He walked!

By Maxwell_Z All Rights Reserved ©

Horror

One good day

That day, my favorite one. When I barged in their house with a gun and a foot-long hunting knife. Through the back door, of course, they never locked it.

"Peter, what are you doing here?" he asked. I greeted him with the widest smile my face was capable of. Two weapons hanging low, the back of the couch was blocking his view out, he wouldn't see it.

Pretty boy veered around the seat and crouched as he was aware of my intentions. To kill my 'Best friend' and his family – that is. I licked my lips, the way maniacs do on TV. I wanted him to be afraid of me. And he was.

I extended the gun out and demanded him to stay on his knees. He complied, that slug. I told him that I'm not his friend, that I'm only the best actor he would ever know.

Betrayed him, I read it in his eyes. He cried like a little bitch! My cheeks rounded with air and I let out a dry laugh. I popped a boner too, the first one in a long time.

"Time to die, baby face!"

His mouth opened and let out half a scream, I extinguished it before it turned into a real one. Slug right through his pretty boy skull. Loud sound, like dropping a brick from a skyscraper. I blew on the gun, gunslinger, I'm such a bad, bad man.

She heard it, if she was sleeping, she no longer did.

"Whoooe piggy, Pete came to play! If you stop hiding your ugly bitch face, I maybe will spare that caterpillar of yours!" I said with the biggest boner I had in my life. Butterflies, oh those butterflies. I walked down the hall of their rich house, I let my junk out cause it hurt to keep it in my pants. I inhaled with my hot chest and smelled her. The smell of the bitch, sweet and disgusting. The door to caterpillar's room.

I kicked the door, TV badasses, yes. There she was, Golly, I love redheads! Sprawled on the floor, leaning on the wall with those big tits of hers. But what does that fucking thing doing under my tits? Caterpillar!

"Leave the baby on the floor and crawl to my dick, slowly, slowly baby," I said swinging my gun around. She did leave it, she did crawl to me. Her lips were now one foot away from my cock, yes baby. "Ya know what I want, do you?"

She nodded with the most hate I had ever seen on a human's face. Her snarl alone almost made me cum. She was one inch away from me, I could feel her hot breath on the tip of my pickle.

And then I shot her, right through the back of her head. The bitch would have definitely bit me, I wouldn't take chances.

The baby cried, it just wouldn't shut up! I was that baby's God now, I would decide for it to live or to die. Power, it always warmed my heart from within.

But the brat wasn't crying because he was afraid of me, he cried from the loud pop of my .38, the kid. Too dumb to understand that I just slaughtered his whole family, useless piece of biological trash. I grabbed him, hard and held him high above the ground like a mother cat would hold her kitten. He cried, he whaled, eyes closed in an ugly fat face. Big fucker, I would guess he was months from his first birthday. I slammed my knuckle in the wall and the brat did too. Why aren't you afraid of me? Why?

"Sorry, kido," I said. Then, the realization struck me, like that thing people call deja vu. I should have kept the woman alive! I should have killed the brat in front of her! I slapped myself on the forehead, stupid, stupid, stupid! I even teared up a bit.

There was no point in killing the kid. I thought everything out for a second, I don't need a witness. But he can't talk! But what if he remembers me and comes for me all grown up? Thoughts started a derby in my head, a horse race. All while the brat was crying sprawled on the wall.

And so I killed the brat, left him there, on the wall. I had to leave without my favorite knife.

They will never find me, I know how they work. I am a cop, I will personally lead this case into oblivion. I pushed the block of painted wood away with my gloved hand. The perfect evening, starry skies and murder that I will bear no responsibility from.

Months passed. I'm a man of my words, so I did lead the case into nowhere. No prison, no weight of guilt. Even if they caught me, I have a pretty good friend of mine, the congressman. He wouldn't let a pretty boy such as me go to prison, no. I would even suck his cock if I had to, better than sucking thousands of those in the pen.

But I was a freeman, and I didn't have to suck nothing – might I add. I carried on with my life, and the world did too. All was good…

Until my ghosts came back.

I was on a regular patrol, nothing out of the ordinary. My best friend and my old partner was now dead, so they assigned me a new one. Funny guy, big fat gut. I don't know how did he get into the force, but one thing I did know. He took half of the car to himself, to his fat fucking body. I would have become a best friend to him too, kill all those that he loved.

"You see that?" my partner said with a finger pointed out of the window.

I saw that. Male, white shirt that looked more like a dress – it was that long. Standing on the corner of the street and hiding his eyes from us. He sold drugs, of course.

We rolled up closer, and you wouldn't believe if I told you, the second he looked at us, I saw that Goddamn face. My best friend, the one I killed.

He stared; just looked at me. I wasn't even afraid, I looked back at him with the same interest he did at me. That stench though, was really scary. Imagine a rotting whore drowned in the pool of shit and cum. Imagine it, yes, that's exactly how he smelled. I told my partner to keep driving, to leave him alone.

The fat bastard didn't, of course. He pulled over and got out of the car. My old best friend and the new one had a talk, all while dead eyes right at me. Large cop asked a question, then laughed as if he was having a pleasant conversation. He walked back to the car, belly swinging left and right, a fat sack pendulum. He got in and rocked the car with his weight. We drove away, eyes of a dead man growing smaller with every yard of driving. I wasn't scared. I just did too many drugs and drank too much coffee. I leaned my head on the window and trailed off in thoughts.

I saw the woman, the killed redhead behind a counter of the Costco when we stopped to buy us drinks. And also I saw the kid, on the playground with my beloved knife in his chest. He sat on the park bench, brat too small to walk yet.

And of course, fucking of course, no one saw them, but me. TV horror flicks, yes?

I walked into the Catholic Church after the shift, I wouldn't pray to no God, I just stayed there to hide from the devil. I left when I drank about a gallon of holy water. And, surprisingly, the drive home was bare of paranormal incidents.

I was in the kitchen of my piece-of-shit house with my wife's tombstone in the backyard. Guess who killed her? I threw LGBT rainbow colored pills in my mouth and downed them with that 40$ store bought whiskey. Kittens die, puppies die, babies die. I killed all of them myself, so yeah, they died. And Peter would die too, It was my night to shine. No fear, I think I lost it when I killed my wife.

There they were, whole fucking family. Standing in the door frame of my kitchen. Mama, papa and the baby held tight in female's arms.

I knocked the bottle over my head and took one big gulp, slammed it on the counter. I gestured the family and walked into the living room, they followed, taking wet rotting steps on my floor.

We stood in confrontation worthy of a Western movie. I wanted to unholster my .38 and start slinging like a mad man. Only something told me that it's no use killing the dead – you know, a waste of bullets.

The woman looked at me; through me. She crunched to the floor and put the brat down on it. Gently, oh so gently she pushed him forward when his feet hit the carpeted floor.

And he walked!

He walked, limping, dragging his leg behind, struggling to beat the gravitation and stay on his feet. It would be kinda cute, if it wasn't so fucking disgusting. He was two feet away from me when his rotten head pulled him forward and he fell in my arms. I don't know why I caught him, but I did. I looked up, mama and papa were holding hands, and… smiling. They saw their kid's first steps, that was lovely. But they saw it with dead eyes, and the fact that I took it away from them, gave me a limp erection.

The brat grabbed me by the finger and pulled back, to walk to his parents, to celebrate brat's victory over the quadrupeds. I walked with him crunched like an old woman looking for change in her Ice-age purse. And the little shit pulled like a firetruck, so strong. He pointed forward, in the cute way that babies point sometimes.

His parents, holding hands high above their heads, between their bodies a portal...

Gates of Hell.

Fucking Hell! The ocean of fire. I screamed, but my mouth would not even let out a squeak. I tried to break infant's grip on my finger, and I would, if it was a normal one. Not the baby that's dragging me into Hell! The redhead bitch smiled at me.

"He's walking, Pete," she said.

Her husband, "Welcome home, best friend."

One pace forward and the kid led me into the hole of fire. Everything that could burn on my body, burned. Ground dissolved underneath my feet and I fell through, I fell. The last thing I saw was that all three of them were lifted up in the air by winged men as I kept falling down the shitter. I let out a scream, a full, painful scream...

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Well, Reverend father, I have sinned. We, Catholics are supposed to confess our sins, right?"

Man behind the mesh wall of confessional didn't say anything.

"I heard you did many bad things, father. Bad, bad old man

"You see, Devil got a job for fuck-ups like me. Let's go, let's go to Hell."

I grinned and showed the world a fence of my rotten teeth. Time to go home, sinner.


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