Preview of my first story (no title yet)

[Egekrusher]

I watched through her window.
She had no idea I was there, hiding in the bushes.
I was using the best pair of binoculars money could buy.
One hand was steadying them; the other was down the front of my pants.

I watched her as she stripped off her clothes, preparing to sleep. The excitement, the thrill of spying on her was almost more than I could handle. Her exquisite curves, the dark tan of her body, and her angelic beauty were mesmerizing.

I have been watching her for 10 minutes now as she undresses. Every second of that time has been a lesson in want and need. I knew that I wanted her, but I also knew that she would never go for someone like me. So I sit here watching, knowing that she can’t see me, becoming all the more aroused because of it.

Finally, the moment comes when she strips completely naked. My jaw drops, and my breathing becomes hurried. It’s all over at that point. I take fresh clothes out of the duffel bag that I am carrying and set them neatly on a stump next to me. I take off my soiled pants and underwear and fold them up, placing them in the bag.

After putting on the clothes, I get my binoculars back out and check her window to make sure she hasn’t seen me yet. She hasn’t, because she is lying in bed now. Good. That means I can get away safely. The sheer terror of being caught is overwhelming. I slip out of the bushes into her backyard and scale the wooden post fence separating our houses. When I land, I double check to make sure none of the neighbors saw me. It’s dark outside, and nearly midnight, so I’m fairly sure that I’m safe. I try my best to walk casually around the side of my house towards my front door, as if coming back in from a bonfire or something of the sort (though I don’t have any friends to have a bonfire with, but that’s beside the point). I don’t do a very good job of it, as I stumble on a step and land face first, nearly breaking my nose from the force of the impact. My neighbor, an old crazy cat lady, howls something unintelligible at me from her porch across the street. “Fucking drunk bitch”, I mutter under my breath.

I slowly picked myself back up, still disoriented from the blow to the nose, and nearly fell over again on the rickety old rocking chair sitting on the porch. “GODDAMMIT!!!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. The cat lady stopped her taunting and gave me a horrified look, trying to yell about taking the Lord’s name in vain. If I hadn’t heard that same awful voice every day, I wouldn’t understand her, and as it was, I could only make out a few… choice words.

I opened the creaky screen door, cringing at the horrible noise that it made. ‘I really need to get that fixed’ I thought. The house that I was currently renting must have been 100 years old, though the owner claimed she had papers saying it was only 50, which, of course, I have never seen. The floor tiling is covered in grime from years of white trash residents letting their spoiled children rub food all over it. The walls are a nasty brownish gray color that may have been white at one time. Air seeps in through cracks in the window seals.

[Egekrusher]

Next:

As I survey this hellhole, I wonder how I can survive like this. Not just this piece of shit house, but also my sexual perversion, my social anxieties, and my bitter hatred for my fellow humans. I have isolated myself for so long that I just can’t relate to people anymore. I find them repulsively primitive, unable to control their emotions and instincts. They hear no reason unless you beat it into them, which I have never been very good at. A slightly modified line from a country song says it best; “When it comes to brains they got the short end of the stick”. I know that this is a horrible attitude, but it is one that is being reinforced every day that I’m on this God-forsaken planet. Road rage, riots, parents killing their children, children killing their parents, even children shooting other children- all of it has proven to me how utterly hopeless this world is. This attitude is what has isolated me. Yet I don’t feel any remorse or regrets for it. Why should I when I know that I’m right?

I take off my shoes and lay down in my small single bed, leaving my clothes on so I don’t feel quite so bad about the cockroaches that I know will inevitably find their way into my bed. I fall into an uneasy sleep, eyes twitching, and sweat gleaming on my forehead. As I lay there sleeping, I start to dream about unimaginable horrors, the same dreams I have every night. In these dreams, I am constantly confronting zombies or demons, or some other supernatural phenomenon, and always winning. There are some nights like tonight, however, where I just can’t seem to defeat the evil.

“AHHHHHHHHH!!!!” I wake up screaming. I look around the room and realize that I am safe, at home, in my own bedroom, and not being devoured by zombies. It takes a couple more minutes before I can stop looking out the dark windows, looking for someone or something that I know can’t be there, but my imagination insists is there. Eventually I stop shivering as well. I make my way into the kitchen, raiding the fridge in the hope that there will magically be a beer or at least something edible in there. Nope. Just the same moldy leftovers that have been lurking in the dark corners of the fridge for God knows how long. From there, I move on to the bathroom to release my bladder.

There is a mirror directly above the toilet, a medicine cabinet. As I’m staring down at the toilet doing my business, I hear something behind me. I can feel a presence as well. I slowly shift my gaze to the mirror. When my eyes finally find their way there, I see what looks like a man about my size holding a butcher’s knife in his hand. He is dressed in all black, with a mask over one half of his face. The other half of his face looks as if it has been burned beyond recognition. The eye on this side is dangling from its socket, held on only by a sliver of sinew. His flesh looks as if it was ran through a garbage disposal and then boiled on the stove, red goop running down his cheek and little pieces of flesh decomposing rapidly. I grabbed the plunger sitting next to the toilet, member still in hand, and turned around as fast as I could, spraying urine in every direction. Of course, no one was there. How could there be? I had locked his door with a deadbolt and I couldn’t get the windows open even when they were unlocked because they were so old.

I cleaned up the urine, cursing myself the entire time for being so stupid, yet keeping one eye open for any sign of the imagined intruder. After completing this demeaning task, I washed my hands and shuffled my way back to bed. I was already starting to get tired again. This time, when I lay down to sleep, there were no disturbances, not even a single dream.

That is the end of Chapter 1.

[Egekrusher]

Chapter 2

I got up for work that morning feeling very groggy. I couldn’t really remember what had happened the night before. I knew I had woken up and been scared by something, but I couldn’t remember what for the life of me. I went through my morning routine in a daze, which involved all the normal stuff; taking a shower, brushing my decaying teeth, running a comb through my thinning hair, putting on deodorant, and throwing on my denim jumper suit. I did all of this in about 20 minutes, as I was running late again because I had apparently failed to set my alarm clock the night before.

I walk out of the front door onto the porch and down onto the broken up sidewalk, careful not to get too close to the grass. It’s spring, and the grass is dewy because it is still very early, about 7 am. I make my way over to my car, looking it over, hoping that it had magically changed overnight into some sort of exotic sports car, such as a Lamborghini. Not happening. It’s a red Ford Pinto. The tires are nearly bald, the exhaust system is virtually non-existent, and the air conditioning doesn’t work. It takes 4 tries to get the damn thing to start up, with me swearing the entire time. “You fucking bitch!” I yelled. “Stupid fucking cocksucker!” I screamed. This was another part of my morning ritual.

The car was a hand-me-down from my father, who had passed away last year. My father was a drunken bastard who worked in a factory his entire life (when he was working that is) and loved to beat the living shit out of my mother until she died of cancer 4 years ago. Honestly, I was happy to see her go. She had gotten her chance to escape the living Hell that she had been engulfed in for the past 22 years. My father had died in an accident at work. He was working in a sawmill at the time. He had been drinking on the job, as usual. He was working very close to one of the saws, closer than he was supposed to, when his arm got caught in a conveyor belt. He died a slow, painful and gruesome death, lying on the ground bleeding profusely from what used to be his right arm. Apparently the last thing he said was “My bottle…” They found the shards of glass from his bottle inside the saw, along with the chewed up remains of his arm. His last thought in this world was about his damn bottle, which didn’t surprise me one bit.

I finally get the car started, checking the gas gauge to make sure I at least have enough to make it to work. Luckily, I do. I turn on the stereo, listening to the stupid morning show pouring out of the tinny sounding speakers, wishing I could at least afford a CD player.

I pull out of my pseudo parking spot in the street, making sure no one is coming first. I keep track the entire way to work; there are 5 people talking on cell phones, 3 people driving 10 mph over the speed limit, 1 person driving 10 mph under the speed limit, 1 person getting a blowjob, 1 woman curling her hair and 3 more people picking their nose. All in all, it’s a pretty normal day in the city of Newport, Maine. I don’t actually live in Newport; I just drive here because work is so slow in Castle Rock.
Arriving at the magnesium plant that I’ve worked at since I was 18 (I’m 22 now), I see that I’m still late, despite my best effort this morning at getting ready as quickly as possible. Granted, it’s only by 3 minutes, but in my boss’s eyes, 3 minutes may as well be a no show.

“Roberts” says my boss, Phillip Cole, a monster of a man in both size and attitude, as he waited by the door for me “I thought I told you never to be late again. What the fuck happened, you stupid twit?”

“I’m sorry Phil, I got stuck behind a jackknifed semi on my way here” I said. It was only a partial lie, as there was a jackknifed semi on one of the many back roads that I take on my way into work. I didn’t take that route this morning, however, and I had heard about it on the news on my way in. Apparently, he had heard about it as well. He eyed me over very, very carefully, trying to spot the slightest hint of a lie. He didn’t find one, and he never could with me. I had grown up lying to save my own skin from my father. I was an expert at the art of self-preservation through deceit. He stared down at me, as he was almost a full foot taller than I, and half-whispered to me “If you are ever, EVER late again, I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll be eatin’ it for breakfast, ya hear?!”

“Yes, sir” I said quietly, knowing that to stand up to this giant was a very quick way to end up in the hospital. It had happened to other men working here, and it sure as Hell wasn’t going to happen to me. He was still staring down at me, breath reeking of sour milk and what smelled like cow ass. I was thinking about how it would be funny if he had been hungry and thirsty and had decided to just eat the whole fucking cow. I almost laughed, but thought twice about it. Not a good idea. He finally backed up a bit and opened the door, still staring at me. He held it open, letting me walk in first. I knew it was going to be a fucked up day.


Nevermind, it's finished. Moving on to chapter 3.

[dantehorrorfan]

cool story so far dude