Murder saves the world

Scratch, scratch, went my pencil on the sandpaper piece of notebook under my arm. Led flew across it as a movie of anticipation played across my mind like a screen of fantasy. The words I wrote created the scenes in my mind as if they were happening right in front of me. A quiet rap came from the door. Unaware I'd have any visitors the sound made me jump like my seat was on fire, but there was no alarm.
Small variables had made me so nervous it all came out like a lion from its cage when the sound interrupted the quietness coming from the room. The only other noise came from the refrigerator in the small kitchen attached to my living room. It was three o'clock in the morning making it quite rare to have anyone at my door.
Not to mention the words I had written as the door spoke to me were as eerie as the devil himself, a faint knock at the door stirred him slightly.
To not be rude in return I got up, still the lion, but now lazy. Sleep was twisting my path to the door like the yellow brick road. When I got my self to the door and finally opened it no one was there. I turned around to the kitchen to break the grip of unconsciousness with a cup of the blackest coffee I could get.
Sitting back down to my desk, sleep a thing of the past; I began to write again using the very moment I just had as a continuing thought within the story. He opened the door but no one was there. Shutting it he turned to the kitchen. I myself sat back too tired to think how to go on. I had wondered if God ever had these feelings in Heaven. Did he ever get to tired to do his job controlling the fate of world like I did in my story? Funny, I controlled his world like God did mine; I could do anything I please with it. And yet nothing came to mind. Like some one took an eraser to my imagination wiping away all the good and evil thoughts crammed in to one space of creativity.

The night was suddenly day like someone just turned on the lights. I realized I had fallen asleep. The magic black liquid couldn't keep me up two days in a row. Last night I got to see pink and orange paint slap across the canvas sky, a hidden wonder of the world. But today was different; the sky was dreary and gray as if God put a blanket over his creation to protect it from the dust of his attic. The clock said ten thirty but the sky said midnight.
The images out side my window began to flow across the pages on my desk. The knock at the door came again, this time louder as if from the inside of a microphone. The man jumped, ready to take on the visitor at a moment's notice.
Back in my world the door knocked as it did the night before, as soon as I wrote it, it happened. Just a coincidence I told myself, just a coincidence. The knock came again so went and opened the door. No one there again.
I sat back down and continued writing. The phone rang and as the man picked it up only the eerie sound of breath came to his ear. He quickly slammed the phone down as the images of horror films he saw were coming to life in a flash. Next to me my phone rang and I heard breathing. It was faint and shallow but more eerie then a graveyard at midnight.
Out of superstition more would come true I gave up writing for the day I didn't start again until the next night. The sky didn't clear it had gotten worse in last hours of the day turning from gray to a black that sent electric chills down your spine almost paralyzing your whole body.
Looking up from the phone the man saw a knife scraping the immediate window to his right. Quick as lightning he picked up the phone to call the police but to his horror the storm put the power out and blocked the signal from his cell. He was all-alone with a mysterious killer on the loose. And there was no one to save him. The door beside him opened and he ran up the stairs lightning coming to life. As he entered his bedroom the power came on, below was quiet and a glance later he realized it was only the wind that had opened the door.
The last thing the man ever saw was his wife coming up the stairs and a blade producing from his abdomen.
Part one of my novel was over the killer had his third and fourth kill and was on the move. As was how I had planned to continue the story, right in the killer's mind. Some say the mind bends and twists to deal with life's horrors, some times the mind bends so much it snaps in two. My motto and how I put it when I kill. This is the way I deal with my horrors; by making other people squirm with fear. Continuing it in my mind would make it so much easier.
I didn't talk much, but hey do I have time when the cops could show up. No had to hide like a rabbit in a hat. Writing my experiences has been fun. Under a pen name no one knows it’s me and I have three stories already published. Stupid people don't realize it's me. The books pass under them, water under a bridge. A bridge that should have been crumbling like a cookie did when it finally cooled off from the oven. The scent of success around me was just as sweet. Victory was the sweetest thing of way more than grandma's chocolate chip morsels. It was so sweet in fact that it was like a mountain of sugar, sugar Everest, that would send hyper charges of energy down your back.
I got up quick as a fox and grabbed my bag from the coat rack. My knife hand, the same I wrote was twitching, tuning fork on the end of my arm. In my bag was the odd assortment of items I used to, well you know by now. The bag was my candy store and, I was the child.
In my bag was the odd assortment of items I used to, well you know by now. The bag was my candy store, and I was the child. I loved the tools I had; a notebook and a pencil.

Writing last night in my book after some experiments, I had found that as I wrote I came true. It was the power I needed to change the world. Yes I killed, but each thing I did was just a deed to make this place better. The man that I had written about was a serial killer gone unnoticed. I just had some fun with it. The wife was his accomplice, doomed to go down with him as if they were tied together, chains of deeds gone unpunished. Those chains constricted the two together like an anaconda did it's pray.
The book I had allowed me to basically play God. Which I didn't know if I was ready to do or not at the moment but I didn't have time to figure that out. Hopefully this will work out...





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ShernayB. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jan. 16, 2010 at 11:24 pm
tHis is really scary and eerie. but i love it. this piece could be compared to any of edgar allen poe's literary works. That's how good it is. Have a nice twist to it also. LOL gave me chills. Great job on this.
 
Warren_Uzumaki replied...
Mar. 24, 2010 at 8:23 am
thanks. i like writing creepy stories but usually the come out as a love story instead this one stuck to the Poe stlye i wanted
 
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