This is how it begins (574 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 1.61 on 13 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Dirk Diggler (View user info) at 2009-07-16 00:13:05 EDT
Part 1.
I don't remember much of my mother. As I recall, she abandoned me at a young age. My father told me years later that she had turned to a life of drugs and polygamy and there was nothing he could've done to help her. After her disappearance I started experiencing horrible nightmares, picturing my mother, alive yet inured, scarred and deformed, screaming for my help. On numerous nights I would wake in a cold sweat and begin to hear my mothers voice in the walls, calling my name. Over the years which followed, my father became a bitter, angry alcoholic. On many occasions my skin was the canvas for his drunken outbursts and my excuses to friends and teachers eventually ran thin. There were futile efforts made to relocate me which in turn only made my father more upset and angry. So it became another part of my life.
During my years as a teenager, I recall a night where the noises were louder than ever. I confronted my father who returned my inquest with a fist to the jaw and a swift kick to my ribs. For some reason, I decided to retaliate. Perhaps my emotions had skewed my better judgment, for the confrontation was over fairly quickly. My father had caused a laceration on my left wrist with a kitchen knife and subsequently a burn on my upper back after I had fallen on a pot of boiling water.
By the time I had reached university I had fell in love with a woman I cared very much for. Being of the age of consent and a legal adult, I took all that I needed from the house and moved out of state, vowing never to make contact with my father ever again. I lived a happy, seemingly normal life with my wife and found a job as a Museum curator, a position which I held in very high esteem.
It was on the eve of my 31st birthday when I recieved the phone call notifying me of my fathers passing. Being the only surviving family member it was expected that I should make an appearance at his funeral. Reluctantly I ordered a train ticket back home and assured my family I would be gone for a matter of days. During the trip, my eyes grew dull and heavy and I drifted into a restless sleep. I dreamt of the old house, my father, as he once was and of times long since past.
Shortly after, I was woken by a fellow passenger to find that the train had indeed arrived in my home town. It was just as I remembered it. Night had begun to fall and the town proceeded to descend into the darkness of a summer night. I took lodgings at a quaint Inn by a lake I once swam in as a child. The journey to my father's old house would have me arriving at a time in the night that I did not care for. Nor did I wish to be in the house alone being plagued by the dreams that haunted me as a child. My sleep was turbulent and periodic, the very walls seemed to be alive and listening, watching.
The following morning, I proceeded with haste to my father's funeral, wary of the onlookers: old, frail citizens who seemed to inspect me with some sort of unspoken acknowledgment. The procession was small and orderly. Of the few men and women in attendance, most of whom I knew only by face, there was a man who was prompt to introduce himself to me. Not a friend of my father's, but an associate. A legal man of some sort, he soon informed me that being the sole heir of my father's estate, I had procured the land in its entirety and that it was up to me decide what was to be done with the old house.
I could think of nothing else than demolishing it to the ground and burning every thing that couldn't be torn and smashed to pieces. Still, I felt like I should see it one more time, as if there was something I may have left there as a child, something I had not remembered in my youth that would need my attention.
The sun hung low on the horizon as I made my way to the house. The wooden boards that greeted me, once white and maintained, were now stained with mud, dirt and rain. Each footstep caused a cacophony of pain and anguish to emanate from the floorboards, my very presence seemingly a burden to a house that had long since fallen into disrepair. Into the first room I stepped, taking a moment to reflect on my surroundings. A torrent of memories and forgotten emotions overtook me and I found myself short of breath.
A feeling of dread began to seep into me and I found myself moving with forced alacrity up the stairs to the place I remembered as my old room. The room seemed as it once did, items seemed to be thrown around asunder but generally speaking, the room itself was intact. It was at this time that I heard the most chilling sound from the basement. Something was calling my name from downstairs. A request for my presence, horrifying by conception especially in a house one would think was all but deserted. The floor, whilst muffling the sound through layers and layers of wood and concrete, did not prevent me from hearing the audible and rather frightening call from below.
My initial reaction was to run. I first considered the window as a point of exit, but I did not care for the 2 storey drop and I would be in no position to flee if I would sustain an injury in the fall. For some reason, I felt compelled to enter the basement, perhaps a lack of judgement on my part, or simply foolish pride.
The door to the basement opened with an unsettling creak and I was faced with a descent into darkness. The light switch surprisingly was still functional, but the radiance of the bulb was anything but favorable. I made my descent slowly, careful not to lose my footing. The voice had since stopped, but I could recall the last location it came from and sure enough, that was where my feet, almost sub consciously, were leading me.
I came to a stop. Close to the wall was a faulty switchboard and beneath it was a small hatch upon which was a steel lock. The lock, old and rusty split into two parts quite easily when bludgeoned with my foot. Much heavier than it first appeared, I struggled slightly with the hatch yet my strength prevailed and I managed to pry it open, greeted by more darkness. My eyes in turn adjusted to the darkness In the environment below, I could make out what appeared to be another room. Yet, inside the dank, pit below me, something stirred.
It was at this time I decided to make my way further into the hatch. There didn't seem to be any visible means of support as I made my descent and on at least two instances I almost lost my balance. My feet met with dry, stale dirt and I found myself in a small room of which was decorated with instruments of torture and sadism. There was a tremendous sense of events which had long since past and I did suddenly find myself overcome with my surroundings. Perhaps most unsettling was the realization that these devices appeared to have been kept in good condition and certainly had found much use even to the point where they appeared to have been used at a most recent date.
From behind me there was a stir. I did at once find myself frightful of my predicament, largely being in a position that was not advantageous for my personal safety. Without warning the hatch door was shut, through what means I do not know. My attempts to forcibly re-open the hatch were futile and it became alarmingly apparent that I was indeed trapped for the time being, by my own devices, or perhaps by the efforts of an unseen intruder as I feared most. Then, within the walls above I heard the muttering of conversation and what I thought to be the deep, unseen utterance of two men. And both at once their footsteps did begin to head towards my very direction.
My eyes surveyed every pocket and corner of my underground tomb in search of a means to hide myself from my pursuers. In the corner of the room was a beige trunk, which would by no means be a comfortable place to take refuge, but given the extreme circumstances, it left me no choice. What I found inside the trunk however, took me entirely by surprise. As I lifted the trunk I was met with the vicious intrusion of death and decay upon my nostrils. The trunk, lined with the body parts of men and women long since departed from existence, was enough to make my eyes water. A vicious tide of unearthly scents caused me to feel queasy and I recall falling backwards onto the floor, impaling my upper thigh onto a sharp metallic object which lay discarded on the ground. My efforts to remove the shiv from my leg were unsuccessful and as the hatch door opened, I finally succumbed to my emotions and fainted.
User Reviews
Submitted by beer-turtle (user info) at 2009-07-17 12:35:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Decent enough premise...let's see what you do with it.
Guessing so far: The two guys are part of some cannibal/murder cult that his father used to belong to. Father killed mom, made up the polygamy and drugs story as a cover. Dude almost gets killed by the two guys, escapes, gets revenge.
Submitted by viciousness63 (user info) at 2009-07-16 20:17:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Intriguing. It's clear you're a good writer, but be careful with tenses. Some sentences were phrased awkwardly.
Submit part II soon!
Submitted by RoadSong (user info) at 2009-07-16 16:59:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Yozz (user info) at 2009-07-16 12:09:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Ducky (user info) at 2009-07-16 10:45:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Dug it...reminded me a tiny bit of Martyrs...the torture equipment in the basement part...
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2009-07-16 09:57:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Not bad...actually pretty good.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2009-07-16 09:23:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Maybe it is some manner of Diablo 2 joke?
Submitted by sexualchocolate1984 (user info) at 2009-07-16 09:20:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
MOAR! But your username is shit. Big whoop you've seen Boogie nights and wish you had a massive cock.
unless you're saying that you ARE a massive cock? Touche sir.
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2009-07-16 08:36:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by 8track (user info) at 2009-07-16 05:04:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
wtf not readinbg all dat
Submitted by locksly (user info) at 2009-07-16 04:24:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I think everything is gonna turn out ok here
Submitted by HateMudkips (user info) at 2009-07-16 00:27:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by AsshOly (user info) at 2009-07-16 00:26:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
tl;dr
i'm too tired for a post like this right now