He peered inside and there were several cops inside.
"Hey you" Arthur called for this young looking cop.
"What in God's name happened in here?"
"I'm sorry sir, I'm not allowed to tell civilians."
"Excuse me? I work here, and now, apparently there was a crime committed, I think I have the right to know why I can't go to work!"
"Sir, please.."
"I don't care!"
"Alright, just,...stop making a fuss. Listen, I'm new, so please don't tell my boss, ok? This guy, he worked at the editing department.."
"Is it Sam? It's him isn't it?"
"Why yes, how do you know?"
"He was acting weird this past week, all jumpy and frightened."
"Well, I'll have to take you with me for your statement."
"Is it serious?"
"Come with me, and you'll see" And the young cop turned and left.
Arthur, was ready to answer back, but he left the sentence in the middle. He quickly caught up with the cop. The hall was empty, which was weird at that hour. There were other cops, about seven, some of them taking pictures to a completely bloodstained couch, others checking for prints, and two of them talking to Arthur's boss, Mr.Peterson.
The young cop approached one of those who were talking to Mr.Peterson.
"Sir, this man knows something about the victim...You better come and check him out." the young cop whispered to his superior, who was a man in his 50's, gray mustache, short hair, and a pot belly peeking out of his uniform.
"And you are...?" The older man asked him.
"Arthur Penkins, writer and creator of the "Urban Pathfinder" chronicles and the bestsellers "Farm House" and "Touched Lips". I work here and I want to find out what happened to Sam."
"Where you close to Samuel Goldarck?"
"You might say so, we lunched a couple of times, talked about trivial things, you can say we were friends."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"Yesterday, as I left work, I found him. He was in a really bad shape, but nowadays he was always like that, so I didn't suspected a thing."
"Hmm...What time was it, when you last saw him?"
"About 11.30 P.M"
"I see. Did you talk to him?"
"Yes. The usual chit chat. I asked him how was he going. He said he was fine. Now that I remember, he was really in a bad shape. He looked like he hadn't slept for a week. Ah, but here in the newspaper we must learn not to sleep."
"Did he mention anything worth reporting?"
"Well...no, but he did act strangely. Constantly looking at the door and sweating. He looked sick. But what exactly happened to him? Is he...dead?"
"He passed away last night. We believe it was murder."
"What?!" Arthur was astonished. Murder? Here? He thought Sam was hurt, not dead.
"Do you know if he had any family members alive?"
"Wait. How did he died?"
"That is not of your concern."
"If you want to contact his only family member, yes, it's my concern."
"If you don't cooperate, we'll simply check his data base, please, don't make this job harder than it is."
"This person is not in his data base. Sam erased him after a huge fight. Listen, he was my friend. Please, tell me."
"We...we still don't know how he died. It is...hard to identify the murder weapon."
"Why?"
"Lets say the victim is hardly recognizable."
"Oh god..." Arthur remembered his murder experience, from years ago. "Can...can I see him?"
"Sorry but no. So, who's the family member?"
"Edgar Penpoe. 63 years old. Awful father, and the worst husband possible."
"Penpoe?"
"Sam always used his mother's maiden name. Please, let me see him..."
"Were done with you. Please give your phone number to agent Finn so we may reach you when necessary." The older cop left him with the younger, who apparently was agent Finn.
When they were finally alone, Arthur didn't resist to ask:
"Hardly recognizable? You'll have to explain that to me."
"Well, we found the victim on that couch. I still can't get used to the memory...he was...argh"
"What??"
"We didn't found a body. We found parts of it. Altogether in this...meat ball. It was...absolutely disgusting."
"You know, when I was a kid my mother died in a violent accident. The image still lingers my dreams, but I'm so used to revive that night, that it doesn't disgust me anymore. You'll get used to, don't worry, soon it will be one of the most common things in your life."
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Subject: Arthur Penkins - Part Two
Arthur woke up from his tormenting memories. Twenty years since that horrible episode. Since his father mutilated and killed his mother. At least that's what the cops said. That's what he had been telling himself since then.
He got up and went to take a shower. He had a good life. Writer, successful, an amazing apartment on a skyscraper in New York, a different girl each night, loads of money...Dream life.
But nightmares inside. Arthur, due to trauma, didn't remember what happened, except the darkness. His house, had the lights on every hour, with spare generators, and a closet full of lamps. He learned to sleep under bright lights. No, he would never fall asleep in the dark. But as a consequence, he would see the same darkness forever. No light could put it out.
He entered the shower and put it in massage mode. Sandra, the girl from last night, or at least he thought her name was Sandra, had left already. He had been seeing her for a while. But their relation was practically over, they only saw each other at night, and their relation was...mostly physical. He didn't care, he didn't loved her, and she didn't love him. They mutually despised each other, yet staid together like two sheep who were separated from the flock. He, with his paranoia, and her....well, he didn't know her reasons, but he really didn't care. Perhaps he would be considered a bastard, but he also didn't care. The famous writer with his Light House, or at least what the paper called it. " The one point on earth were there it's never night" said the Times Magazine, and they were right. But Arthur didn't care.
Half an hour later, Arthur was walking to his brand new black BMW. All shinning, and waxed. with brown leather, soft, silky, simply delicious. That car was the perfect way to ensure the manliness of any man. That car transpired masculinity. Arthur sat on his terrific car and started his terrific motor. He looked at the mirror just to stare back at his green eyes. Boy, ain't I lucky? He asked himself that question several times a...What was that?
While admiring himself, he saw something on the back through the review mirror, outside the car. "It's nothing, calm down". But he couldn't avoid grabbing his arm, were several years ago his father, supposedly, broke his arm and partially ripped a muscle.
"I'd better check"
He got out, slowly, and rounded the car. Behind the car, right under the license plate, was a dark burnt like spot, as if someone had lit a fire there. Maybe some teen vandals. "Stupid kids, unnecessary, expensive and useless bags of meat! If they ever lay a finger in his BMW...". Arthur finally drove off to the magazine, were he wrote a certain chronic called "Urban Pathfinder" for fun.
No traffic. How could this day get any better?
He arrived, parked in his reserved spot, grabbed his suitcase and with his chin pointing the sky and a smile at the corner of his mouth. The big building was essentially white and glass.
When Arthur went to reach the door, his heart stopped a beat.
A "do not cross" yellow strip was blocking the entrance...
He got up and went to take a shower. He had a good life. Writer, successful, an amazing apartment on a skyscraper in New York, a different girl each night, loads of money...Dream life.
But nightmares inside. Arthur, due to trauma, didn't remember what happened, except the darkness. His house, had the lights on every hour, with spare generators, and a closet full of lamps. He learned to sleep under bright lights. No, he would never fall asleep in the dark. But as a consequence, he would see the same darkness forever. No light could put it out.
He entered the shower and put it in massage mode. Sandra, the girl from last night, or at least he thought her name was Sandra, had left already. He had been seeing her for a while. But their relation was practically over, they only saw each other at night, and their relation was...mostly physical. He didn't care, he didn't loved her, and she didn't love him. They mutually despised each other, yet staid together like two sheep who were separated from the flock. He, with his paranoia, and her....well, he didn't know her reasons, but he really didn't care. Perhaps he would be considered a bastard, but he also didn't care. The famous writer with his Light House, or at least what the paper called it. " The one point on earth were there it's never night" said the Times Magazine, and they were right. But Arthur didn't care.
Half an hour later, Arthur was walking to his brand new black BMW. All shinning, and waxed. with brown leather, soft, silky, simply delicious. That car was the perfect way to ensure the manliness of any man. That car transpired masculinity. Arthur sat on his terrific car and started his terrific motor. He looked at the mirror just to stare back at his green eyes. Boy, ain't I lucky? He asked himself that question several times a...What was that?
While admiring himself, he saw something on the back through the review mirror, outside the car. "It's nothing, calm down". But he couldn't avoid grabbing his arm, were several years ago his father, supposedly, broke his arm and partially ripped a muscle.
"I'd better check"
He got out, slowly, and rounded the car. Behind the car, right under the license plate, was a dark burnt like spot, as if someone had lit a fire there. Maybe some teen vandals. "Stupid kids, unnecessary, expensive and useless bags of meat! If they ever lay a finger in his BMW...". Arthur finally drove off to the magazine, were he wrote a certain chronic called "Urban Pathfinder" for fun.
No traffic. How could this day get any better?
He arrived, parked in his reserved spot, grabbed his suitcase and with his chin pointing the sky and a smile at the corner of his mouth. The big building was essentially white and glass.
When Arthur went to reach the door, his heart stopped a beat.
A "do not cross" yellow strip was blocking the entrance...
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Subject: Arthur Penkins - Part One
He got up from bed. Someone was at his door. "Mom?" No answer. Scratching. "Is that you Mom?". A deep and fainted voice answered. "Arthur" It was weak, but it was obviously his mother. "You scared me Mommy."
"Arthur..."
"What are you doing?"
"Arthur don't..." and the scratching started again.
He slowly opened the door. At first he only saw darkness, but as he lowered his sight he saw his mother on the floor. At least the upper half. The once soft brown floor was now in a deep shade of red. His mother's legs were ripped off from her, and no were to be seen. A huge wave of panic flowed from his stomach and was reaching his mouth.
"Don't....Scream...." mumbled his dying mother.
Down the hall, at the end of a blood trail was something. A living thing. Breathing. Chewing. Slurping. He didn't make a sound. Suddenly this nauseating smell of blood, sweat, and perhaps urine came to his nose, and he couldn't avoid throwing up. As soon as he recomposed himself he noted something different. The silence. The thing wasn't at the end of the hall anymore. Glued to the wall he tried not to breath. Were was it? Scanning the hallway he found it, and his heart missed a beat. It was at the left corner of the ceiling. A dark mass, quiet, static. Looking with tiny red dots at him. They stared each other for minutes. He couldn't keep it anymore. He screamed and it jumped. He felt an excruciating pain on his arm and the lights were turned on. His father was staring at the madness in the hall, still holding the interrupter. His arm was bleeding, and the thing wasn't there anymore. His father in shock, screamed. Twenty years later, a twenty-seven year old Arthur woke up from this nightmare....
"Arthur..."
"What are you doing?"
"Arthur don't..." and the scratching started again.
He slowly opened the door. At first he only saw darkness, but as he lowered his sight he saw his mother on the floor. At least the upper half. The once soft brown floor was now in a deep shade of red. His mother's legs were ripped off from her, and no were to be seen. A huge wave of panic flowed from his stomach and was reaching his mouth.
"Don't....Scream...." mumbled his dying mother.
Down the hall, at the end of a blood trail was something. A living thing. Breathing. Chewing. Slurping. He didn't make a sound. Suddenly this nauseating smell of blood, sweat, and perhaps urine came to his nose, and he couldn't avoid throwing up. As soon as he recomposed himself he noted something different. The silence. The thing wasn't at the end of the hall anymore. Glued to the wall he tried not to breath. Were was it? Scanning the hallway he found it, and his heart missed a beat. It was at the left corner of the ceiling. A dark mass, quiet, static. Looking with tiny red dots at him. They stared each other for minutes. He couldn't keep it anymore. He screamed and it jumped. He felt an excruciating pain on his arm and the lights were turned on. His father was staring at the madness in the hall, still holding the interrupter. His arm was bleeding, and the thing wasn't there anymore. His father in shock, screamed. Twenty years later, a twenty-seven year old Arthur woke up from this nightmare....
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Beginning
Hi. My name's Sarah Queen. I write. I write Horror Stories, most based in my nightmares. They're mot too long, and not too short. Sometimes, different events happen in the same places. Someone doesn't ALWAYS survive. They aren't Urban Myths, nor Legends, not even told by someone else. They're from the Depths of Fear. My fear. Your fear. Everyone's fear. Because that's the place where They live, and where They are born. They differ from person to person. Yet all of Them follow the same rules:
- They feed on someone's fear. If fear isn't present they must retreat to the Depths.
- If They kill someone, the fear that brought them dies, and therefore they must move to the nearest person's Depths.
- They are powerless while facing light.
- They must obey to a Witch/Exorcist/Warlock, and any other figure that holds power, that has cast a Binding Spell that matches the His/Hers power.
- A child can only die by the hands of an extremely powerful Him/Her. Less powerful beings from the Depths cannot kill a child due to it's innocence.
They live by these rules, and Whomever disrespect them, will be incarcerated in the Depths for 43 years.
That's how They live.
- They feed on someone's fear. If fear isn't present they must retreat to the Depths.
- If They kill someone, the fear that brought them dies, and therefore they must move to the nearest person's Depths.
- They are powerless while facing light.
- They must obey to a Witch/Exorcist/Warlock, and any other figure that holds power, that has cast a Binding Spell that matches the His/Hers power.
- A child can only die by the hands of an extremely powerful Him/Her. Less powerful beings from the Depths cannot kill a child due to it's innocence.
They live by these rules, and Whomever disrespect them, will be incarcerated in the Depths for 43 years.
That's how They live.
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