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Refusing Gets You Killed - Short Story


Refusing Gets You Killed - Short Story

I held my breath as I climbed onto the bed. He snored lightly and rolled onto his back. I froze, hoping I hadn’t woken him. The hallway light shone on his face. He looked peaceful, causing me to feel pangs of guilt. Luckily the voice in my head blocked it out.

Do it now, Paul!

I lay the cold bat over Brock’s neck. I held both ends tightly, my heart was beating hard now. Brock began to stir under me, sheer panic surged through my body.

I put pressure on the bat and leaned down on it. Brock’s eyes opened filled with panic and confusion. His breathing was strained, I could hear bones cracking as I pushed down onto the bat. I knew full well that his instincts would soon kick in and he would use his full strength to escape, I had to put all my weight on him before that happened.

I pushed down again as he began to struggle under me, so one last time with all my strength I pressed down even harder, and with that, I heard a loud CRACK. It would be a sound that would haunt me for all time.

“It’s the only way!” I shouted, but what would Brock know? He couldn’t possibly understand what I was going through. He started to weaken, I didn’t dare ease up on him.

Let him go!

I didn’t understand “Why?” I asked.

Let him go! The voice repeated.

I dropped the bat and jumped off the bed. Brock was still breathing, but very shallow breaths. Was he dying? I started to panic. “What have I done?”

“Hush!” The voice said, it was no longer in my head. I looked around, but it was only Brock and I in the room.

A moment of deafening silence filled my head, followed by painfully cold iciness that stiffened my bones. “What’s happening?”

Brock breathed in deeply, his rib cage expanding, almost looking as if he would burst from the inside. There was a low rumbling sound that appeared to be coming from him, weakly his hand lifted to his throat, grasping it in pain.

I was afraid to move. “Brock?” I whispered through chattering teeth. No reply. I waited for the voice to speak, to give me directions on what I should do next, however, there was nothing but silence. Was money worth this? Guilt wriggled inside from the thought of what I had done. But the fear of what would happen to me if I didn’t get money was even worse than the guilt I felt. There was no going back from this. No exit. No escape. No way out. I was trapped.

Three days went by, and I avoided the bedroom that Brock was in. Work was a welcome break, but going for so long with so little sleep began to mess me up. The only voice in my head was that of my own, it would have been nice for someone to give me a little direction. The biggest question I couldn’t get out of my head was if Brock had died yet? I had done some damage, I knew that but what if he was suffering a slow painful death?

I made the decision to wait one more day and then check on him, avoiding it any longer would make it that much worse, but I was afraid. What if I killed him, how can I live with myself? How could I get away with this? So many questions and no answer would come to me.

As I sat back on the couch I stared down the hallway. The door was still shut, but for some reason, it felt as though there was someone in there waiting for me.

I slowly and silently walked over toward the bedroom door. My legs were like toothpicks, ready to snap with all the weight of guilt I was carrying.

“Brock?” I knocked on the door. Reaching for the handle, I turned it and opened the door forcefully, thinking it would make me a little braver. My body grew cold; it was that bone-chilling feeling again. The stench of rotting flesh filled my nostrils. I held my breath and slowly walked closer to the bed. I needed to see him, I needed to be sure he was dead.

Brock lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, his face gaunt and a greying colour. His lips were dry and crusting.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I wished he could hear me, I hope he knew I didn’t mean to take it this far. I opened up his closet and grabbed out a suitcase.

“What are you doing Paul?” the voice spoke gently.

The voice was back. “Running away,” I told it. The smell of corruption was ghastly.

I heard the bed creak, something moved. I turned my head and there he was, sat up and staring at me with his rotting face. His head hung to one side.

Oh god, his neck is broken.

“You cannot leave,” Brock said, his mouth barely moving. “You must help me, and in return, I will help you, that was our deal, Paul.”

I stared, unable to speak.

The voice chuckled softly. “You’re confused I see. I need another body to feed on, this one has nothing left. Perhaps a child this time. More fear should be involved this time.”

I stared silently, afraid to move.

“Remember, if you refuse me you will die. You don’t want that, do you?”

I stared at Brock’s rotting face. I had no other choice. “No, I’m not helping you again.” I quickly hurried out of there. The voice gave a deafening screech, and as I looked back once last time a splatter of rotting flesh exploded all over the room. My chest began to expand painfully, I knew what was coming, I had broken the deal and for that, I’d see the same fate as Brock’s body. It was for the best.