I had just applied shampoo to my damp hair when the doorbell rang, cursing to the heavens, I hurriedly rinsed it out and ran downstairs to open the door.
A short balding man in a cheap polyester suit and glasses stood by the door, 'Good Morning Sir!' he monotoned robotically, 'How are you today?'
I felt the water from my wet hair running down my back and shoulders. I stared at him, he stared back. 'What do you want?' I demanded as politely as I could.
He smiled falsely, 'What does God mean to you?' He reverently placed his hands together, interlocked his fingers and held them over his midriff, then leant his head sideways as he waited for my answer.
The cheap polyester suit glistened in the sunlight; it bugged me, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt would have been more formal and far more impressive than a cheap polyester suit. The sleeves bunched awkwardly at the elbows and shoulders, giving him the appearance of someone who had just been run over by a high speed locomotive.
'Your suit bothers me.' I finally replied.
"Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." - Dr. Seuss
9.06.2006
9.05.2006
The Pervert
When one is alone, sitting in the warm glow of candle light by the computer keyboard with fingers tapping idly on the desk while eyes are gazing into the distance, the mind wanders for ideas or things to blather on about in one's blog. Often, it is easier just to type and talk about real things, events if you will, of the lives of real people. For now, my dear reader, I shall deliver to you with these almighty words, a story about Jasper, a man driven by his own desires and perversions...
Jasper worked as a telephone salesman. He dressed smart, not too casual yet not too overbearingly formal. His cheap polyester suit sagged squarely at the shoulders and ankles, the sleeves crinkled the way cardboard does when you fold it. The man loved his job, he loved to talk to people; but, there was one deeply guarded secret that nobody would know about Jasper, not by looking at him, nor by talking to him, that this was a man who loved ladies' panties.
On the morning of January the thirteenth, a loud scream could be heard from the thirty-third floor of an appartment building on fifty-third street. The words that were obscurred by the cloak of that bloodcurdling yell, heard only by the occupants of that building and not by those who went wearily about their daily business on the street, were 'LADIES PANTIES!'. You see, Jasper, a freak by nature, a man driven by lust to the point where his own mind and body was contorted by his very own desires had developed a form of Tourettes syndrome related to his perverted illness.
On the same day, later in the afternoon, Jasper was seen limping around the office building where he worked. His eyes flitting wildly, unblinking, savage in the true sense. Oh! Those lips, how he would lick them all day long, drooling, dribbling, slurring his words when the thoughts of ladies panties rose like a dirty piece of driftwood in the murky river of his mind. He stood outside the mens washroom, and when the coast was clear, he snuck himself stealthily through the door like a fox into a hen house. At precisely five minutes past two o'clock in the afternoon, loud moans and the words 'LADIES PANTIES!' could be heard like gunfire noise radiating from the mens toilets into the office corridors.
Ladies, I warn you, you do not want to invite Jasper to the sanctuary that you call home. This man will lie, beg, steal for your panties. He will be seen rifling through your dirty laundry basket and with quivering hands, pry your precious undergarment from your unwashed clothes and press them against his face, inhaling with his eyes closed and fluttering in ectasy.
We are now here in Jasper's appartment. He cannot see us. We observe him come through the door after a day's 'work' at the office. He goes to the bedroom, tears off his clothes, while muttering the word 'panties' softly to himself. In an old reused shopping bag, he draws a pair of discarded ladies panties, no doubt found from searching through a dumpster. He stands before the mirror with the panties. Eyes wide, and jaw dropped, saliva glistening at the corners of his mouth. He places the garment like some bizarre breathing apparatus over his mouth and nose. He breathes deeply and you can see the man get excited.
Jasper, unlike most men, who will happily discard the panties of a beautiful woman, will discard the woman for her beautiful panties. 'OOOOOHHH PANTIES!' he will cry, his eyes furrowed in longing.
At about six minutes past five, the same day, Jasper was seen with his work colleagues in a bar not far from his work. He admitted his love of women's panties, and told them how he would place the item of clothing over his nether regions and begin to furiously stimulate himself with the said item. Ten minutes later, two of his female colleagues were seen hastily leaving the bar, seemingly distressed.
Jasper worked as a telephone salesman. He dressed smart, not too casual yet not too overbearingly formal. His cheap polyester suit sagged squarely at the shoulders and ankles, the sleeves crinkled the way cardboard does when you fold it. The man loved his job, he loved to talk to people; but, there was one deeply guarded secret that nobody would know about Jasper, not by looking at him, nor by talking to him, that this was a man who loved ladies' panties.
On the morning of January the thirteenth, a loud scream could be heard from the thirty-third floor of an appartment building on fifty-third street. The words that were obscurred by the cloak of that bloodcurdling yell, heard only by the occupants of that building and not by those who went wearily about their daily business on the street, were 'LADIES PANTIES!'. You see, Jasper, a freak by nature, a man driven by lust to the point where his own mind and body was contorted by his very own desires had developed a form of Tourettes syndrome related to his perverted illness.
On the same day, later in the afternoon, Jasper was seen limping around the office building where he worked. His eyes flitting wildly, unblinking, savage in the true sense. Oh! Those lips, how he would lick them all day long, drooling, dribbling, slurring his words when the thoughts of ladies panties rose like a dirty piece of driftwood in the murky river of his mind. He stood outside the mens washroom, and when the coast was clear, he snuck himself stealthily through the door like a fox into a hen house. At precisely five minutes past two o'clock in the afternoon, loud moans and the words 'LADIES PANTIES!' could be heard like gunfire noise radiating from the mens toilets into the office corridors.
Ladies, I warn you, you do not want to invite Jasper to the sanctuary that you call home. This man will lie, beg, steal for your panties. He will be seen rifling through your dirty laundry basket and with quivering hands, pry your precious undergarment from your unwashed clothes and press them against his face, inhaling with his eyes closed and fluttering in ectasy.
We are now here in Jasper's appartment. He cannot see us. We observe him come through the door after a day's 'work' at the office. He goes to the bedroom, tears off his clothes, while muttering the word 'panties' softly to himself. In an old reused shopping bag, he draws a pair of discarded ladies panties, no doubt found from searching through a dumpster. He stands before the mirror with the panties. Eyes wide, and jaw dropped, saliva glistening at the corners of his mouth. He places the garment like some bizarre breathing apparatus over his mouth and nose. He breathes deeply and you can see the man get excited.
Jasper, unlike most men, who will happily discard the panties of a beautiful woman, will discard the woman for her beautiful panties. 'OOOOOHHH PANTIES!' he will cry, his eyes furrowed in longing.
At about six minutes past five, the same day, Jasper was seen with his work colleagues in a bar not far from his work. He admitted his love of women's panties, and told them how he would place the item of clothing over his nether regions and begin to furiously stimulate himself with the said item. Ten minutes later, two of his female colleagues were seen hastily leaving the bar, seemingly distressed.
9.03.2006
Mister Nice Guy
The straggler was a cute nine year old boy with big thick rimmed spectacles, he was on the otherside of the gallery, Jason Upson who was the supervisor of this educational outing ran over and led him back to the main group. It was a visit to the history museum, Jason was a teacher, he had been teaching at the school for children with special needs for about two years.
'Okay kids, let's get together for a group photo!' He motioned the children of ages between eight to twelve years together, as he positioned his digital camera for the shot. 'Say cheese!' Not all the children smiled, it was often hard to get them to cooperate, but all the same, Jason loved to keep a record of the class he taught.
When he had driven the kids back to the school in the bus to be later picked up by their parents, he decided to drop by at the principle's office. The principle was Jane Dorkings, an elderly lady who loved children and cats. He knocked at the door, and went in. Jane was sitting at the desk reviewing the school's budget and funding reports.
'Hello Jason, it's always a pleasure to see you!' she spouted merrily.
'Good afternoon Jane, I need a moment of your time, are you busy?'
'Not at all Jason! By the way, you did a great job today with the kids at the museum. It can be so demanding looking after retarded children.'
'Mentally challenged.' corrected Jason.
'I'm sorry?'
'Erm, you mean mentally challenged children.'
'Oh, oh pardon me.' She blushed, 'Forgive me Jason, I have been in the business for so long, I'm still using politically incorrect terms from yester-year!' Jason smiled. She continued, 'So what did you want to talk to me about?'
'I'd like to ask for your permission to leave about half an hour earlier next Wednesday. I've got to make a speech at the environmental committee.'
'That shouldn't be a problem Jason, you're a great asset to the school, and for all the overtime you've done... I'll get someone to cover for you.' She smiled.
'Thank you Jane.' Jason turned towards the door, hesitated, and turned back to the principle, 'By the way, there's a fundraiser for abused animals this weekend, I'm doing a charity run, would you like to perhaps donate?'
Jane reached into her purse, handed a couple of fifty dollar bills to Jason and beamed happily. He thanked her and left.
When Jason arrived home, he found his wife, Jane, in the kitchen preparing dinner. She was a beautiful blonde haired vegan hippy whom he had met 3 years ago at a festival in Goa. She heard him come through the door, 'Hi honey! how was work today?'
He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck, 'Mmmm, I missed you so much!' She smiled.
Jason walked over to the computer in the room adjacent to the kitchen and took the camera from his bag and plugged it in. The day's photographs slowly uploaded and dealt themselves across the screen into a gallery.
'I think something's wrong with Daryl again, could you maybe take a look at him?' shouted his wife.
'Okay darling, I'll take him up to my study, maybe observe him for a few days.' He printed out the pictures and showed his wife.
'Awww, those kids are sooo cute and lovely, you're such a wonderful man, I'm so glad I married you!' she cooed.
Jason put the printouts into a folder, then on the way to his study, grabbed the rabbit hutch that was sitting on the floor of the living room. He fumbled into his pockets, and found the key to his study. He quickly scanned the area, before nimbly disappearing behind the door, locking it behind him.
The study was Jason's private space that was out of bounds to his wife. The walls were adorned with photos of the kids that he taught. On one side, the words, 'I hate fuckin retards' were spray painted over the pictures. Darts, knives and scissors stuck in other pock marked printouts. He picked up a commando knife that was sitting on his desk, pulled a picture of the cute kid with big glasses from the folder and stabbed it forcefully into the wall with the weapon.
Along one face of the room was a steel counter with a microwave, cutting board, a bread knife and an open package of sliced bread. He removed the rabbit from it's cage and placed it onto the board. He pushed firmly onto the abdomen of the squirming animal, pinning it down, and grabbed the bread knife and began sawing through it's neck. Blood spurted and the rabbit screamed as the knife cut through flesh, bone, arteries and tendons, eventually the creature stopped moving and it's head rolled off the edge of the chopping board. He placed the head in between a couple of slices of bread and put it on a plate in the microwave. He pressed a few buttons and after a few minutes, a loud popping sound could be heard and the glass door of the microwave was covered in blood.
'Okay kids, let's get together for a group photo!' He motioned the children of ages between eight to twelve years together, as he positioned his digital camera for the shot. 'Say cheese!' Not all the children smiled, it was often hard to get them to cooperate, but all the same, Jason loved to keep a record of the class he taught.
When he had driven the kids back to the school in the bus to be later picked up by their parents, he decided to drop by at the principle's office. The principle was Jane Dorkings, an elderly lady who loved children and cats. He knocked at the door, and went in. Jane was sitting at the desk reviewing the school's budget and funding reports.
'Hello Jason, it's always a pleasure to see you!' she spouted merrily.
'Good afternoon Jane, I need a moment of your time, are you busy?'
'Not at all Jason! By the way, you did a great job today with the kids at the museum. It can be so demanding looking after retarded children.'
'Mentally challenged.' corrected Jason.
'I'm sorry?'
'Erm, you mean mentally challenged children.'
'Oh, oh pardon me.' She blushed, 'Forgive me Jason, I have been in the business for so long, I'm still using politically incorrect terms from yester-year!' Jason smiled. She continued, 'So what did you want to talk to me about?'
'I'd like to ask for your permission to leave about half an hour earlier next Wednesday. I've got to make a speech at the environmental committee.'
'That shouldn't be a problem Jason, you're a great asset to the school, and for all the overtime you've done... I'll get someone to cover for you.' She smiled.
'Thank you Jane.' Jason turned towards the door, hesitated, and turned back to the principle, 'By the way, there's a fundraiser for abused animals this weekend, I'm doing a charity run, would you like to perhaps donate?'
Jane reached into her purse, handed a couple of fifty dollar bills to Jason and beamed happily. He thanked her and left.
When Jason arrived home, he found his wife, Jane, in the kitchen preparing dinner. She was a beautiful blonde haired vegan hippy whom he had met 3 years ago at a festival in Goa. She heard him come through the door, 'Hi honey! how was work today?'
He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck, 'Mmmm, I missed you so much!' She smiled.
Jason walked over to the computer in the room adjacent to the kitchen and took the camera from his bag and plugged it in. The day's photographs slowly uploaded and dealt themselves across the screen into a gallery.
'I think something's wrong with Daryl again, could you maybe take a look at him?' shouted his wife.
'Okay darling, I'll take him up to my study, maybe observe him for a few days.' He printed out the pictures and showed his wife.
'Awww, those kids are sooo cute and lovely, you're such a wonderful man, I'm so glad I married you!' she cooed.
Jason put the printouts into a folder, then on the way to his study, grabbed the rabbit hutch that was sitting on the floor of the living room. He fumbled into his pockets, and found the key to his study. He quickly scanned the area, before nimbly disappearing behind the door, locking it behind him.
The study was Jason's private space that was out of bounds to his wife. The walls were adorned with photos of the kids that he taught. On one side, the words, 'I hate fuckin retards' were spray painted over the pictures. Darts, knives and scissors stuck in other pock marked printouts. He picked up a commando knife that was sitting on his desk, pulled a picture of the cute kid with big glasses from the folder and stabbed it forcefully into the wall with the weapon.
Along one face of the room was a steel counter with a microwave, cutting board, a bread knife and an open package of sliced bread. He removed the rabbit from it's cage and placed it onto the board. He pushed firmly onto the abdomen of the squirming animal, pinning it down, and grabbed the bread knife and began sawing through it's neck. Blood spurted and the rabbit screamed as the knife cut through flesh, bone, arteries and tendons, eventually the creature stopped moving and it's head rolled off the edge of the chopping board. He placed the head in between a couple of slices of bread and put it on a plate in the microwave. He pressed a few buttons and after a few minutes, a loud popping sound could be heard and the glass door of the microwave was covered in blood.
9.02.2006
Babysitting Evil
It was a few weeks ago when I had received a phonecall from an old friend of mine, Louise; I had been in the garden mashing up bumble bees in a jar when the telephone rang. She was going to attend a veterinarian convention in New York and needed a trustworthy friend to babysit a pet for the weekend.
I turned up at her house on the day of her departure, this was the first time I met Alfred, her pet monkey. She formally introduced me to Alfred before she quickly hugged him goodbye and hurriedly grabbed her bags to jump into the awaiting cab outside. He did not even look at me, he was busy bashing a plastic teacup against a barbie doll.
I knew that Louise was a vegetarian, so before I arrived, I went to the supermarket to purchase some meat; she had already bought vegetables and fruit for me and Alfred. I picked up the bag containing the raw cow flesh and told Alfred that I was going to the kitchen to put the meat into the fridge; he didn't respond; so I left him to his own devices.
On the counter in the kitchen, Louise had left a message:
'Make sure Alfred stays out of trouble. He's a chimpanzee, he doesn't eat meat. Plenty of fruit and vegetables in the fridge. Thanks, Louise.'
I went back into the living room; Alfred was gone! Suddenly, I heard an eerie scream from the upstairs bedroom. I ran up the stairs in the direction of the noise. A high pitched wail emanated from behind a half-closed door, I took a deep breath and went in. Nothing, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight that would brand the searing image into my mind's eye, and eventually put me in a mental asylum, years later.
Alfred was having anal sex with the next door neighbour's cat! The tabby had it's claws intrenched deeply into the mattress while the primate clutched it's abdomen with his large hands, moving it rhythmically up and down, all the while staring defiantly at me. My first instinct was to save the cat, although my second instinct told me that I wanted to gag; I did both at the same time: I grabbed the cat by it's front paws and pulled as I simultaneously vomited over Louise's pet monkey, which caused him to relinquish his grip. The cat released from it's impalement, flew across the room to land on all fours, and them scampered away. Alfred suddenly shot his load into my eyes, temporarily blinding me and I fell onto the floor crying.
After I had thoroughly washed Alfred's sperm from my face in the bathroom with plenty of soap and moisturized with lotion, I went back to the bedroom. Not to my surprise, the evil monkey had once again disappeared. Louise's bed covers were covered in vomit, a foul stench of partly digested meat products hung vehemently in the air. I removed the covers, bundled them up and went downstairs to the basement.
The laundry room was in the basement, I had been down there before, I can't remember when, but perhaps in another life or at Louise's last birthday bash. I flicked the light switch; no response, not even a flicker: the bulb was dead. I put the load of dirty linen on the floor, and searched the shelves by the basement stairway for a torch and a replacement bulb. It didn't take long to find what I was looking for, aside from owning a psychopathic cat raping monkey, Louise was very organized.
The dusty stairs creaked as I ventured into the darkness. The torchlight revealed a mass of cobwebs. When I had reached the bottom of the steps, I pointed the flashlight towards the ceiling in order to locate the expired bulb. Suddenly, I heard a chomping sound. Chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp. Panic-stricken I swung the light around the room and it caught movement, the circle of luminescence nervously traced back it's path to what I had seen. Alfred was sitting in the corner, holding a slab of raw steak in his hands and greedily devouring it; my meat, the slice of dead cow that I had bought from the supermarket that day, for me and myself only.
I turned up at her house on the day of her departure, this was the first time I met Alfred, her pet monkey. She formally introduced me to Alfred before she quickly hugged him goodbye and hurriedly grabbed her bags to jump into the awaiting cab outside. He did not even look at me, he was busy bashing a plastic teacup against a barbie doll.
I knew that Louise was a vegetarian, so before I arrived, I went to the supermarket to purchase some meat; she had already bought vegetables and fruit for me and Alfred. I picked up the bag containing the raw cow flesh and told Alfred that I was going to the kitchen to put the meat into the fridge; he didn't respond; so I left him to his own devices.
On the counter in the kitchen, Louise had left a message:
'Make sure Alfred stays out of trouble. He's a chimpanzee, he doesn't eat meat. Plenty of fruit and vegetables in the fridge. Thanks, Louise.'
I went back into the living room; Alfred was gone! Suddenly, I heard an eerie scream from the upstairs bedroom. I ran up the stairs in the direction of the noise. A high pitched wail emanated from behind a half-closed door, I took a deep breath and went in. Nothing, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight that would brand the searing image into my mind's eye, and eventually put me in a mental asylum, years later.
Alfred was having anal sex with the next door neighbour's cat! The tabby had it's claws intrenched deeply into the mattress while the primate clutched it's abdomen with his large hands, moving it rhythmically up and down, all the while staring defiantly at me. My first instinct was to save the cat, although my second instinct told me that I wanted to gag; I did both at the same time: I grabbed the cat by it's front paws and pulled as I simultaneously vomited over Louise's pet monkey, which caused him to relinquish his grip. The cat released from it's impalement, flew across the room to land on all fours, and them scampered away. Alfred suddenly shot his load into my eyes, temporarily blinding me and I fell onto the floor crying.
After I had thoroughly washed Alfred's sperm from my face in the bathroom with plenty of soap and moisturized with lotion, I went back to the bedroom. Not to my surprise, the evil monkey had once again disappeared. Louise's bed covers were covered in vomit, a foul stench of partly digested meat products hung vehemently in the air. I removed the covers, bundled them up and went downstairs to the basement.
The laundry room was in the basement, I had been down there before, I can't remember when, but perhaps in another life or at Louise's last birthday bash. I flicked the light switch; no response, not even a flicker: the bulb was dead. I put the load of dirty linen on the floor, and searched the shelves by the basement stairway for a torch and a replacement bulb. It didn't take long to find what I was looking for, aside from owning a psychopathic cat raping monkey, Louise was very organized.
The dusty stairs creaked as I ventured into the darkness. The torchlight revealed a mass of cobwebs. When I had reached the bottom of the steps, I pointed the flashlight towards the ceiling in order to locate the expired bulb. Suddenly, I heard a chomping sound. Chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp. Panic-stricken I swung the light around the room and it caught movement, the circle of luminescence nervously traced back it's path to what I had seen. Alfred was sitting in the corner, holding a slab of raw steak in his hands and greedily devouring it; my meat, the slice of dead cow that I had bought from the supermarket that day, for me and myself only.
9.01.2006
Just an Ordinary Day
For Matthew Lament, it was just like any other ordinary day. He awoke to the first songs of the early birds, drew open his curtains and looked out onto the quiet street. Nothing new, apart from a freshly laid but healthy looking dog turd on the pavement outside his house. That reminded him to go to the toilet.
Matthew was a retired eighty two year old pensioner who spent most of his days completing jigsaw puzzles and crosswords. He pulled down his baggy pyjama bottoms and slowly lowered his body onto the toilet seat as his knobbly knees creaked. He sat for a few minutes and squeezed. Nothing; not even a fart. He reached for a tray of jigsaw pieces from an adjacent cabinet and began to piece it together on his lap.
Five hours later, nothing had dropped into the crystal clear water of the toilet bowl. He gave a squeeze. Nothing; not even a fart. He sighed and smiled, and continued working on the puzzle.
Another two hours passed. The water was still as untainted as upstream mountain water, the only difference was that this water was bored, it wanted action; that was when the telephone rang. Matthew sprung up from the seat and ran into his bedroom to pick up the receiver.
'Hello, Matthew Lament speaking.'
'Hi dad, are you busy right now?'
'Not really, just trying to pass the time.'
'I hope that you haven't forgot, it's your grandson's birthday today, you said that you would be here about an hour ago.'
'I'm sorry Wirrel, I was just on my way out of the door, I'll be over in about half an hour.'
He flushed the toilet on the way out.
It was Mike's birthday, he had all thirty of his friends over at the house. For a five year old, Mike was wise beyond his years; he had unlimited internet access and watched his father's porno videos when his parents were asleep. His father had promised that his grandfather, Matthew, would come over and tell a story to Mike and his friends.
When Matthew arrived, his grandson's friends had already left. Mike was sulking in the corner and brandishing a bread knife. His parents were asleep in bed.
'Hi Mike, I'm so sorry I'm late.' began Matthew.
'You promised to tell a story grandpa.' growled Mike through tear drenched eyes.
'I know, I know, I got caught up, I had to take a dump on the way here.'
'I don't believe you! You always use the same excuse!!!' shouted Mike, as he clenched the knife tightly and thrust it repeatedly into an imaginary foe.
'Put the bread knife down, Mike.'
'NO!' Mike stood up and charged at his grandfather.
The bread knife caught the back of Matthew's wrist and he felt it's teeth plow up his skin. Blood streamed down to his elbow as he lifted his arm up to inspect the damage. There was no sign of Mike, he seemed to have vanished. Suddenly, he heard the rapid patter of feet behind him. Slash! Too late, again he felt the bread knife make contact, this time severing a tendon behind his knee, causing him to collapse to the ground. Mike was out of sight, but he could hear his fiendish laughter.
Matthew was a retired eighty two year old pensioner who spent most of his days completing jigsaw puzzles and crosswords. He pulled down his baggy pyjama bottoms and slowly lowered his body onto the toilet seat as his knobbly knees creaked. He sat for a few minutes and squeezed. Nothing; not even a fart. He reached for a tray of jigsaw pieces from an adjacent cabinet and began to piece it together on his lap.
Five hours later, nothing had dropped into the crystal clear water of the toilet bowl. He gave a squeeze. Nothing; not even a fart. He sighed and smiled, and continued working on the puzzle.
Another two hours passed. The water was still as untainted as upstream mountain water, the only difference was that this water was bored, it wanted action; that was when the telephone rang. Matthew sprung up from the seat and ran into his bedroom to pick up the receiver.
'Hello, Matthew Lament speaking.'
'Hi dad, are you busy right now?'
'Not really, just trying to pass the time.'
'I hope that you haven't forgot, it's your grandson's birthday today, you said that you would be here about an hour ago.'
'I'm sorry Wirrel, I was just on my way out of the door, I'll be over in about half an hour.'
He flushed the toilet on the way out.
It was Mike's birthday, he had all thirty of his friends over at the house. For a five year old, Mike was wise beyond his years; he had unlimited internet access and watched his father's porno videos when his parents were asleep. His father had promised that his grandfather, Matthew, would come over and tell a story to Mike and his friends.
When Matthew arrived, his grandson's friends had already left. Mike was sulking in the corner and brandishing a bread knife. His parents were asleep in bed.
'Hi Mike, I'm so sorry I'm late.' began Matthew.
'You promised to tell a story grandpa.' growled Mike through tear drenched eyes.
'I know, I know, I got caught up, I had to take a dump on the way here.'
'I don't believe you! You always use the same excuse!!!' shouted Mike, as he clenched the knife tightly and thrust it repeatedly into an imaginary foe.
'Put the bread knife down, Mike.'
'NO!' Mike stood up and charged at his grandfather.
The bread knife caught the back of Matthew's wrist and he felt it's teeth plow up his skin. Blood streamed down to his elbow as he lifted his arm up to inspect the damage. There was no sign of Mike, he seemed to have vanished. Suddenly, he heard the rapid patter of feet behind him. Slash! Too late, again he felt the bread knife make contact, this time severing a tendon behind his knee, causing him to collapse to the ground. Mike was out of sight, but he could hear his fiendish laughter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)