Page 89 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

"I have an aesthetic appreciation for balance!" Frank snapped, his small, imaginary fists clenching over his painted green tunic.

I let out a soft, dry laugh into the rim of my mug, the bickering fading into a rhythmic hum as I set the coffee down. I stretched my fingers and wiggle it over the keyboard. I didn't want to think about spoons. I didn't want to think about the valley. I needed to see Joey through to the end. I needed this scene to end.

I pressed the key.

JOEY

Darkness settled inside the old farmhouse like a scary movie would before the guy jumps out of the darkness. The tin roof groaned softly beneath the weight of years, while outside, the relentless chorus of crickets thrummed through the night air. Somewhere deep within the walls, rainwater dripped into a bucket with a hollow, metallic ping.

There were no buzzing lights here. No electricity. Only three thick wax candles burned on a low crate, their long tongues of flame dancing and flickering whenever a draft swept under the door. They threw tall, monstrous shadows across the cracked concrete floor, painting the room in a sickly, breathing amber. The air smelled of damp timber, mildew, chicken coop dander, and decades of forgotten dust.

Somewhere beyond the room, hidden behind a crumbling wall, you can hear the wind chimes singing

Clink...

Clink...

Ting...

Silence.

Clink...

Every measured beat echoed through the empty building, swallowed by peeling paint and hollow hallways before returning as a faint whisper. Through the floorboards, the muffled, nervous clucking of chickens in the lower barn vibrated softly, completely unaware of the dark room above them. Time hadn't abandoned this farm. It had simply slowed down.

The wire restraints dig into his wrists and ankles as he tries to test them, panic setting in one frantic movement at a time as muffled screams echoed all around. His wrists and ankles were secured to the corners of a solid wooden skinning table anchored firmly to the floor. No amount of struggling would move it. I recommend it, more pain.

Dust drifted lazily through the narrow beam of candlelight, disappearing whenever the flame bent sideways. An old workbench stood against the far wall, cluttered with forgotten farm odds and ends gathered over decades.

I brushed a fingertip across the workbench, leaving a clean line through the dust. Behind me, the heavy breathing got even worse, a wet gasp broke through the heavy breathing. The silence didn't last.

A restrained, desperate movement broke the stillness, followed by the heavy scrape of the table legs straining against concrete. I turned slowly toward the figure waiting in the golden gloom, the candlelight catching the edge of the tool in my hand.

"You know… I waited years for this. Years to put you in a place you put me. Years to plan the perfect plan. Just for you to be ungrateful."

His breath hitched. He tried to speak, but the heavy burlap bag over his head muffled the sound into a wet, desperate plea. I walked forward and ripped the bag away, letting the candles light shine on my face.

"Who are you? Let me go! I don’t fucking have money..."

I laughed, the sound cold and sharp against the concrete walls. I didn't care about his money. I cared about the nightmares he awakened.

"You don’t remember me?" I asked, sounding so devastated.

I dragged a metal chair closer, the legs screeching like a dying animal.

“Fuck no, I don’t know you, bitch.”

Ignoring his very foul language, honestly rude I continue.

“Do you want to hear a story, Bill?”

Not waiting for his answer, I continue.

“So, this story begins with a little girl. She was seven years old and just got to a new home. A home where a lot of kids were left to grow up. So, this little girl tried and made friends with another little girl and they became best friends. The bestest but one night the little girl heard a scream, and the little girl followed that scream to see her being carried by a big, fat, ugly man. The person screaming was her best friend. So, the little girl followed them to a dark room in the basement where other men were waiting. This little girl got so confused when you pushed her best friend into the arms of men and they started to undress her. The little girl tried to be brave and screamed to leave her best friend alone, but she was grabbed and together that little girl and her best friend got HURT every other day. The little girls tried everything, but nobody would listen because they were little girls until one day after the men hurt them the little girl's best friend didn’t wake up and the little girl was alone to endure more pain and more HURT alone, for years to come.”

As I spoke, the air in the room grew heavy. His face went as white as a sheet as the realization finally slammed into him. He tried to scream, but the sound caught in his throat.

"See Bill, I don’t fucking like grown-ups hurting little girls. So, I got older and I found them. One by One. I took them and made them HURT. Make them feel pain, make them go through things no person should. But they weren’t human, they were monsters! So, Bill, thank you for being the last on that list.”