Santhere`s entry for comp #2

[santhere]

The Message

By Simon Holm Pedersen

He had walked along this road a long time now, treading on the same identical pieces of pavement more times than he cared to remember. Now that he came to think about it, he could not remember anything besides that. Not even his name could he dig out of the farthest corners of his mind. He was blank...no wait there was one thing he did remember; the message! The importance of it was crystal-clear to him but why? As if that was not enough where was he going?

These thoughts rushed through his head, while the feet just maintained their shuffling gait. Even if he did not know where he was going, the feet seemed to know their way. One deserted villa area after the other in the falling twilight that had been creeping in on him since he left...wherever it was he had come from. Only his quiet footsteps were audible in the solemn silence that reigned everywhere he walked.

Almost like a funeral he thought to himself, while he walked past a shoddy house, where a chained Schaeffer suddenly broke the silence, barking at him madly. The dog foamed around its lips, biting in its chain feverishly in its efforts to break loose. His legs continued walking, even though he was startled by the dog, he could not stop. It took forever to pass by the raving hound, his legs moved slowly but persistently in the same shambling way it had always done.

What is wrong with that dog? He speculated must be rabies...
As he walked he noticed that the surrounding neighbourhood had taken a step up the social ladder, the buildings now had a Victorian character about them.
Well wherever it is I am going, it must be high-end

Two by two, the houses passed, once in a while a pair of headlights drove by, but aside from them he was alone with the dark. Bored, he started fiddling with his hands, but stopped in amazement, suddenly feeling the coldness, that stiffened his fingers. Looking down he saw his fingertips vaguely blue and his hands having a sickly pale colour. I must be sick, he thought, while trying to rub some warmth into his hands.

He was not quite sure if this was normal, if he actually just had cold hands and that maybe he worked at a printing house. These conclusions seemed plausible enough and it was not like he had any better ideas how they had gotten like that.

Leaving his hands alone, he saw that his journey apparently was at an end. Tumbling through a hedge, he had arrived at a large estate that rested like a sleeping giant with the last dying sun rays illuminating it from the back. He walked over the well kept lawn and onto the marble path that lead to the entrance of the house.

Up the steps until he stood in front of an antique door, beautifully ornamented and with a door handle that spoke of great craftsmanship. Unsure, he stood there, pending on whether he should ring the doorbell or just walk straight in. He noticed a sign on the left side of the door.

Home of
Mr. Edward Mortimer and Mrs. Margaret Mortimer

Edward... is that my name? He puzzled, while unconsciously ringing the doorbell. A moment passed and a nice woman in her forties opened.

"Yes?"
This was followed by a scream as the woman slammed the door shut and he heard the key turning in the lock, making the door impassable. He tried moving his lips in the form of a friendly greeting or anything to calm this obviously hysterical woman. But from the mouth flowed only a long sinister moan, which seemed to travel seamlessly through the bones, taking hold of the marrow, rendering it to ice. Terrified and bewildered, he held his tongue, nearly biting it off as he did.

Turning away from the door, he suddenly heard sirens from beyond the high hedge. What is this, some kind of nightmare? He thought as he stumbled down the steps, away from the locked door and towards the marble path.

Over his shoulder, he saw the woman in the window, staring at him with an odd expression of both fear and affection in her eyes. Looking forward again he looked at the two police officers in front him, nearing him with caution, while saying.

"Mister, I have been requested to escort you off these premises."

The urge that had only released him a second before came back. The message! I must tell her the message, but how?

"Are you going to come along quietly?", the officer said, while letting the pillar of his flashlight fall upon Edward's face.

"Jesus, what has happened to you?"

Both officers turned pale in their faces, one of them looking like he was going to throw up.
Right now he could not care less about the police, turning and walking as fast as he could up to the door, determined to force his way in, and make her understand...somehow...

"Hey! Stop right there, you hear!", the police man shouted, but he did not listen.

At the door he slammed his shoulder into the wood, the hinges complaining loudly. Behind him the policemen started drawing their guns, shouting.

"Stop that and lie down on the ground now!"

But he did not hear them, consumed in his desire to deliver the message.

"Lie down on the ground now! We will not ask you again!"

As they said this, he broke down the door, effectively ending all talk. The policemen aimed and shot him, once, twice, the second bullet hitting him square in the head. It pierced his brain and flew straight into Mrs. Mortimer's lovely entrance hall. Dropping to the ground, he used the remaining few seconds of consciousness, crawling over the doorstep, one last thought repeating in his mind, "The message!"


Excerpts from the police report written by Officer D. H. Bradley

"He was identified as Mr. Edward Mortimer, the husband of the owner of the house, Mrs. Margaret Mortimer. But this is where it stops making sense; Mrs. Mortimer told us that her husband died this afternoon at the hospital."

"Mrs. Mortimer died today, a stroke, the doctors said had she been taken to the hospital just an hour before, she might have been saved."

[Ed]

Loved this bit, Santhere -

He tried moving his lips in the form of a friendly greeting or anything to calm this obviously hysterical woman. But from the mouth flowed only a long sinister moan, which seemed to travel seamlessly through the bones, taking hold of the marrow, rendering it to ice.

Nice to have a bit of horror.   Thanks for entering the comp

[Walker]

Yep, I believe this is the first horror piece of the comp. I liked the ending, one hour sooner might have saved his poor wife. Nice twist, Santhere.

[SallyQ]

That's very scary and very sad.  A good story all around.

Sally

[JoyceCarter]

I really appreciate the impression you give of the mc's slightly confused but determined state of mind, and I had no idea until the very end of why he felt this way.  A very clever piece of work.