying off the road.

He unbuckles his seat belt and manages to squeeze out of the wreckage. The black sedan is now halfway up a tree, twisted and smoking. The mangled heap is no longer drivable, and he stands there for a few moments, just looking at it.

“Damn… That… Kid…” his breathing is quick and shallow, but he pays no attention and turns to walk back to the road. He takes one step and immediately collapses. For the first time since the crash, he looks down.

Blood seeps through his clothing, and through the parts that are ripped he can see gashes, bleeding profusely, but surprisingly little, considering how deep they look. He’s a little puzzled by the fact that he isn’t feeling much pain, but quickly takes advantage of the situation, getting up and struggling to get back to the road. His legs don’t seem to want to work, but he does manage to pull himself there on his arms. He looks both ways, trying to decide which direction to pull himself in, when he sees headlights, not too far off, coming his way. He pulls himself to the middle of the road, and smiles.

The driver and passenger of the van that stops before him, both female, rush over to him. The lean over, asking if he needs any help, and all he does is look one of them in the eyes and ask for a hospital. She looks sympathetic and her, along with her friend, pick him up and carry him to the back of their van. One, a blonde, gets in the driver seat while her red head friend stays with him.

“Hang on, you’ll be ok,” the driver assures him. He smiles to himself, and looks around as the van hurries down the road. The back of the van is dark and he can barely see up to the front over the back seat. All the walls and the floor are black, and the walls by his feet and head house benches, one of which his travel campanion is occupying while she holds his hand. She seems sympathetic, and he motions for her to lean in. As she’s shuffling for a closer position, he feels around in his pocket until he grasps a cold steel handle. She leans in and turns her head so that her ear is right next to his mouth.

“Good night,” he whispers, before plunging the handle of the knife into the back of her neck. He gets her spine, right under her head. Her eyes widen and she trembles a little, but untimately collapses, her head resting on his chest, soaking him in her blood. Carefully and quietly, he moves out from under her, and tests his legs, to make sure that they are working properly. When he is sure that he can handle it, he slips over the back seat, staying low to make sure the driver doesn’t see him, and come up behind the front seat. “Brake, now.”

He can see her eyes widen through the rear view mirror. She starts to shake, but she does as she is told. The car slowly glides to a stop, and he motions for her to get in the passenger seat. She complies, still shaking. He gets into the drivers seat, making sure she sees the knife he is holing, turns the car around, and drives back to his house in complete silence.

He has been home for hours now. There is only one body in the basement. The other he threw in the back as soon as he got here. She was already dead. But this one… this one he worked with for a long time. He cut certain places, sliced, carved her like a turkey. He had to watch it all.

“That Monster…” he breathes. Even when he tries to end it, when he tries to protect everyone, even to the point of taking his own life, he fails. He is helpless to watch the victims. The knife he is holding hovers over his wrist, not able to fall any closer. There is one thing he can do though. He moves the knife over to his side, and carves two names into himself. The Monster wants to forget just as much as he does. But he can make sure that never happens. He can do his best to make his life a living hell of torturing memories. He winces as the knife carves deeply into his flesh. In the end, there isn’t much else he can do.


© Copyright 2017 WYSIWYG. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

More Thrillers Short Stories

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by WYSIWYG

A Life of Misery

Short Story / Thrillers

Me and My Blade

Poem / Poetry

Poem: Death Row

Poem / Poetry

Popular Tags