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Murderous by Guy Gleeson

Dead. They’re all dead. It’s just me and—and her.

It was all fun and games until Lucy’s idea of playing “Seven Minutes in Heaven” turned into something more representative of the Seventh Circle of Hell. Jacob and Alice went into the wardrobe for their seven minutes. Nine minutes had passed when Lucy, who opened up the wardrobe with a giggle and a hope of catching the pair with their tongues down each other’s throats, got quite a shock to find them with their throats cut open. Lucy screamed and ran off. Curiosity got the best of the rest of the cats and everyone got a bloody sight. Suddenly there’d been a crash from behind the crowd of teenagers. The living room door swung open, and she was there. Black dress. Blood. Eyes you would have thought of as dead if not for the anger in them. But what really caught everyone’s eyes was the bloody knife she held in her right hand. Chaos. Screaming. Crying. Running. It had been useless.

*

I can hear her now. She’s looking for me. All the doors and windows are locked; I checked. I’m sitting here with my back against one of the many bedroom walls that this old mansion holds.

Nigel’s body lies a couple feet in front of me. Even in the darkness, I can see a cell phone in his cold hand. As quietly as I can, I crawl forward; a slight jingle from my jacket causes me to freeze. Silence. I can’t hear her anymore. Attempting to match the silence of the building, I finish my way to the cell phone. I flip it open and try to call 911. As with the windows and doors—useless.  There’s no signal.

Shuffle. She’s right outside the bedroom door! I place the cell phone back in Nigel’s dead hand, and slide under the queen-sized bed. The door creaks open. Her pale, bare feet shine in the blackness of the house. I hold my breath. She whispers to herself as she hunts me. Her words are just loud enough that I know she’s speaking them, but just quiet enough that I can’t understand them.

She silently steps to the wardrobe and swings it open with a breath. Upon finding it empty her white feet move to the other side of the room, she’s checking the en suite. She switches the light on and again she finds nothing. She drops the knife. What? She steps toward the bed. She’s going to find me. Her whispering has stopped, and now? Now she’s sobbing an eerie sob. She slowly crouches down, crying to herself. Suddenly her head spins and looks directly at me. She screams a horrifying scream. I roll out from under the bed and grab the dropped knife.

Yes! I turn and swiftly grip her by the neck. She says through my hands, “You…you k-killed Michael…”

I giggle and reply, “Yes, I killed your precious lover. And all of your little friends. But you’re the only one I really wanted, Diana.” With a grin and a laugh I plunge the knife into her back. Again. And again. And again.

Silence has reclaimed the room. I’m still trembling from the excitement. Covered in who knows how many different people’s blood, I walk to the en suite sink, ignoring the body of Michael’s little sister on the hard floor. The grinning jester greets me happily from the mirror, the bells of my suit jangle with the laughter.

I hadn’t planned to kill so many, but after Diana appeared soaked in her boyfriend’s blood and wielding one my knives, causing all the chaos and screaming, I just simply couldn’t help myself.

Now…Time to burn this place down.

 

 

 

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