This is a Drama/Suspense short story that I'm writing for a contest that has a word limit of 1500 words.
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The Encounter
Those ungrateful ants, they’re always biting me. I love them, but they’re just so mean. I wish I could slaughter them, but that would bring me back to my old days. They’re better friends than the dead body in the basement. It always smells so bad, and there’s something weird about looking at a head with its eyeballs rotted out. I’ve done a good job of blocking out the murder. All I remember was her name, Patricia Shalzenheimer, and that’s only because of her last name.
The doorbell hadn’t rung for 2 years. On rainy days, my fitness is walking around the house. I’m 43 years old, but still beautiful. I have no gut, long brunette hair, and perfect skin. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it up. I was pouring myself a glass of water and about to start my fourth cycle around the house when death rung. The ding and dong was like a one, two punch to my brain. I could tell through the stained glass on the door there was only one person. I’d have to take a risk, but if I don’t answer, they’ll just come back later. I slowly got up, walked to the door, and opened it.
I was met by an old man. He had more wrinkles than an un-ironed shirt, a bald head, and even though his back was hunched, he was very tall. Rain gushed down from the heavens as torrents of water swam down the street.
“I’m Marty and I’m going to come in.” A war had just started in my brain between instinct and reasoning. Instinct wanted to kill him because the pressure would be too big, and reasoning said there was no chance he would find out. Instinct had had a surprise attack, but reasoning kept a strong resistance. The effects of instinct were showing though. My mouth wouldn’t let me speak. I put my nails against the door’s woods and scratched into it. The wood peeled away, leaving long claw marks like a cat’s. I got deeper and deeper into the wood. My finger reached a point it couldn’t go any farther in, and my nail snapped off. Marty’s eyes widened with fascination. “Are you going to let me in, or I’m going to have to force myself in?” he chuckled.
The hand that was carrying the glass startled to rattle. This unexpected reaction shot another jolt of fear through me and I put a death grip on the glass to make it stop. The glass broke apart in my hands, sending glass shards that didn’t get stuck in my hand flying. Blood oozed out of my hand. Marty started to walk in and I tried to slam the door in his face. He saw it coming, and slid right in as the door closed. Almost instantly, the clouds began to fling golf ball sized hail at us. It was so heavy out there you would’ve had less of a chance to getting hit on the beaches of Normandy.
Marty grabbed my hand and looked at the wound. “Your blood has already clotted. You’re going to have to clean the blood that spilt out, and I don’t want you to risk getting it on the carpet.” Marty stuck out his tongue and licked all of the blood on my hand.
Marty strolled around the house, looking at everything in the rooms. He walked around the rooms, contently checking out objects, and talking about random paraphernalia. I was surprised he didn’t remark on the stained carpet, the cockroaches, or the dim lights. Reasoning rebounded, and retook the battlefield, but instinct hadn’t retreated yet. We at last came to the bedroom. He sat down and let out a loud sigh of relief. “You know I only have one living family member left. It’s my daughter, and she’s always hiding from me. I’m obsessed with her and whatever she does, hoping it’ll make her like me. I wish my wife and son were alive, but I just had to kill them. If they experienced what I did at Vietnam, maybe they wouldn’t have been so easy to kill.” What he said went in one ear and out the other. I was just trying to keep the pressure from overwhelming me, and not add another dead body to my collection. Marty impatiently tapped his foot on the ground, waiting for a response. I remembered something about family, so I talked about that.
“I was an orphan. I never had any connections to anyone there and left as soon as I turned 18. I did have luck on my side, and won the lottery. I bought this house with the money, and have never had a job.” I was so glad I spoke calmly, that I screamed in excitement and put my fists up in the air. I slapped myself in the face, angered that I had ruined my perfect response. Marty watched me with a grin on his face.
He strolled to a nightstand with valuables on it. He grabbed a gold ring, one I had taken off the body. He felt its hard, smooth texture before putting it on. I should’ve said something about it, but I had sweated so much I was going to pass out.
“Can I have it for free?” he joked, but I wasn’t listening.
“Yes.” I knew it was a question, so I guessed between yes and no. Marty stuffed the ring in his pocket.
“There’s one place left I haven’t seen yet.” He strolled towards the door. Reasoning had nuked instinct’s base camp, but the introduction of the basement kept a few rogue soldiers alive. I though about how I could stop Marty from going to the basement, but an excuse would just make me look weirder.
We inched our way down the wooden basement steps. The basement was partially flooded, with the water about half an inch high. Dead and living bugs were in the water waiting to welcome us. He got to the bottom of the stairs and plotted through the water. He sat down on the wooden box that used to store clothes, but now was a coffin. He stared at my wall of garden tools, all potential weapons.
“Could you bring those weed clippers over to me?” I followed the orders without thinking about killing him.
“With weed clippers, you can easily chop a person’s fingers as long as you put a tiny bit of elbow grease into it.” He looked at the shovel over on the wall.
“Then after you do that, you could use the shovel over there to knock them out. Depending on your strength, it’d take one to three hits to knock them out, and an extra two to four to kill them. Shocked more people don’t do it that way, with how easy it is.” I wondered how he could know this, but he said it so calmly I guess he just has a fascination with murders. Marty looked at the coffin and stood up, with his back turned to me.
This is my chance to kill him, he’s almost certain to see the body. I crept towards the shovel. I got to it and grabbed it, but then put it back. If he found out, I’d just kill him then since he doesn’t have a chance at getting away. He opened up the coffin and saw only dirt.
“And what treasure do we have in here?” He plunged his hand into the dirt and felt around. He pulled out a human hand. I was about to charge at him with the shovel, but I just want to make sure of what’s he’s thinking by his reaction. He looked at the hand in curiosity, but then his eyes and mouth opened up in excitement, a conclusion dawning on him.
“I knew you were one of us! Only a person that’s trying to hide a murder can act like that big of a freak! ”
“I’m a former murderer.”
“Good for you. I wish I could stop, but it’s just an obsession. Vietnam did a good job at that. I’m going to keep in touch with you new friend, but now I have to get going.” It never dawned on me he could be a killer. He acted so calm about everything, and I was so scared I couldn’t realize it. I helped him walk up the stairs and to the front of the door. The hail and rain stopped so we strolled out into the humid weather. He waved bye to me and I returned the favor. He got in his car, slid something in my mailbox, and drove off.
Out of curiosity, I rushed towards the mailbox and opened it. It was a private detective’s card, with his name, Marty Shalzenheimer. In handwriting it read “I can’t believe you bought it.”
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The Encounter
Those ungrateful ants, they’re always biting me. I love them, but they’re just so mean. I wish I could slaughter them, but that would bring me back to my old days. They’re better friends than the dead body in the basement. It always smells so bad, and there’s something weird about looking at a head with its eyeballs rotted out. I’ve done a good job of blocking out the murder. All I remember was her name, Patricia Shalzenheimer, and that’s only because of her last name.
The doorbell hadn’t rung for 2 years. On rainy days, my fitness is walking around the house. I’m 43 years old, but still beautiful. I have no gut, long brunette hair, and perfect skin. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it up. I was pouring myself a glass of water and about to start my fourth cycle around the house when death rung. The ding and dong was like a one, two punch to my brain. I could tell through the stained glass on the door there was only one person. I’d have to take a risk, but if I don’t answer, they’ll just come back later. I slowly got up, walked to the door, and opened it.
I was met by an old man. He had more wrinkles than an un-ironed shirt, a bald head, and even though his back was hunched, he was very tall. Rain gushed down from the heavens as torrents of water swam down the street.
“I’m Marty and I’m going to come in.” A war had just started in my brain between instinct and reasoning. Instinct wanted to kill him because the pressure would be too big, and reasoning said there was no chance he would find out. Instinct had had a surprise attack, but reasoning kept a strong resistance. The effects of instinct were showing though. My mouth wouldn’t let me speak. I put my nails against the door’s woods and scratched into it. The wood peeled away, leaving long claw marks like a cat’s. I got deeper and deeper into the wood. My finger reached a point it couldn’t go any farther in, and my nail snapped off. Marty’s eyes widened with fascination. “Are you going to let me in, or I’m going to have to force myself in?” he chuckled.
The hand that was carrying the glass startled to rattle. This unexpected reaction shot another jolt of fear through me and I put a death grip on the glass to make it stop. The glass broke apart in my hands, sending glass shards that didn’t get stuck in my hand flying. Blood oozed out of my hand. Marty started to walk in and I tried to slam the door in his face. He saw it coming, and slid right in as the door closed. Almost instantly, the clouds began to fling golf ball sized hail at us. It was so heavy out there you would’ve had less of a chance to getting hit on the beaches of Normandy.
Marty grabbed my hand and looked at the wound. “Your blood has already clotted. You’re going to have to clean the blood that spilt out, and I don’t want you to risk getting it on the carpet.” Marty stuck out his tongue and licked all of the blood on my hand.
Marty strolled around the house, looking at everything in the rooms. He walked around the rooms, contently checking out objects, and talking about random paraphernalia. I was surprised he didn’t remark on the stained carpet, the cockroaches, or the dim lights. Reasoning rebounded, and retook the battlefield, but instinct hadn’t retreated yet. We at last came to the bedroom. He sat down and let out a loud sigh of relief. “You know I only have one living family member left. It’s my daughter, and she’s always hiding from me. I’m obsessed with her and whatever she does, hoping it’ll make her like me. I wish my wife and son were alive, but I just had to kill them. If they experienced what I did at Vietnam, maybe they wouldn’t have been so easy to kill.” What he said went in one ear and out the other. I was just trying to keep the pressure from overwhelming me, and not add another dead body to my collection. Marty impatiently tapped his foot on the ground, waiting for a response. I remembered something about family, so I talked about that.
“I was an orphan. I never had any connections to anyone there and left as soon as I turned 18. I did have luck on my side, and won the lottery. I bought this house with the money, and have never had a job.” I was so glad I spoke calmly, that I screamed in excitement and put my fists up in the air. I slapped myself in the face, angered that I had ruined my perfect response. Marty watched me with a grin on his face.
He strolled to a nightstand with valuables on it. He grabbed a gold ring, one I had taken off the body. He felt its hard, smooth texture before putting it on. I should’ve said something about it, but I had sweated so much I was going to pass out.
“Can I have it for free?” he joked, but I wasn’t listening.
“Yes.” I knew it was a question, so I guessed between yes and no. Marty stuffed the ring in his pocket.
“There’s one place left I haven’t seen yet.” He strolled towards the door. Reasoning had nuked instinct’s base camp, but the introduction of the basement kept a few rogue soldiers alive. I though about how I could stop Marty from going to the basement, but an excuse would just make me look weirder.
We inched our way down the wooden basement steps. The basement was partially flooded, with the water about half an inch high. Dead and living bugs were in the water waiting to welcome us. He got to the bottom of the stairs and plotted through the water. He sat down on the wooden box that used to store clothes, but now was a coffin. He stared at my wall of garden tools, all potential weapons.
“Could you bring those weed clippers over to me?” I followed the orders without thinking about killing him.
“With weed clippers, you can easily chop a person’s fingers as long as you put a tiny bit of elbow grease into it.” He looked at the shovel over on the wall.
“Then after you do that, you could use the shovel over there to knock them out. Depending on your strength, it’d take one to three hits to knock them out, and an extra two to four to kill them. Shocked more people don’t do it that way, with how easy it is.” I wondered how he could know this, but he said it so calmly I guess he just has a fascination with murders. Marty looked at the coffin and stood up, with his back turned to me.
This is my chance to kill him, he’s almost certain to see the body. I crept towards the shovel. I got to it and grabbed it, but then put it back. If he found out, I’d just kill him then since he doesn’t have a chance at getting away. He opened up the coffin and saw only dirt.
“And what treasure do we have in here?” He plunged his hand into the dirt and felt around. He pulled out a human hand. I was about to charge at him with the shovel, but I just want to make sure of what’s he’s thinking by his reaction. He looked at the hand in curiosity, but then his eyes and mouth opened up in excitement, a conclusion dawning on him.
“I knew you were one of us! Only a person that’s trying to hide a murder can act like that big of a freak! ”
“I’m a former murderer.”
“Good for you. I wish I could stop, but it’s just an obsession. Vietnam did a good job at that. I’m going to keep in touch with you new friend, but now I have to get going.” It never dawned on me he could be a killer. He acted so calm about everything, and I was so scared I couldn’t realize it. I helped him walk up the stairs and to the front of the door. The hail and rain stopped so we strolled out into the humid weather. He waved bye to me and I returned the favor. He got in his car, slid something in my mailbox, and drove off.
Out of curiosity, I rushed towards the mailbox and opened it. It was a private detective’s card, with his name, Marty Shalzenheimer. In handwriting it read “I can’t believe you bought it.”
