Suspense Short Story – The Visitor
Photo credit: Piresco from morguefile.com
The past is a tricky thing. Sometimes it is set in stone. And other times, it is rendered with soft memories. But the truly scary thing about past is that its ghosts never stop haunting you. The harder you try to rid yourself of them, the more vivid and real they become. It’s ironic how deceptive your memories are, the beautiful and happy moments are always overshadowed and forgotten because of the cold, dark and horrific memories which haunt you no matter hard you try to forget them. For a normal person happiness is always there, scattered in places but what would you do when the darkness always outshines the light in you? Easy, you succumb to the dark.
My conscience has questioned my sanity and morals innumerable times but I learned to ignore that voice a very long time ago. Murder, just one word elicits hundreds of emotions inside me ranging from thrill to ecstasy. And the only feelings I have towards the victims is pity. My name is Rachel Foster and I committed cold blooded murder. Again! The adrenaline pumping through my veins is a intoxicating addiction, for me, its the best brand of heroin anyone can ever taste. I crave it like oxygen.
You may think I am completely crazy and maniac to have such thoughts but the truth is when you live in the darkness for your entire life, you embrace it otherwise you are just blinded by the light. And besides no one suspects such a viscous demeanor from the stuttering, easily scared and clumsy nineteen year old. My average looks help me conceal myself in the backgrounds. An average height and figure along with brunette hair and light complexion allows me to blend with the crowd. Hence I have no disadvantage of drawing unnecessary attention towards myself.
The memory of the sinful act I committed only a few hours ago, which is still freshly imbedded in my mind, takes today at early dawn. The last dawn for my victim. Who would believe that a person who does not even have money for his daughter’s college tuition can own a Victorian style house with marble furnishings and maple wood furniture? It sickens me to the core how one can ignore his own flesh and blood over some new eye candy in town. His home office was located at far end of the passage way on the second floor. This happens to be my destination. Looking at the house it would seem to be vacant. Stark white with array black shades giving off a cold and unwelcome feeling. It was eerily silent so much that I could hear my own heartbeat.
I could picture him vividly, sitting on his cherry wood desk signing papers with one hand and running fingers through his shabby black hair with the other, hair which is usually slicked straight back with gel. Yet his bored expression would air as if the world could end at the very moment and he wouldn’t care. That is the kind of person he is selfish, self-absorbed, self-obsessed and self-indulgent.
Being an expert at moving silently by now, I walk down the alabaster white passage as though I owned the place. Standing in front of his door I took a deep breath before twisting open the aluminum and saw my victim in exact same posture as I had envisioned. I had chuckled lightly as he had not noticed my silent arrival yet, so I cleared my throat as I moved towards him making my presence known. His head snapped in my direction and he narrowed his piercing blue eyes at me clearly annoyed by the fact that he had not noticed me upon my arrival. He demanded in a harsh tone.
‘What do you want? As you see I’m a very busy person so I clearly don’t have time for you crap’
‘Of course, I only came to relieve you.’ was my reply as I clutched anesthetized cloth in the pocket of my hoodie.
A sadistic grin stretched across my face as I swiftly covered his face with the cloth in my hand giving him zero percent chance of reacting as I stood only inches away from him. He clearly did not know what hit him and collapsed in only a few seconds with minimum struggle. Bordering between consciousness and unconsciousness, he could feel all the pain I was going to inflict without getting in my way. Prolonging his misery and my thrill I stabbed him where it hurt but not letting him fall to the dark abyss. After what seemed like hours I ended his life by slicing open his jugular.
I had left nothing to point fingers at me analyzing every angle critically. Having been very careful of everything I touched and stepped on and removing the finger prints everywhere necessary. I had cleaned the knife before throwing it in the river a good fifty miles away from the house and off course only ashes remained of the clothes I had worn.
‘……….And as I explained the importance of Shakespeare’s plays earlier on, Miss Foster are you listening to me or not.” stated my Professor agitatedly breaking my train of thoughts.
‘I’m awfully sorry sir I was just……’ I managed to stutter knowing my part full well.
Mr. Anthony just sighed and concluded the lecture at my stuttering. It all worked like a charm.
As I headed towards my dormitory a tall, tan skinned, dark haired man dressed in a police uniform stopped me and asked:
‘Are you Miss Foster?’ at my affirmative nod he continued, ‘It seems a visitor came to visit your father today.’
‘Officer I don’t understand….’
‘Miss Foster, I’m sorry for being bearer of bad news but your father was murdered after being brutally tortured.’ The officer sighed.
I knew my part in the charade and my breathing escalated, tears welling up in my eyes portraying perfectly the part of scared daughter. And thus I started to follow the officer closely behind him as he instructed me.
What he didn’t notice was the sadistic grin, similar to the one I had given my “father” earlier today, spread across my face.
I was the visitor in question.
__END__
