Short Story - The Birthday Massacre
some of you mention frequently that TBM has inspired them in one way or the other and I have seen some pretty amazaing fan-art in the course of this year. I'm no exception from this and since I try to become a writer, their songs create stories inside my head that I bring to paper once in a while. I don't know if the "non-creative" people among you can relate to how precious inspiration is, what a powerful force it represents if you actually step past the feeling and create, but it is the closest thing to magic that I know. What TBM does is beyond special and beyond awesome (but you already know that of course ).
Two weeks back I was listening to "Happy Birthday" on Nothing and Nowhere again and somehow it hit me: What if they had done it for a reason and a good reason too?
The story you will find below is pretty gruesome, horrible actually. I was scared and disgusted with myself, when I wrote it, but that's just the way it goes with inspiration: You barely have a say in what you create.
If you are below the age of 18 or have any problem with extreme violence, then I beg you not to read it.
If you want to give me an attitude how my head is messed up and that I should quit writing right now, go ahead. I don't care, because this is a work of fiction and stands in no relation to how I think and feel towards human life and the protection of innocents. Believe me, I had more trouble writing this than you'll ever have reading.
If you can take it for what it is, a gruesome, messed up horror story, be my guest.
Let the party begin.
Last edited by Halfdrow; 12-11-2015 at 01:23 PM.
Do you know this certain kind of moments? Those that are so horrible that you can't believe they're real?
Nightmares end sooner or later, release you with the sensation of falling...
The shades were drawn, sunlight burning through the darkness. There was the sound of a crying girl, sweat running down my neck, the brilliance of Jimmy's insane smile.
The axe between black polished nails.
"Camera, Kiddo.. Don't forget it..!"
I was falling, oh I was falling alright.
But it didn't stop.
A chirp awoke the device from its slumber, painting grainy reality on the display. There were motes of dust that I hadn't seen before, flashes of cars and bikes outside, sprinklers spattering rainbows into the heat.
Six children duct-taped to their chairs.
They wore colourful clothes, tiny jeans and skirts, innocent and pretty. I felt a lump in my throat and needles piercing my chest. There had been screams and a lot of struggle, doors slamming, bodies flailing, but Jimmy had been very convincing, the tape swift and strong. It made a funny sound when you wound it around things, something like a tongue flapping when you blew through closed lips, something like an elephant farting. Brrrrrfffrp. Brrrrrfffrp. Brrrrrfffrp.
I giggled and giggled and giggled some more when all eyes aligned on me. Couldn't they see how hilarious they were? Cat clocks and gold fish, bubbles floating into the light...
"Sorry.", I repeated and giggled through clenched teeth.
Jimmy just had a way with me, a no-more-fun-and-games-Kiddo way. I loved him because of it; he kept me sane.
Too bad he was a lunatic.
I hefted the silver plastic more tightly and felt my pig tails bobbing. There was nothing funny here and that made me sad, a serious face creeping up from under the face-paint. My reflection in the fridge looked pretty, a ballerina all in black and white, more Metal than the little ones knew. It had been a fun day so far, putting on kitty make-up, making animals from squeaky balloons...
Jimmy's boots thudded around the kids, the axe glided over their little heads. The girl at the head of the table was still crying, but it was muffled. We had taped their mouths shut, no mistakes here.
The fun was about to begin.
I focused the camera more on Jimmy, followed his every move as he paced the room. His nose was the only thing that still had its real colour, the clown nose discarded between paper streamers and confetti. I noticed a warm smell and at first I couldn't decide if it was sweat or the boy that had wet his pants, but then I remembered.
They had been called for the cake and I had been thirsty, so the lady had opened the fridge and handed me a soda. It had been cool in my hands and even cooler down my throat, black lipstick smearing around the edges. Her eyes had been tired, but she had put up an effort to smile and be nice. I had really liked her, so I hadn't understood why she had stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes, why she had spat a stream of coke and soiled her nice apron. I only understood when Jimmy pulled the butcher knife back out and she collapsed to the floor, eyes the only bright thing in his red face. It was strange how fast you could transition, how fast a human being could become a lump of meat. We had thrown blankets over her, but the blood was seeping through. I had no idea why there wasn't a single drop on me.
"Eenie...", he said and took a step.
The eyes of the children became bigger, muffled screams underneath their taped mouths. They were old enough to understand what was about to happen, although they didn't really get it. I mean, I was one of the people who did it to them, and I didn't either, not completely at least. It should have felt exciting, it should have felt right, but that's the thing about an idea that has become reality: It's never what you imagined it to be.
One of the boys wiggled too much, his chair toppled over and dropped to the side, a bang that looked pretty painful. Jimmy paused, took three steps and towered over him. His chain fell out of his shirt, a rattle that ended in an iron crucifix dangling over the boy's eyes. Silence fell over the room, a drop of two coloured wax landed on the cake.
I felt my jaws tightening, but I kept the lens fixed on everything that happened, fixed on how Jimmy yanked the fallen upright and shoved his chair to the wall. Now his back was turned to us, but I had caught his last expression, this insane panic that should not have been on the face of a little boy. The others were screaming shriller, but I didn't hear them; they were background noise in the silence that unfolded all around us. There was a roar outside, darkness coming to a stop. I heard how Jimmy hefted the axe tighter, wood slapping his skin, tongue flicking over sandpaper lips. There was a fever in his eyes, but it hesitated, lingered on the stitching on the boy's shirt, Winnie the Pooh or some other cute cartoon bear. The blade sunk a bit and sunk even more, lower, lower...
...but there was still the crucifix.
Painting a black X on the boy's neck.
The axe flew to the ceiling, raising screams like the highest peak of a roller coaster. I zoomed, couldn't wipe the grin from my mouth...
And then the doorbell rang.
Jimmy dropped the axe and turned around himself, wood and metal clattering to the floor. He jabbed his fist into the fridge, beat his own reflection and collapsed. He still had enough tension to grip the metal and remain somewhat upright, but it costed him; even I knew.
The bell rang again.
"...will you..fucking.. GET THAT?!", he bellowed and made the kids wail.
I pushed the red button and set the camera on the table, diligent hands putting my straight appearance even straighter. I ran through the kitchen and gave the bleeding meat an appraising glance, tried somehow to absorb what it had been. I was faster than I thought, because I was pissed, disappointed somehow and frustrated that it hadn't happened yet. The whole thing was awful of course, but also necessary in a masochistic kind of way. You went to the surgeon, if you needed a really bad cyst removed and although you feared and hated it, there was a point when things went over the top, when pain became something to relish, because it freed the tension; itchy and warm. I licked my teeth.
It had to be done.
"Coming!!", I sang and flew to the front door.
The pressure in my molars made my smile more genuine and before I turned the handle around, there was my finger pushing a button on the stereo, making a tape roll that spat silly xylophone music. Too babyish, but believable; I was a good girl.
I didn't even blink as the fucking cop looked down on me.
"Hello Missy," he said and tipped a finger to his hat.
"Is your mom at home?"
He frowned, bushy brows arching in a grizzled face. I giggled and slapped his upper arm as lightly as I could, made the look on my face more casual and more believable. There were nightmarish seconds when I thought he wouldn't buy it, thought he saw blood running down my face or the word "murderer" edged into my forehead, but they were gone once I started talking.
"Charming!! But.. I'm afraid there's no one older here."
"So you're the lady of the house?"
He scratched his forehead, thumb slashing wrinkled skin and tiny hairs. It was sweaty and red, bags under his eyes. His car hadn't been washed in a while, fast-food wrappers spread under the windshield. The xylophone dripped from my smile, a choir of children singing.
"Well, 'neighbours complained about the noise.."
"..so could you just..", he said and lowered his palm to the floor.
My face was all serious, even a little worried, the button dipped everything into silence. There could have been sounds from the kitchen, weird smells wafting through the hallway, but there weren't. His fingers were already around the key, tinkling like chains.
"Ma'am.", he said and tipped his hat again.
The fat bastard had really bought it! I felt like my insides had turned into soda and were about to shoot from my mouth, a geyser of paper streamers and silly noise. It was an effort not to burst into laughter.
"You have a great day!!", I said and shut the door.
It was too quick.
His eyes were set on me.
But he had bought it, I had not the slightest doubt and pranced back into the kitchen. Reality was a nuisance and it lay behind me now. Jimmy and I could play again, could finish everything and relieve the tension, that fucking cyst that was growing inside my whole body. I entered the kitchen. The dead meat was still bleeding, the boy was still set to the wall and missed only the Dunce cap. There was no more fight in his face, no more resistance. I could guess why Jimmy had spared him, but no matter how you saw it: The boy was dead.
So good thing that he really was.
"It wasn't him.", Jimmy said and wiped his blade with a towel.
The fever had somewhat receded, but it was still there, the controlled fire of an engine. The five that remained were crying like mad, but it were silent tears, the tears of losers. I didn't know why I had mixed up how things were and how I wanted them to be again; it irked me somehow, but well...
I picked up the camera and pressed the red button.
The party was still going.
His hand shook the slightest bit as he dropped the cloth and took the handle into his hands. Nothing was clean of course, only not dripping as much. One of the candles had blown out and there were more red sugar sprinkles on the cake, shadows crossing the light outside; probably the departing cop. I had forgotten how hot it was, everything inside of me was cool.
Jimmy looked at the kids.
The handle slapped his palm, up and down, up and down..
"C'mon Jimmy, we're not done yet!"
Up and down, up and down...
"No.. we aren't.", he said and walked towards me.
There was no pressure when he put his fingers around the camera and smeared red over the silver, no pressure when he exchanged it with the axe. At first I was angry at him, because he hadn't asked, then I felt the weight of the weapon, felt how it coursed through my arms. It was warm and it sure as hell wasn't new, but it was for me to have and for me to use. Twelve eyes rolled in their sockets, set exclusively onto me. I was the star of the moment.
I wouldn't disappoint.
I wore sneakers to my black and white dress; the combination always reminded me of hip hop dancers and my feet moved just as lightly. The kids broke into stronger tears as I approached them, nails aligning to the power of a magnet, ice cubes melting in the heat of a lighter. It was sad to see them this way; they had been my playmates the whole morning, trusted me with their tiny secrets and every tiny problem. It was not fair what we did to them, not soft in the slightest, but we had to, we just had to. So many things depended on us, so many things that would literally go to hell, if we didn't act now. Sacrifice, it was all sacrifice.
And this greedy pressure in my front teeth.
I hefted the axe and let the blade glide over their heads, paced the room like my friend had done before. I was a very bright gleam in the camera, Jimmy's prolonged eye, but I didn't act like I saw it, focused only on their faces. I hoped that there would be something to betray them, something that would make the choice easier for me and although I looked so hard, searched every angle and every drop of pain, there was just nothing. Only innocence and the way we had destroyed it, only big, tearful eyes that begged and pleaded, looked so desperately for a turn of fate, for a weakness that would save them.
"Two of them are sisters.", Jimmy said.
"How do you know?"
And what the fuck did it matter?
"Make an educated guess.", he said without really looking at me.
The lens was the only open thing in his face, a dark jewel stealing the soul of every living second. It felt like he was telling a joke that I didn't understand, so I didn't play along, looked away from him and continued my walk.
"You know everything about them, that's why we're here in the first place."
"True, but not the right answer."
"How can something be true and also wrong?"
He scoffed, drew bloody fingers through bloody hair.
"Because it's not the answer I was looking for."
The blade whispered over the golden hair of a boy and closed his eyes, drew a dismayed wail from his taped mouth. He had been the quietest of the bunch, the one with the prettiest voice. He had asked me for a glass of OJ and I had poured him, painted a tiny smile on his face. He was so little, so full of unlived life. My lips hardened.
"And what exactly do you think is fair about this whole thing, Kiddo?", Jimmy asked with a sharp grin.
The cross rattled and slapped his chest, camera dropping to the side as he pushed himself more upright. Ignoring his challenge was a dangerous thing, but I hadn't today believed to be harmless. I let go of the golden haired boy and looked at the three girls, studied their faces, their clothing, the terror in their eyes. The one at the head was still crying, but the one at her side was looking straight into my eyes, breath coming through her nose in hard thrusts. The tape around her wrist crackled, the chair squealed.
Was she trying to leave the ground?
"Mo!", I said and pushed her away from the others.
They were still crying, still afraid for their lives, but there was a pause now too, confusion. The girl's hair was dark, her brows arched in a strange way, jeans, pointy patent leather shoes. Were they red? Were we not in Kansas anymore, Toto? Did I smell matches and ash?
Jimmy had lost his face again, had become the black mirror that banned every second for all eternity. I preferred silence over his stupid aggression, but it also irritated me, made me feel like I was doing the whole thing alone. The legs squealed, the tape rustled, her nose hissed, but mine did too. Her face was the only exit of a world that had become pitch black tar and silence. I didn't feel a thing, only the hammering in my chest and how it put pressure into everything. It was so much tension. I couldn't take it anymore, just couldn't. It was unbearable, needles and ants everywhere. Everywhere!!
I took a breath.
And it was warm.
Some time passed until the tar collapsed and I could see the world again, could breathe again, and the first thing I felt was warmth. There was a beautiful tree now where the girl had been, branches fanning out like the tail of a peacock. The axe was still in my hands, warm and itchy and sticky on my skin. My body felt loose and good, yes, good like it had never felt before. Why had I ever worried so much about everything? Why had I never understood that there was nothing that I couldn't do?
There was a crackling again, but it was different from before; it was a sound when all tension was gone and it came at the same time as the tickle on my forehead. It smelled like nickles and someone had put a new dress on me, a black and red one. I smiled from teeth that were drenched in blood, then giggled and giggled and giggled some more. I was a fucking Barbie now, but I was still me, still Kiddo.
"Murder tramp.", someone said and it was Jimmy.
He said it with disgust, but also like disgust was something good, like disgust was a way to compliment, to express admiration. The camera was still in his hands, but it had left his face a bit more open, made him a black mirror cyborg. Robots and dolls, yea, we were a regular toy box here, and realizing it made me laugh some more.
I only stopped when I couldn't get enough air anymore and a metallic taste crept into my throat, when Jimmy gave me his look again and I heard the kids crying. Isn't it strange that good and bad things always come in packs, that life is always Wonderland or Hell, never something in between?
"Great.. god..", said someone from the back door and plunged me intro liquid nitrogen.
It was the cop.
He blocked out the sun.
At first I felt very small for seeing him, like a girl that had dropped granny's favourite vase and was about to take a spanking. That look on her face when she saw me between the shards, this breathless anger that made me feel like less than nothing...
But then I was angry, furious rather, because he had interrupted, because he was reality come to spoil our playtime. The pressure was back again, but it was lighter, free and more powerful. I felt like a cheetah shooting over the grassland, an arrow shooting for the heart of a stag. The cop was several feet taller than me, several dozen pounds of fat and muscle heavier; he had a gun, he had decades of experience, but they had been too smooth, arresting drunken teens and speeders. He was dumbfounded, a useless mountain of lard. Jimmy was psychotic, a wiry ghoul with boundless energy, but I was faster, I was a fucking bullet, a lightning strike.
The fist of god.
It hit him between the eyes, wet pressure and breaking bone sucking the blade inside. There was a ray of blood, so dark it was almost black, and it shot directly into my eyes. Urine gushed between his legs, he twitched, made a funny noise in his throat that made me giggle again, and then he just dropped. Boom. No more cop.
I could do whatever I wanted.
"Murder tramp.", Jimmy cackled and grabbed the body at the ankles.
I was a bright smile drenched in blood, the shaking hand of the sickest killer.
I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.
Jimmy had taken his share; not that it mattered considering the amount of blood that was already on him. There was a dog barking in the distance, a plane cutting the sky, an insect buzzing by my ear. We had our trouble getting the carcass inside, fat and dead entrails chugging as we pushed and pulled it over the jamb. The blood was quickly cooling and stiffened my dress, made me feel more and more soiled and less and less wonderful.
It became darker when we slammed the door, dark enough for the candlelight to be seen. It was a holy atmosphere, something like coming into a church in the night before Christmas. The axe was stuck, there was no doubt about it. I pulled, Jimmy pulled, then we pulled together, arms extended to their fullest, feet and knees pressed to the fat bastard's chest. There was a sound like stomping through mud, like wood creaking, but the blade might as well have been embedded into concrete.
"Fuck it.", Jimmy scoffed and let the skull slam onto the floor.
There was a clamour, drawers being upended, utensils flying, kids squealing miserably. He got a steak knife, a pair of the meanest scissors I had ever seen, and the butcher knife, still red and wet. I hadn't noticed it before, but there was a sound buzzing in my head, a beautiful note like the voice of an angel. The surviving kids looked at me with dead eyes. I whispered and it sounded scared.
It was gone.
There were mountains of meat and a red tree looking down on me, the husks of children that would never be the same again. I had been their friend and I had unmade them. They had trusted me. They had loved me.
And I had...
I had them on me.
It tasted like tasty, innocent things: OJ and Soda, chocolate and marshmallows and blood. So much fucking blood. Jimmy didn't hold my hair or show the slightest sympathy; he just pushed himself upright and picked up the camera, held it in front of me like I was just another scene in his highschool project. There was no more warmth when I was done, only cold emptiness and a weakness I had never felt before. The kids were stronger than me, bound and alive, not a kitten without a lick of fight left. My hands crawled over the floor, slipped in slimy stench and made me gag when they had to grab the cop for purchase. The skin beneath his pants was still warm, shins pushing into my palms as I took off. It would be okay; I felt light headed and miserable, but standing made me absorb the warmth again, darkness and candlelight. What was I even thinking? Of course it was bad, but not doing it would have been so much worse, so much fucking worse. It would be okay, I was absolutely positive.
Then I saw a green light on the dead man's shoulder.
And how it crackled out.
Jimmy lowered the camera and frowned, hand slowly extending towards a box that was attached to the dead asshole's jacket. It hissed and whined when he ripped it off, it crunched when he tossed it into the farthest corner. There was anger in his face, a deep set, stony anger, but also fear and frustration; the face of a boy who had to leave the playground, but took it like a man. The butcher knife rose between us, dawn made from steel and blood. He didn't need to say a thing, I understood that time was no longer on our side, that the grown-ups would soon be here to spoil all the fun. The other kids looked at us with red eyes that were no longer crying, toddlers roused from feverish nightmares. It hit me like a sledgehammer, like a cold and heavy sledgehammer: They were already dead. Delaying the inevitable was cruel.
And we had no more fucking time.
Jimmy put the camera on the counter like he didn't care anymore, red light still ignited. The plumb girl with the pony tail looked up at him, swollen eyes tired and confused. She couldn't speak, but her face asked if she could go home now, if the bad stuff was over now. The clasps of her suspenders were cute cartoon lambs. The dog bellowed in the distance.
The knife slashed.
The candles blew out except two, her eyelids fluttered and closed, head sinking to her chest. She wore different clothes now, just like me, and somehow that made me smile; she looked so peaceful and happy, resting after a long day of play. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time and I was scared. I didn't understand why I was so scared, so full of fluttering cold and why the steak knife trembled so badly. There were only two boys and the girl at the head of the table left and of course I chose the golden haired one. Hadn't his name been Michael? What would it be on the other side? Was there even such a thing, such a silly, little dream?
I heard a wail and I couldn't decide if it was the boy, my boy, or a siren in the distance. The blade had barbs and I wondered if they would hurt him more or less.
"Stick it in...", Jimmy said and was drowned out by what I did.
He shivered like he was in the coldest place, so I hugged him and shoved the blade deeper.
"Can I have some juice?"
"Sure you can!"
They were laughing, playing a variation of tag, where everyone was blindfolded. The sun would burn later on, I could feel it in my bones, but now it was still pleasant.
I looked into his eyes, a sly smile on black lips. The hands that held the pitcher were white and girlish.
"But first there's a magic word you gotta say."
"A magic word?"
One of them fell down and tore everyone to the lawn. They were rolling around and absolutely losing it, rainbow bubbles floating into the sky. Michael's eyes were a bit smaller, a furrow on the root of his nose. He took his time and I liked that he did, his smile was the brighter for it.
I was crying, red hands letting go of everything that was gold and good. He didn't look like he had fallen asleep and that drove the knife even deeper. He would never forgive me, but that was okay.
Neither would I.
The lens still reflected everything, a black hole without mercy and without mind, sucking horrors into eternity. The wail wasn't gone; it was a sound that grew with every passing second, hoarfrost spawning on the back pane of existence. There were only two left now, two candles burning on the cake. Jimmy slapped the scissors into my palm
and I giggled beside everything. I felt stupid for it, a hollow skeleton laughing dead laughter.
"It can only be one of them.", said Jimmy.
"What does it matter?"
One of the flames flickered, painted shadows that flew over Jimmy's face, this dead serious, calm face I had never seen before.
"It would be a sin."
He walked to the table, gripped the edge and shoved it aside. There was no anger about it, he did it because it somehow had to be done. The girl had no head left to sit at and she looked a lot more vulnerable, the boy was too exhausted to be anything, eyes barely keeping open.
There was a stiffness in my pigtails that I felt when I walked over to him, hair forever glued with dry blood. The scissors were made from steel and they quickly warmed between my fingers, a fire that started blazing in my chest. I was cut loose from everything, had learned that I could do everything, so scratching the itch in Jimmy's skull wouldn't be hard. There were a lot of clumps in his hair, his ugly, nasty hair. The blades snapped open..
"What the fuck wasn't a sin today?", I hissed through bared teeth.
There were drops raining from his knife, pattering on the floor, crying a red sea. The sirens were louder, grey and cold on the farthest edge of reality. The dog was barking again, but this time it didn't stop.
Jimmy knew the danger he was in, had lived through plenty of my moods to understand how furious I was, but he didn't care, had his back turned to me and stared at the kids as if he was solving a complicated calculation.
"Nothing.", he said quietly.
"It had to be done."
My heart flipped a looping and started hammering like mad, loud enough to resonate in my eardrums, but the scissors snapped shut. He started walking in long, loud steps and never took his eyes off the remaining two; a black creature moving through heat and darkness. Of course, we had painted heaven red, what was there now but hell?
"But if we kill an innocent, who could have been spared..."
He put his hands on their shoulders, tape and cute clothing crunching, eyes snapping open in pain. There was darkness on his face, orange dusk and red light. It was the most beautiful I had ever seen him and it made me finally realize how mad he was, how utterly and truly insane.
And how right.
"You're right.", I said with a smile that hurt my mouth.
My hand wiped over my forehead, painted the white red for the last time. I shook my head and sighed, started walking, quicker than the sirens, dashed. There was a shrill scream, the blades hissed open, the dog just wouldn't stop barking, was right in the centre of my skull. I saw lightning.
I saw the scissors sticking in Jimmy's chest.
I couldn't control my breath, couldn't control the black dots it threw over everything. He looked at me and it was strange; there was no insanity left, no fever in his eyes. He was just a boy, an average boy with no future and no past, like I had gotten to know him. Darkness drooled from his lips, the butcher knife dangled, swung like a pendulum. There was a silence beyond the sirens and it became bigger with every lost heartbeat.
And then he smiled.
His cross rattled and hissed, slapped against my face as he grabbed my wrist and his blade whooshed through the air. I ducked, but it got entangled in my tails, he stumbled and I kicked his balls, detached myself and ran. I had seen him on the track and in the woods, had studied every muscle and what they could do, how fast they could move and it was no different now. I had always wished that body to be mine, hard, hot flesh melting into me, but not like this. Not this breathless hunt, this mercury acid consuming us from every direction. The front door was still there, a million miles away at the end of the hallway. It was incredible that I reached it while Jimmy remained a noise in the distance, but it was real. I felt light, pure water rushing from a soiled shell, and I would almost have made it.
But there were red and blue lights outside, a howl slapping my hand away from the handle. The stairwell was upholstered and it boomed when I ran upwards, even when the butcher knife slashed through the left stocking and I stumbled. It turned red within seconds, but I felt no pain, just heat and cold battling within every heartbeat. The upper landing was small and dark, stuffy and hot beyond belief. I had not many choices, there was a ghoul shooting up the stairs, staggering from one wall to the next, so I took the first door and slammed it into his red face.
The lock clicked shut, a solid sound.
I couldn't see a thing, only smell copper and jasmine, clean cotton and dust and sleep. It was the bedroom of a girl and it was soft, pleasant in every aspect, but it felt like a box of broken glass, splinters cutting from everywhere. There was a name on the walls and on the furniture, embroidered into towels and bedwear, sharpied onto cheap items no one would ever miss. Melanie. Melanie. Melanie. Melanie. Melanie. Melanie.
Melanie. Melanie. Melanie. Melanie. Melanie.
My own fucking name.
The door was jumping in the frame, banging and booming, opening a fraction of an inch and letting a red blade through that was cutting and probing for my skin. It could have stabbed me right into the eye and I wouldn't have cared though. The name was screaming at me, tearing the insides of my skull, a blender at full throttle. This was my house and of course the lady had assigned us for the gig of pathetic entertainment, had put up so much of an effort to be nice. Mothers did such things, my mother did such things. I collapsed to the floor when the wood splintered and Jimmy entered like a storm of darkness and blood, white eyes and glassy smile.
"Two of them are sisters.", he snarled and snatched my wrist.
There was a crunch in my head, the rattle of teeth exploding in my mouth. One of them chipped and exited through lips that blubbered warm salt. My world blurred and ran apart, cold tears running over a hot face. Two of them were sisters and I understood now, just not why he had said it in such a strange way. The girl downstairs was dead, but she would survive, my blood would survive.
"Of course it was you all the time."
His voice blocked out the universe, everything I was, hot breath scorching my skin.
I felt a pressure in my belly, then cold water gushing into my navel, but it was actually the exact opposite. I had the feeling as if I was crapping my panties and heard a wet slap, fat snakes squishing over Jimmy's arm. They had pulse, because they were my entrails, my insides melting out while my heart still beat. It felt like glass, then just like napalm in my stomach and in my throat, hot blood filling my mouth and my lungs and my eyes. There was pain, so much pain that I couldn't believe it, a haze of black that swallowed the world. I wanted to puke, but there was nothing left to puke with. I wanted to sleep and sink into the cold, but Jimmy kept me upright, hissing Latin words, shoving the cross down my throat. He was a demon, a creature from the darkest reaches of space, but it was actually the exact opposite. There was no oblivion, no eternal fire waiting at the end, just pain that never stopped and the sensation of drowning in my own blood. It was a good ending, a rightful punishment for everything I had done. They all had died in vain and now I would too.
Too bad it wasn't true.
Jimmy was right in front of me alright, there was the pressure, but it died in the moment of its creation. He looked at me like he had forgotten something, like he had flunked his exam and realized it just now. There was a smell of matches and ash, but it became a barbecue, pork sizzling on the grille. A hand exploded from his chest and it was small and girlish, pieces of tape still clinging to it. It held a black clump that crumbled from his insides, arteries and veins curling and shrivelling from the heat. It was his heart and it had become a piece of coal. He looked at me, but also right through me, eyes staring at something bad on the horizon. His lips moved, but they didn't make a sound, mouthed the last word of his existence. It made me sick to realize that he had meant well and had been right and that they had all died for nothing.
The corpse slammed onto pink carpet and stopped moving, iron crucifix hissing for the last time. There was a commotion outside, blue and red lights flashing like a silent war, voices barking hushed commands, boots rolling over the concrete. The crying girl had stopped and smiled at me, dropped the black heart like a boring plaything. She was beautiful and I loved her.
Who wouldn't love their own sister.
I would like to tell you something good.
How the police broke through the door and slammed me onto the floor, how they dragged me away screaming and bloody, how I was thrown into a cell; alone for years, stainless steel sucking the life from me until they put me to sleep like a sick cat, regretting every single second of my existence, regretting for all eternity.
I really would.
But when they slammed through the door, guns clicking, big mouths screaming, they only found Jimmy and my sneakers. They never figured it out, you know. They never saw the seven of us walk into the dusk. It was far worse than I had expected. A single candle flickered on the cake and went out.
It would be dark soon.
Really really interesting, if not however a little confusing (but I like stories like this!)
If I understood this right (I read it fast), Jimmy (or someone) killed the main girl? Why?
couldn't ever hold me down
lost love is sweeter when it's finally found
I've got the strangest feeling/this isn't our first time around
What exactly was confusing about it?
And for your second question: It's up to you, if she is really dead, but the answer lies in the way Jimmy died. Makes any sense?
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