*a/n None of the Jthm characters belong to me, and anything else that is
jthm. The only things I do own are the characters I cam up with.*
Halloween Massacre
Chapter.1 "The bleeding"
The leaves rustled in the giant oak tree on the crisp October evening. A sleek Shadow slowly walked across the lawn of John Madison's front lawn. It opened the small Picket fence gate that swung lightly in the breeze of the night.
Bandit, John's pit bull, smelled the intruder entering the home of him and his owner. At this new smell he started barking in the direction of the shadow that lurked in the shadows. Briskly, it walked over to the dog to shut it up, so as not to draw any attention to him. The shadow had a long black trench coat and was rather tall, and very skinny. His trench coat had a hood attached to it, casting a shadow over his face. Slowly it pulled a long jagged knife from his trench coat, it shimmered and gleamed in the moonlight. The dog snarled and backed away slowly as the shadow neared him. A brick sat on a window ledge that was by him. He picks it up, testing its weight by throwing it up and catching it, like a pitcher does with a baseball. An evil chuckle is heard from within the hood as he arches back his arm and swings the brick. It collides with the side of Bandits head. A crunch is heard and the dog whimpers, and backs away, slowly, its tail in between its legs, but still somewhat held its ground. Again it struck the dog with the brick. A tiny spray of blood splattered on the side of the house. The dog fell to the ground and gave a low moan in pain, blood spurting from a gaping wound to the side of its head. The shadow laughed maniacally as it bent over and picked up the dog. He swung it around and bashed its head into the side of the house. Blood splattered all over the face of the intruder and all over the side of the blue wall of the house, where it slowly pooled up on the dirt below. The shadow took his knife that he had drawn previously and quickly thrusting it into the soft underbelly of the dog. It ran the knife slowly upward, spilling the dog's innards all over the ground. Pleased with his work he threw the bloodied corpse over into another spot in the yard.
John, who heard the thuds from within his small house, opened his large wooden door and peered out through his half broken screen door. A note hung on his door, fluttering in the wind; it was an overdue rent notice. He looked at the paper suspiciously and snarled, crumpling it up and throwing it into his house. "Those fuckers, why do they always hustle the working man? They have enough money.why do they need mine.. Bandit!! Come 'ere damnit!" He was greeted with the howl of the wind and nothing else. "Bandit!! Come 'ere!!" His rusty voice blared out again, but yet again greeted by only the howl of the wind. He grunted and slammed the over sized wooden door. His porch light flickered on and off from the shacking of the house. "Fucking dog."
The shadow cackled with glee at his work and what was still yet in store for the night, for it was still young. He peered through a window and watched john walk into his kitchen. He flung open his fridge door and pulled out a beer. He popped it open and it fizzled, the sound was distinct, for it soothed him as he took a long swig from the can, then sighing he went to his living room. The room's floor was strewn with all sorts of trash; beer cans, plates, paper bags, and dirtied glasses. John plopped into his sunken chair, which was old and used often. It was stained with food and drink spills and littered with cigarette hole burns. Next to the chair was a coffee table, on it rested and old dirty plate witch was caked with a sauce from dinner. By the plate was a newspaper with the headlines "Homicidal maniac kills four year old: Today four year old Angelina Gale was found in her playhouse after she had been missing for 2 days, Her parents had noticed a strange smell emitting from the area and found her lying face down with stab wounds in her back and a long gash across her neck. Police have no leads on suspects on who did this horrendous butchering of human life, but they ask for anyone who has information on the suspect to phone in immediately. The funeral for the child will be held on November 4th and will be open for anyone who would like to come and pay their respects for the family over their loss."
John sighed as he flicked on the television and channel surfed for a while. " God, nothing on! Just those damn talk shows and Soap operas!" He slowly climbed out of his sagging recliner and headed towards his kitchen. As he entered the kitchen he found glass strewn all over the floor from the window that was above his sink. He looked shocked and angry. He had heard something break but he thought it was Bandit. Suddenly, the lights began to flicker on and off, making john jump a bit. He rushed to the kitchen door as the lights finally went out. He groped around for the doorknob but couldn't find it in the dark. Soon, his hand slipped over the door handle but it wouldn't turn, his hands were too sweaty from his fear, white burning fear, the kind of fear that was in the back of his throat dripping down slowly eat time you swallowed. Finally he got the doorknob to turn slowly as he pushed on the door harder to make it fly open and smash into an end table that was on the other side of it. He rushed to his gun cabinet that was at the end of his hallway; he tripped over his rug on his way, making him fall flat on his face. He finally got himself together as he got up and opened the glass door. His 30-30 rifle lay dormant in its case. He pulled it out and checked the chamber. " SHIT!" He had no bullets and the chamber was empty, but he still carried it, hopping he could scare the person off with just the site of the gun. He silently stalked around his home, checking each room carefully, and constantly turning around to see if anyone was behind him. He crept silently back into his living room. His TV. was now shut off and the room was pitch black. His breathing grew heavier as he stepped over to his side table to turn on the lamp that was by his chair. John pulled the old rusted chain and suddenly the room was filled with a yellow glare, giving the room an eerie flow.
He soon heard footsteps slowly approaching him from behind. He wheeled around and pointed the gun right at the intruder, the sights right between his eyes, or what would have been his eyes, as the hood of his trench coat covered them. " Fr-freeze" he stifled out, but to no success, the intruder kept stepping forward, his face bleak, showing no emotion as the light of the lamp brightened his hood up. " Tut tut, you shouldn't point a weapon at a person, its rude, and dangerous as well." His voice was deep and menacing, almost threatening as he quickly yanked the rifle out of John's hands. He swung the butt of the gun and caught john off guard. Then.. SMACK. the butt of the gun connected with his skull, knocking john out. He fell to the floor with a deep thud, lying in a heap on the floor. The intruder smiled. "This is going to be my best work yet. I'll call it . "The Bleeding"".
Halloween Massacre
Chapter.1 "The bleeding"
The leaves rustled in the giant oak tree on the crisp October evening. A sleek Shadow slowly walked across the lawn of John Madison's front lawn. It opened the small Picket fence gate that swung lightly in the breeze of the night.
Bandit, John's pit bull, smelled the intruder entering the home of him and his owner. At this new smell he started barking in the direction of the shadow that lurked in the shadows. Briskly, it walked over to the dog to shut it up, so as not to draw any attention to him. The shadow had a long black trench coat and was rather tall, and very skinny. His trench coat had a hood attached to it, casting a shadow over his face. Slowly it pulled a long jagged knife from his trench coat, it shimmered and gleamed in the moonlight. The dog snarled and backed away slowly as the shadow neared him. A brick sat on a window ledge that was by him. He picks it up, testing its weight by throwing it up and catching it, like a pitcher does with a baseball. An evil chuckle is heard from within the hood as he arches back his arm and swings the brick. It collides with the side of Bandits head. A crunch is heard and the dog whimpers, and backs away, slowly, its tail in between its legs, but still somewhat held its ground. Again it struck the dog with the brick. A tiny spray of blood splattered on the side of the house. The dog fell to the ground and gave a low moan in pain, blood spurting from a gaping wound to the side of its head. The shadow laughed maniacally as it bent over and picked up the dog. He swung it around and bashed its head into the side of the house. Blood splattered all over the face of the intruder and all over the side of the blue wall of the house, where it slowly pooled up on the dirt below. The shadow took his knife that he had drawn previously and quickly thrusting it into the soft underbelly of the dog. It ran the knife slowly upward, spilling the dog's innards all over the ground. Pleased with his work he threw the bloodied corpse over into another spot in the yard.
John, who heard the thuds from within his small house, opened his large wooden door and peered out through his half broken screen door. A note hung on his door, fluttering in the wind; it was an overdue rent notice. He looked at the paper suspiciously and snarled, crumpling it up and throwing it into his house. "Those fuckers, why do they always hustle the working man? They have enough money.why do they need mine.. Bandit!! Come 'ere damnit!" He was greeted with the howl of the wind and nothing else. "Bandit!! Come 'ere!!" His rusty voice blared out again, but yet again greeted by only the howl of the wind. He grunted and slammed the over sized wooden door. His porch light flickered on and off from the shacking of the house. "Fucking dog."
The shadow cackled with glee at his work and what was still yet in store for the night, for it was still young. He peered through a window and watched john walk into his kitchen. He flung open his fridge door and pulled out a beer. He popped it open and it fizzled, the sound was distinct, for it soothed him as he took a long swig from the can, then sighing he went to his living room. The room's floor was strewn with all sorts of trash; beer cans, plates, paper bags, and dirtied glasses. John plopped into his sunken chair, which was old and used often. It was stained with food and drink spills and littered with cigarette hole burns. Next to the chair was a coffee table, on it rested and old dirty plate witch was caked with a sauce from dinner. By the plate was a newspaper with the headlines "Homicidal maniac kills four year old: Today four year old Angelina Gale was found in her playhouse after she had been missing for 2 days, Her parents had noticed a strange smell emitting from the area and found her lying face down with stab wounds in her back and a long gash across her neck. Police have no leads on suspects on who did this horrendous butchering of human life, but they ask for anyone who has information on the suspect to phone in immediately. The funeral for the child will be held on November 4th and will be open for anyone who would like to come and pay their respects for the family over their loss."
John sighed as he flicked on the television and channel surfed for a while. " God, nothing on! Just those damn talk shows and Soap operas!" He slowly climbed out of his sagging recliner and headed towards his kitchen. As he entered the kitchen he found glass strewn all over the floor from the window that was above his sink. He looked shocked and angry. He had heard something break but he thought it was Bandit. Suddenly, the lights began to flicker on and off, making john jump a bit. He rushed to the kitchen door as the lights finally went out. He groped around for the doorknob but couldn't find it in the dark. Soon, his hand slipped over the door handle but it wouldn't turn, his hands were too sweaty from his fear, white burning fear, the kind of fear that was in the back of his throat dripping down slowly eat time you swallowed. Finally he got the doorknob to turn slowly as he pushed on the door harder to make it fly open and smash into an end table that was on the other side of it. He rushed to his gun cabinet that was at the end of his hallway; he tripped over his rug on his way, making him fall flat on his face. He finally got himself together as he got up and opened the glass door. His 30-30 rifle lay dormant in its case. He pulled it out and checked the chamber. " SHIT!" He had no bullets and the chamber was empty, but he still carried it, hopping he could scare the person off with just the site of the gun. He silently stalked around his home, checking each room carefully, and constantly turning around to see if anyone was behind him. He crept silently back into his living room. His TV. was now shut off and the room was pitch black. His breathing grew heavier as he stepped over to his side table to turn on the lamp that was by his chair. John pulled the old rusted chain and suddenly the room was filled with a yellow glare, giving the room an eerie flow.
He soon heard footsteps slowly approaching him from behind. He wheeled around and pointed the gun right at the intruder, the sights right between his eyes, or what would have been his eyes, as the hood of his trench coat covered them. " Fr-freeze" he stifled out, but to no success, the intruder kept stepping forward, his face bleak, showing no emotion as the light of the lamp brightened his hood up. " Tut tut, you shouldn't point a weapon at a person, its rude, and dangerous as well." His voice was deep and menacing, almost threatening as he quickly yanked the rifle out of John's hands. He swung the butt of the gun and caught john off guard. Then.. SMACK. the butt of the gun connected with his skull, knocking john out. He fell to the floor with a deep thud, lying in a heap on the floor. The intruder smiled. "This is going to be my best work yet. I'll call it . "The Bleeding"".