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Stained Walls

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posted on Oct, 16 2009 @ 12:31 PM
Creepy little story based on a guy that makes me feel like this is his life.

So one night, He was sitting there, in his "comfy" chair. Alone, as usual. No one ever talked to him. In fact, he never went out, to be talked to. This night would be different.
As he was reading a story in the newspaper, about the park being vandalized the night before...there was a knock at the door.

No one EVER knocked on his door.

So, slowly he got up and walked to the door. Many thoughts ran through his head..."Is this a home invasion, someone wants to steal everything I've earned". He looked around his empty, decaying room. Black stains ran down the walls..they'd been there for years. But they were His stains and no one could take them away.

The knocking got louder...and his heart seemed to pound at the same velocity.

Who the HELL was this intruder of his solitude. This can only be bad. There were no other reasons for anyone to be knocking, at this time of evening. Several scenarios ran through his head...

The knife wielding assailant, charging in as soon as the door opened. The gun toting stranger, kicking in the door as it peeked open. Or worse, someone with a hammer, going to beat him to death. His mind raced, and he made a quick detour to the kitchen..

"Better safe than sorry" he grumbled, as he grabbed the biggest knife he could find.


"Jesus, this guy wants in bad."

Wishing he had paid his phone bill 5 years ago...he guessed the best medicine here, is to greet evil with evil...if in fact it is the case.

He peered through the peephole of the door. It was dirty. It was too dark to make out more than just a shadowy figure.

He reached for the doorknob, with the knife in his other hand, on the wall..hidden from whomever he was about to open the door for.

"Dammit, I wish I paid my electric bill too...then I'd have some light"...

Slowly he turned the doorknob in a clockwise direction, as he always had...planted his feet in an ideal position for whatever would be coming through, when he opened it.

Slowly the door opened.. Even through the crack, it was hard to see exactly what he was facing. In a spurt of bravery, he whipped the door open as fast as he could...ready.

The stranger spoke.

"I'm selling these......ahhhrrgglee ahhhhhhh....."

Before the stranger could finish his sentence...the kitchen knife was buried deep into his throat, just under his left ear. The blade was positioned towards the interior of the house, and as it exited the other side...still buried in was pulled forwards....spilling and spraying blood to the inside, onto the doormat. He was pulled inside...and the door shut quickly.

"How dare you, try to STEAL FROM ME!"

It sounded like dragging your feet on a gravel road, as the stranger was dragged towards the rear of the house, by his hair. An interior door was opened, exposing a dark starwell, shadowed by the lit candles. The stranger was shoved down the stairs..where he limply bumped down 4 or 5 stairs and stopped.

Confused at this, a candle revealed that the basement was too full to harbor too many more bodies.

"Time to clean, again..." were the only words muttered, as the door shut.

"Such a shame, graffiti in the park, goddamn punk kids have NO respect these days"

The paper rustled, and the springs from the comfy chair strained as he sank back into solitude.

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