Well, I have been meaning to try to write a horror story. I never have, as it isn’t something that I am in to. Anyway, I stuck to 1000 words (as measured by word) and took 1 hour and 37 minutes. Sorry, I did not edit though, so if you see some grammar boboos, well, call it the usual Duck stuff. Anyway, all new and original, written by me just now... LOL Oh, I made up all names except the a few last names but if I accidentally used a real person's: well it ain't you.
The Tree
Twelve year old Jimmy Amber slithered through the trench under the combination cyclone and barbwire fence, just as he had done almost every day for the last four years. He knew that a No Trespassing sign was posted on the fence every ten feet, and one three hundred feet to the west had fallen off in a storm and a replacement was up within two days.
He found the trench under the fence when out walking in the woods. Some animal had made it, and because of his small size, he fit under easily. Even now he was still small and knew that no adult could fit.
Two years ago Jimmy had used the computers at the Ellis Library and found that this property of 44.6 acres was owned by the Monroe County Road Commission, and had paid 66 million dollars to Miles Humphrey for it in 1953. This confused Jimmy because the land was not accessible from three sides because of swamp, and the last side was miles from any roads. He knew that someone patrolled the perimeter fence daily and made sure the fence was not breached, but could find no evidence of who, or why.
Jimmy headed, as he always did, to the tree; his tree, as he saw it. It was located in a center of a clearing a few miles from the fence. The tree, a huge oak at least three feet wide and immensely tall seemed ancient. It was more to Jimmy than just any tree. He felt comfort and friendship from the massive old oak. Usually, Jimmy would sit with his back against the rough bark nestled between two huge roots. He would talk to the tree and it seemed to him that the tree talked back.
Today, it was different; he felt a compulsion to reach the tree. He knew that it was summer solstice, so his time would be long, but he still felt a frantic need to reach his friend quickly. When he did, he plopped down at his usual spot with a feeling of relief. I was worried you would not visit me this day, Jimmy, he heard within his mind.
“I felt it as well.” Jimmy said aloud.
Do you know what today is?”
“Summer Solstice?”
Yes, but more. Today is the anniversary of the day that I was murdered.
“You never told me that before.” Jimmy said calmly.
It was two hundred years ago today that Arlen Humphrey and Thomas Navarre slew me because they wanted my land. They hastily buried me here under this tree. Now, it is time for their descendants to pay for the crime.
“How will you do that, Louis?
Don’t you worry about that; you are tired, take a nap.
Jimmy felt tired very suddenly and decided that a nap would be a good idea. When he woke it was almost dark. His sleep had been clouded with nightmares of murder, mutilation, and blood, so much blood. The oddest part was that each one of the deaths the right hand was cut off.
The first was his friend Tim Navarre’s father. He was cutting down some trees near the edge of his plowed fields. In his nightmare he had walked up to Mr. Navarre and as he knelt to move some branches Jimmy picked up the idling chainsaw and chopped off M. Navarre’s head; then as he lay still his right hand.
His next nightmare was inside Tim’s house. Jimmy had a big knife in his hand and had slashed Mrs. Navarre’s throat. Tim’s little sister Amy was stabbed several times before losing a hand. Tim fared worse. His right hand was chopped off and he was left creaming in agony as he bled to death.
The elderly Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey were his next nightmare; each lost a hand and bled to death.
Next door, Mr. and Mrs. Varney and their five kids were next. Mr. Varney, son of old Mr. Humphrey was first as a sickle from the barn took his head, then his wife’s within seconds. The children quickly followed the same death and subsequent loss of each right hand.
Mr. Morris, the survivalist, took an arrow to the heart, from one of his own bows. In his dream he left the man bleeding and went to the man’s armory and packed a bag before returning to lop off the man’s hand.
Dolce Vita was packed, as usual, and the machine gun took down all but Mr. Carr who shot back. Jimmy threw a knife that stuck in the man’s neck. Out of the approximately 70 dead, he took only eleven hands.
Andy McDonald was shot in the head as was his wife and three kids before they each lost a hand.
On and on his nightmare went, death after death, some more horrid than others. John Humphrey to a sword, Abe Millman run over by a car, Mabel Navarre to a house fire, and Bob Dorsey was shot first in the right knee, then the left, then his elbows before he lost his hand before he died.
Mr. and Mrs. Mortman and their 6 children were taken by baseball bat to the head.
By the time Jimmy finally woke he was covered in sweat. He could not remember ever having even one nightmare, let alone what he just had. When he stood, he would have sworn he had different clothes on when he came earlier in the day.
“I have to get home now,” he spoke aloud to the tree.
Goodbye Jimmy, it was good to know you.
“I will be back tomorrow, as usual, you know that.
We shall see, the tree said ominously as he walked away.
Monroe Evening News headline:
97 Dead, 30 Wounded in Killing Spree.
The killer has been identified as Jimmy Amber, age 12. The motive for the murders or the removing of the right hands is unknown. Police have charged him as an adult and seek the death penalty.
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Topic: Writing (Read 15320 times)
