Shadow Crawlers. Part 5.

Hope everyones week went well! I didn’t get up to too much. Had some plans for a friends birthday, but they fell through unfortunately, so it’s been moved to next week. Definitely looking  forward to it!

Also, Happy 4th of July for any American readers!

On with the show!


Part 1, Part 4

He woke a few seconds later, feeling disorientated. He always hated that feeling. He stood, trying to get used to how everything worked. In the the back of his mind he could hear something, he ignored it. It wasn’t important. He looked around the park, it was still empty. Ducks started to tentatively return to the pond, a few birds started to sing. They couldn’t detect him, good. He took a deep breath, it was so weird, it always took him a while to get used to. Those weird, fleshy inflatable lumps inside his chest. It was so barbaric. He continued the walk, searching through the memories he still had. It was good to get used to the body before anyone could see him. He moved jerkily at first but slowly the movements became smoother. The gibbering in the back of his mind became louder, he tried to push it away, but it didn’t work. Damn, he was out of practise. This all used to be so easy. He focused on the noises “You. Hey, you.” The gibbering turned to shrieks, he clutched his head. “Hey! Shut up in there.” The gibbering came back, slightly subdued. “That’s better. You can work with me or against me, but working with me will be a lot easier for you. I need some information.” All the memories he still had were weak and most of the fresher ones were erased when he took over the body. “I need to know about the people you live with, ok?” “N-no.” “Just tell me.” “I can’t.” This one still had a bit of spirit in him. Ok. They’d just have to make things interesting. He stopped walking and tried to remember. It only took him a moment to get the address. This would be fun.

The human whose body he controlled had a mother and a sister. Both lived together. If the human wouldn’t cooperate, he’d have to hold them hostage. The human cared about them, he knew that much. As he walked towards the address he put up barriers in his mind, finally silencing the gibbering. The idiot wouldn’t be able to see or hear his thoughts anymore. As far as he was concerned, he was locked in a small, black room. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do to the mother and sister just yet. He could kill them outright, but that might make the human fight against him more. Torture seemed like the best option, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain himself. It had been so long, so very long since he had been able to play with humans. He sighed, he would just have to risk it.

The sun was setting, sending streaks of orange and red across the sky, the clouds drifted serenely, a few looking as though they were ablaze. The street itself was devoid of people, the kids had already been called inside for dinner and the parents had returned from work. The houses were small, though the gardens were well maintained. The people that lived here were not ashamed of it, they were proud. they still retained their quaint sense of security. It wouldn’t last much longer though. He examined the houses as he passed, worried that the walls would be thin. If they were too thin, people would hear the screams. He would have to cover their mouths somehow. Though the thought of doing so disappointed him. He liked the screams. They filled him with life, it felt so good to listen to them. He pushed the thoughts away. He couldn’t think like that if he wanted to keep control. He wasn’t here for pleasure, he was here strictly for work. Later, later he would find someone and have his fun, but for now he needed to concentrate.

He walked up the short path and knocked on the door, a woman answered, the humans sister, “Hey, didn’t expect to see you.” He shrugged, “just wanted to stop by, see how everything was.” She stood back, gesturing, as he entered, he struggled to remember her name. Alison. She pulled him into a hug, he hugged back, trying to mimic what he remembered. “How are things with you?” “Good. Any dinner left?” “You’re just in time. Moms just finished cooking.  Oh, guess what? I got a place! I’m going to move out next week.” “Oh, that’s great! Why didn’t you call?” “I didn’t want to bother you.” He looked at her for a second, then he remembered she was afraid. Not of him, but of the people he worked with. She trusted him. This would make things easier. He followed Alison into the kitchen, the mother was standing at the oven, checking something. She turned around, “It’s so good to see you” she pulled him into a hug. Again. What was with the hugging? She pushed him back and squinted at him, “Are you feeling ok? You seem a bit off.” Shit. She knew. “I’m fine.” “Well, sit yourself down, dinner will be done in a few minutes. There’s some beer in the fridge if you want one.” “Thanks. I’ll be back in a second. Gotta piss.” “Ew. We don’t need to know.” Alison punched him playfully in the arm. He struggled not to reach out and break her neck. He went upstairs, passing by a room, his room, as he did so. He looked at the door, there, in blue letters, “Brett’s Room.” Well, at least he knew his name now. He stepped into the bathroom and looked around. There was nothing in here that would be able to help him, but he searched the cupboard anyway.

When he returned to the kitchen, he watched as the mother began to put food onto plates, there, behind her was a rack of knives, held to the wall. He walked casually by her, looking as though he was going to the fridge, when he stopped, grabbed a knife and pivoted, grabbing her from behind, the knife against her throat. The mother had no time to react. “Don’t move, don’t even breath, or I’ll slice your neck wide open.” “Brett, honey what are you doing!?” He smiled. “Oh, I’m not Brett.” He dug the knife into her throat, cutting shallowly, “Where’s Alison?” “She went up to her room for something.” “Ok. Good.” He shuffled over to a cupboard, bringing her with him, he opened it and found what he was looking for, a roll of duct tape. “Put your arms behind your back.” She did as instructed, he wrapped them quickly, then had her sit down, tears were flowing down her face, but he didn’t care. In no time she was taped to the chair, she wouldn’t be able to get out. He positioned it so the chair couldn’t be seen from the sitting room, then he taped her mouth and called out, “Hey, dinners done!” “Coming.” He heard Alison thunder down the stairs, as she entered the kitchen he grabbed her from behind, “What the fuck?” The knife was against her throat. “Language. Really, using those kind of words in front of your mother.” Soon, she was taped up too. He covered her mouth, then he carefully let the walls in his mind drop. The gibbering voice, the real Brett, screamed. “I told you we could do this easily, but you refused.” “No, please, don’t, I’ll help, I swear I’ll help.” “I’m afraid that isn’t good enough. Not now.” Not-Brett moved closer to the tied up women, deciding where to cut.

When he was done they were both covered in blood, the mother had passed out, but Alison was still conscious. God he loved that feeling, the blood that coated his hands. He let Brett surface occasionally while he worked, allowing him to see and feel everything that was happening, each time Brett would scream apologies, promise to tell everything he knew. He had managed to restrain himself somewhat, but he had still done more damage than he intended. He had wanted to keep them alive, but now it seemed like it would be too much on an inconvenience. He’d have to return and feed them, hope no one visited. It was all too messy. The police might want to talk to him about it, but it was a risk he’d have to take. He blocked Brett away again, wouldn’t do to have him see this, then he started to work.

When he was done, both bodies were covered in hundreds of tiny cuts, he had worked slowly, enjoying it, before finally slitting their throats. The mother was less fun, she had given up long ago, but Alison still tried to fight it. The few times he had allowed her to speak, she begged to be released, reminding her brother of all they had been through together. Poor fool. She hadn’t understood, she had thought had had some kind of mental break down. Up until the moment she died, she hadn’t expected him to actually kill them, but he could see it in her eyes with each cut, the sense of betrayal and hurt. He washed his hands at the sink, enjoying the slickness of the blood, it was nice, but he had to be clean for outside. His stomach had started to rumble too, he needed food.  He ate some of the food the mother had prepared, it was delicious. When he was done eating, he went upstairs and showered, while he bathed he wondered just how he would dispose of the bodies. He couldn’t smuggle them out and a fire would be too big, too grand a gesture. Once he was done it was decided, he would have to burn it down. He never liked fire. It reminded him too much of the others. Still, it would destroy any evidence he left behind. He couldn’t be linked with the murders.

He worked quickly and once everything was finished, he left the house. He wouldn’t be caught, they would be horrifically burned in the fire, smoke would be found in their lungs. They’d never know it was him. He didn’t know why he didn’t think of it before. It required a little extra work, but it was worth it. The fire would be accidental. The mother had fallen asleep while smoking on the couch, Alison, deep asleep, hadn’t woken in time. At least, that is what it would look like. He walked calmly down the street. He brought the walls down a little bit, “So, you’ll do  as I ask now?” “Yes, anything, please, just don’t hurt them anymore.” He sighed, “Ok, I’ll leave them alone, but you must tell me everything I want or need to know.” “Done.” He raised the walls. Poor idiot thought they were still alive, but he’d just have to use that to his advantage. Everything was looking up.

Part 6


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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2 Responses to Shadow Crawlers. Part 5.

  1. Pingback: The Break in. Part 6. | Alan James Keogh

  2. Pingback: The Break In. Part 4. | Alan James Keogh

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