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Ribbons Of Blood ( Two )

23 Saturday Jun 2018

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In the first part of this story i introduced you to Victor Bradstreet the world renowned writer who was visiting his cabin up in rural Virginia to try to cure a severe case of writers block.

And while getting some supplies from the general store he noticed an old olivetti typewriter gathering dust on a clearance table

Victor bought the old typewriter and took it back to his cabin where the olivetti wrote him a best seller

But Victor got greedy and demanded more and more from the typewriter and the olivetti went on strike refusing to write another word until Victor fed it a meal of his blood.

The final showdown happened on a cold winters day in December 2017.

Victor carried the typewriter outside to his backyard doused it in lighter fluid and set that fucker on fire.

But the olivetti wasn’t ready to die just yet and it got its revenge by wrapping its ink ribbons around Victors throat choking him to death.

 

PART TWO

The CEO of Unicorn Press Penelope Clutterbuck is chairing a meeting at the companies head office in New York.

She is in a good mood because Victors last novel made her company a shitload of money with sales exceeding six million worldwide.

Penelope is just warming up when the phone on her desk starts to ring cutting off her report.

She gives the phone an icy stare just daring it to keep on ringing

Penelope isn’t a happy camper because she told her secretary to hold all calls unless there was a national emergency or the sky was falling

 

‘Excuse me but i need to take this call’ She turns her back on her audience and whispers into the phone’This better be good Sally or your ass is out of here’

‘Sorry Mrs Clutterbuck but i have a Detective Peterson from Virginia on line two who needs to speak with you urdently’

Penelope is a hard nosed divorcee who likes to be charge  and the one thing that she doesn’t like is surprises’why would a detective from Virginia be calling her?’

Then she remembers that Victor is over in Virginia writing his new novel’God i hope that Victor is alright i cant afford to lose my cash cow.

 

She takes a seat and presses line two ‘Hello Mrs Clutterbuck this is detective Peterson from Springwood Virginia and i am sorry to tell you but i have some bad news’

I am here at Victors cabin just outside of town and well it looks like an intruder broke in and murdered Victor in cold blood’

Penelope cant believe what she is hearing,Victor her biggest seller and largest earner is dead.

God detective this is quite a shock i was only talking to Victor a couple of days ago i cant believe that he is gone,murder you say?

‘Yes we are have a murderer on our hands i am afraid,we have informed his daughter about her fathers death and she didn’t take the news well’

‘If you of any body who would want to harm Victor could you please let me know,i have left my number with your secretary’

 

When Penelope hangs up she doesn’t give a single thought about Victors grieving daughter.

As usual all she thinks about herself and Unicorn Presses bottom line.

She knows that she will have to travel to Virginia right away before  the daughter has a chance to get her hands on a manuscript finished or not.

‘Sally please tell Calvin to bring the limo around out front i am flying to Virginia on the next flight,Victor has been murdered and i need to be there’

 

Penelope always has a bag packed in her office in case of emergency and what could be more dire then losing future earnings to a meddling daughter.

An hour later her limo arrives at JFK Airport and Penelope boards a flight to Arlington Virginia.

Then after a ten hour flight she reaches Arlington and hires a car and drives for an hour until she reaches Victors cabin.

And after making sure that her hair and makeup is correct for a woman of her stature she walks up the steps and knocks on the front door.

 

The door is opened by a uniformed cop who gives Penelope the once over’Sorry but no reporters are allowed in here the detectives will release a media statement later in the day’Excuse me young man but do i look like a reporter?My name is Penelope Clutterbuck and i am here to meet Detective Peterson.’Sorry lady i will see if he is available’

 

Detective Peterson soon arrives’Mrs Clutterbuck i didn’t expect to see you here’Sorry detective but i was deeply saddened when you told me that Victor was murdered so i grabbed the first flight available to see if i could help’

When she is escorted inside Penelope is surprised by the amount of blood that is sprayed all over the living room’Please Mrs Clutterbuck don’t touch anything this is still a crime scene’

‘Just have a look around and tell me if you see anything missing or out of place’

I have only been here twice before but if i see anything amiss i will surely let you know’

 

As she is escorted from room to room Penelope’s beady eyes scan the room like a piranha hungry for blood

It would be nice to discover a manuscript all boxed up and addressed to her but Penelope knows that that is wishful thinking

Then when Penelope and Detective Peterson enter the kitchen Penelope is surprised to see a typewriter sitting on the table.

Victor was up to date with all the latest apps and technology so why would he need a typewriter?

 

The olivetti senses movement nearby as it sits on the table acting all sweet and innocent like butter wouldn’t melt in its mouth.

Its ink ribbons quiver with anticipation it has been two days since it fed on Victors blood.

And now it is ready to feed again.

 

Before the olivetti had its first taste of blood it survived on the words that were typed onto its ribbons.

Nouns verbs objectives upper or lower case the typewriter didnt really care it swallowed them all.

But that all changed in 1974 a few after it came off the production line.

 

Twenty year old Samual Montford a budding writer took the typewriter home to begin his first novel.

His fingers flew over the keys and the words flowed with abandon.

Three chapters in only two hours was beyond Samuel’s wildest dreams.

But around dinner time he was pushing the letters a little too hard and gave himself a paper cut.

And as his blood dripped into the mechanism of the olivetti a beast living inside was awoken.

 

Over the years the typewriter killed and devoured ten unsuspecting budding novelists without leaving a trace.

But now with the advances in technology the olivetti was pushed aside as computers took over.

For over twenty years it sat on the shelf eating nothing but dust motes and the occasional cockroach or mouse.

 

Now the typewriter has emerged from its forced hibernation and has had its first solid meal for a long time.

Victors blood has given the machine a new lease on life and now it needs another meal and it wants it now

 

Penelope has no idea that Victors murderer is sitting only five foot away from where she is standing.

All she wants is to find a manuscript and go home

‘Excuse me Mrs Clutterbuck ‘Detective Peterson says’But Victors daughter will be arriving soon would you like to stay  and talk to her?

The last thing that Penelope wants is to talk to Abigail Bradstreet so she declines the invitation and leaves the cabin empty handed.

 

A month after Victors murder Penelope is working late in her office doing the books and crunching the numbers.

Her company is doing well at  the moment but what Penelope really wants is another best seller.

She hasn’t had a good nights sleep since Victors death.

Not knowing if Victor has written a manuscript and left it somewhere in his cabin has been driving her crazy so she decides that another trip to Virginia will give her some peace of mind.

She phones Detective Peterson and he tells her that they have no suspects at the moment and that while Victors murder is still being investigated it has been put on the back burner until new leads develope

 

Penelope smiles at the news because now she is confident that no police officers will be present at the cabin so she will be able to take her time and search the cabin from ceiling to floor.

 

A few days later Penelope arrives at Victors cabin to find it locked and the front door covered in police tape.

Penelope walks around the house looking for a way inside but all the windows are locked up tight.

So in frustration Penelope picks up a rock and smashes a side window then with a final glance to make sure she hasn’t been heard she climbs inside.

 

After an hour of searching the cabin from top to toe Penelope is growing more and more frustrated.

Surely Victor wrote something before his demise but where could it be?

It would be nice to find a finished manuscript and give his fans one last novel.

But more importantly it would earn Penelope and Unicorn Press millions of dollars.

 

Penelope enters the kitchen to get a glass of water and notices that the old typewriter is still sitting on the kitchen table.

She still cant understand why Victor would own an ancient olivetti.

But at the same time Penelope is strangely attracted to the machine.

‘I wonder if all the keys still work’muses Penelope’If they do i will take the typewriter home and put it in my den’

So she feeds in a sheet of paper to test out the old contraption.

But before she can press a key

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

‘What in the fuck?’ Penelope jumps back in fright as the typewriter begins to type words.

And even though Penelope is scared out of her wits she is desperate to know what the olivetti has typed’Do you want to make a lot of money Penelope? Feed me and i will make you a millionaire ten times over’

‘I will write your debut novel and make you a star’

 

Penelope is spellbound as she reads what is written on the page.

She knows that she really should run away as fast as she can and tell the police about her discovery.

But at the same time who doesn’t want to be a star?

So Penelope types’OK i will take up your offer write me the first chapter and if i like what i read we have a deal’

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

Ha ha ha good one Penelope but i survived on nothing but dust and rodents until i tasted Victors blood and now i need another meal’

‘So feed me your blood Penelope and i will write you a masterpiece’

As Penelope reads the words she now knows that she is in deep shit and turns to run.

But her ship has already sailed and she didn’t buy a ticket.

She screams out and almost makes it to the kitchen door when the ink ribbons fly out and wrap around her throat and Penelope is reeled in like a flounder.

 

The ribbons around her neck squeeze tighter and tighter and Penelope fights desperately to save her life but she quickly loses the battle.

The typewriter chews on Penelope’s blood meat and bones until it is sated.

 

For a week the typewriter feeds on Penelope’s body and its ribbons scour the kitchen floor picking up every morsel and mop up every drop of blood until there is nothing left

 

At her home in Colorado Victors daughter Abigail is still recovering from the death of her father.

But the time has come to settle her fathers affairs and get on with her life .

So she climbs into her Corolla and drives towards her dads cabin in Virginia.

 

When she arrives she is surprised to see a car parked out front.

She calls out and when she doesn’t get an answer she pulls aside the police tape and enters the cabin.

She notices the broken window and a rock on the floor and again calls out but no one answers so Abigail has a look around.

The cabin looks neat and tidy and the TV  and stereo are still in place so Abigail relaxes  and after using the bathroom she enters the kitchen and is surprised to see a shiny typewriter on the table.

 

She takes a step forward to get a closer look and can’t believe how spick and span the old typewriter.

It is almost like it has had a transfusion.

Abigail takes a seat and admires the trusty old machine but then she thinks to herself’Why would my father own a typewriter in this day and age?

 

Abigail turns to go back to her car to get some packing boxes when

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

Abigail almost pees her pants when she reads

HELLO ABIGAIL

 

 

THE END

Part three is coming soon so don’t buy a typewriter at any yard sales’

You have been warned.

Ribbons Of Blood

26 Friday Jan 2018

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This is a story about writers block and a killer typewriter.Enjoy

 

Everyone has heard of Victor Bradstreet,a multiple award winning author of crime and suspense novels.

He has been the master of the genre for over 25 years with over 100 million books in publication.

Eight of his novels have been adopted to the silver screen with ‘Death Before Awakening’ winning an oscar.

But that was four years ago.

 

Today Victor is sitting at his desk in his private hideaway in Springwood Virginia the perfect spot to get away from it all and write.

But Victor hasn’t written a word in months,he went to Virginia to try and cure a bad case of writers block,but so far it hasn’t worked.

He thought that going up there from L.A would give him some inspiration,but all he has achieved since arriving is sit around full of self pity while drinking  bottle after bottle of the finest bourbon.

 

As he takes a long pull from a glass of the amber liquid Victor sighs in desperation and despair.

Since he started writing when he was a teenager he has never had any trouble writing,usually his fingers fly over the keyboard as his thoughts turn into words.

Victor doesn’t know what he has to do to defeat his writers block ,so  he sits at his desk as the day turns into night.

At midnight after polishing off another yet another bottle Victor staggers to his feet and goes to bed.

 

In the morning Victor wakes up with a huge hangover his head is throbbing and his stomach churns threatening to bring up its contents.

He stumbles out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom and as he stands there emptying his bladder he pears at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and he doesn’t like what he sees.

Victor is a proud man and has always tried to look his best but now as he looks at himself in the mirror an old man looks back at him.

Victor knows that he has  been drinking too much because of his inability to write,he looks at the old man and mutters ‘Where have all the words gone?’

 

Around lunchtime Victor decides to drive into town to pick up some supplies,anything to get away from the confines of the cabin and get some fresh air.

So he jumps into his BMW puts on his seat belt and listens to Tom Petty sing ‘Free Falling’ on the radio,and for a few minutes Victor forgets all about his writers block as he sings along.

 

But when the song is over he remembers an email he received from his publisher about a week before he drove up to Virginia’Dear Mr Bradstreet,this is your final reminder about  the manuscript for your new novel that is now six months overdue.If said manuscript isn’t delivered to our office within 30 days you will be in breach of contract.

Therefore we will begin legal proceedings to recover the five million dollar advance we paid you’

 

As Victor continues to drive his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel,he has earned his publishers a lot of money and they threaten to sue him?.

Maybe he should send the advance back to the ungrateful assholes and retire down to New Zealand or Australia.

But no goddamn it i am a writer and i need to write so i will write again.Fuck em.

 

When he arrives at his destination he enters the general store where he is greeted by the owner.a friendly old man named Albert Finnegan.

Victor and Albert exchange greetings in passing as Victor picks up a basket and wanders the aisles picking up essentials like milk bread cheese and of course a few bottles of bourbon.

As he places some canned beans and pork into his basket an object in the corner of the store catches his eye.

Sitting on a rickety old table gathering dust is a beat up old olivetti typewriter vintage 1070 or so.

 

Victor rubs his hands over the machine like a teenager in lust,he has to have this typewriter and he will have it.’Hey Albert do you have any paper for this old olivetti?

‘Sure do Mr Bradstreet,i will throw in ten reams for nothing if you take that thing off my hands’

Something in Alberts voice concerns Victor and he looks over at the old man behind the counter but he seems to be okay.

For a moment there it sounded to Victor that Albert was almost afraid of the dusty old typewriter.

 

At home Victor packs away his groceries and goes back outside retrieve the olivetti from his BMW.

He opens the rear door bends down to pick up the typewriter but it isn’t there,Victor scratches his head he could have sworn that he put it on the back seat,maybe he left it back at the store?

Then he notices the typewriter sitting loud and proud on the front seat,how can a typewriter change seats?

Then Victors skin crawls as he takes a closer look not only has the olivetti changed seats but it has transformed.

It is no longer an old beat up dust covered machine,now the typewriter is shiny and gleaming like it was made in the factory last week.

 

With some trepidation Victor carries the typewriter inside and places it in the middle of the kitchen table.

Then he opens a ream of paper and feeds a sheet into his new typewriter and types a title that has haunted him for months’Graves Of Murder’.He pours himself a drink and settles down to write his new novel.

But after an hour not a single word has been typed,Victor empties his glass then throws it at the wall where it explodes in smithereens.

Victor wails at the moon than he hangs his head and starts to cry.

 

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

Victor looks up in surprise as the keys on the typewriter  go up and down of their own accord,typing at about 100 words a minute.

Victor looks on in wonder and feeds page after page into the machine as it continues to type for the next three hours.

When the olivetti stops typing Victor pulls out the final page he gathers the manuscript together and starts to read’Holy shit! This is good,it is some of my better work’

‘I haven’t written this good in years’

 

Victor sends the manuscript off to his publisher and a week later he received a reply

‘Congratulations Victor ‘Graves Of Murder is your best novel to date and it is sure to top the bestseller list from coast to coast.

We here at crondon press were worried there for a while but now i can see that our worries were unfounded because you you are back with a venegeance,look forward to your next novel

Victor beams with pride and looks over at the typewriter.

And the typewriter looks back.

 

‘Graves Of Murder’ is published to instant acclaim world wide.

Victor does the talk show circuit where he soaks up all the praise and applause.

No way will he retire,now that he is on top of the game again,he can’t wait to get back to his hideaway so that his olivetti can type him another best seller.

 

When he arrives back at his cabin the first thing he does is feed a sheet of paper into the olivetti,he types in the title Dead Forever’ than he runs upstairs for a qick shower and a change of clothes.

But as he walks downstairs after freshening up he is instantly hit by the sound of silence,he enters the kitchen where he unleashes on the machine’Come on you fucker write  me another best seller and write it now mister or there will be hell to pay’

 

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

‘Why you ungrateful piece of shit,I have turned your life around you are on the best sellers lists all over the world and all you do is abuse me and threaten my existence’

‘Because i am telling you now that unless you feed me and treat be kindly only one of us  will survive and it wont be you’

‘So shut the fuck up and feed me feed me now’

Victor leans forward and types’Feed you what?

 

kerclack  kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

‘Feed me your blood right here and now or i can guarantee that you die a horrible slow death’

Victor reads the words with horror Who does this fucking typewriter think it is.I am the master in this relationship’

But he is desperate to remain on the best seller list so he grabs a knife and pricks his little finger and watches as his blood drips onto the typewriter ribbons.

 

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

What the fuck? I don’t want a snack i want the main course so give me a good feed or face the consequences’

Victor takes a deep breath rolls up and sleeve and opens up his left wrist,his blood flows into the olivetti and is swallowed down and in swallowed down with satisfaction.

 

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp

 

Victor feels himself going into shock as he listens to the typewriter digest his blood.

The cut on his wrist is deep but not life threatening,he opens the first aid kit and applies a pressure bandage.

And his blood ceases to flow.

 

Victor is scared as he eyes the evil typewriter he likes being a great writer again and achieving worldwide fame.

But he doesn’t want to die to satisfy the thirst of a olivetti,so he decides that he will ditch the typewriter and go back to writing the old fashioned way.

So he sneaks up behind the typewriter and carries it out to the backyard where he throws it to the ground.

He goes to the shed and returns with a can of lighter fluid,he sprays the typewriter and sets it alight.

‘Burn olivetti burn’

 

Victor goes back inside glad that he is now free from that blood sucking typewriter,he pours himself a large bourbon to celebrate and settles down to write.

With his favourite mont blanc fountain pen in hand and a calfskin pad in his lap Victor is confident that the words will soon fill the page.

But after hours of willing and pleading to his pen to start writing another best seller nothing is written not even a title.fVictor enters the kitchen to make himself something to eat and to occupy his mind  for a while.

And as he cleans up the cant help but to notice the smouldering typewriter out in the yard.

Part of him wants to run out and put out the fire,but instead he goes upstairs brushes his teeth and retires for the night.

 

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

Victor wakes up so fast he almost bounced out of bed

Was that really the sound of a typewriter that woke him up? He puts on his dressing gown and creeps down the stairs in dread.

The smell of burnt metal hits his nostrils like a sledgehammer and the back door is wide open.

He peaks around the kitchen door frame and his eyes open wide in terror because sitting in the middle of the kitchen table sits a burnt twisted hunk of metal.

 

One look is all that Victor needs he grabs his car keys from a side table and races toward the back door and he is only a few feet from freedom when his airways are blocked off.

The olivetti  seeing Victor trying to escape throws out its blood soaked ribbons like a fisherman casting his net.

The ribbons from hell wrap around Victors throat and pull him in foot by foot.

Victor struggles as hard as he can,but he can’t himself being pulled back toward the murderous typewriter.

 

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

‘I warned you Victor but you chose to disobey me,so now you can go to hell and burn for eternity like you burnt me’

Victor no longer has the strength to resist the typewriter and now he stands near the machine as the ribbons squeeze tighter and tighter.

Then with a final show of power the ribbons tighten like a vice and Victors head is separated from his body and lands on the thirsty typewriter where his blood satisfies the hungry olivetti.

 

After its meal the typewriter sits on the kitchen table savouring the blood while it waits for the police to arrive.

And even out here they surely will even if it takes a week.

The flies will make sure of that

 

THE END

 

I hope you enjoyed my story and don’t mind waiting awhile because part two Tie A Red Ribbon’ is coming soon.

I Cut

04 Sunday Jun 2017

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I cut myself this morning.

I cut myself deep.

My skin starts to tingle.

And my demons start to creep.

 

I cut a little deeper.

And i kind of like the pain.

I stare into my bathroom mirror.

And i cut myself again.

 

My cutting tool of choice.

Is a sharp little pocket knife.

I cut because i am always afraid.

My knife is my one and only friend.

I will cut until the bitter end.

 

I cut myself one more time.

And a line of blood appears on my face.

I look into my mirror.

But i stare into space.

 

I cut a little deeper.

And hope that my memories will disappear.

My blood runs down my face.

And mingles with my tears.

 

I don’t usually cut my face.

But my life has become a living hell.

I had to deal with a lot of people.

And i don’t do that well.

 

I cut myself again.

With my trusty little blade.

And i watch my blood flow.

I love my fucking knife.

It gets me through my life.

 

I know that i am a huge failure.

I never do anything right.

I try my best but it is never good enough.

Why do i even get out of bed.?

Who is that person living in my head?

 

My favourite colour is blue.

So why do i like blood so much?

Just a little nick.

And i feel some pleasure.

A pleasure that cuts through the pain.

I  feel some sort of release.

Some well earned peace.

 

A few of my friends at work.

Asked me about the cuts on my face.

I told them that i got scratched by my neighbours cat.

They laughed ‘Was it a fucking tiger?’

I tried to laugh with them.

But i could barely manage a smile.

While beneath the table i fondle my trusty blade of steel.

Only my knife knows how i feel.

 

I cut for the first time when i was thirteen.

I thought i was just your normal schoolboy

But the other kids thought different.

And they let me know in no uncertain terms.

I was constantly on my guard.

With a belly full of worms.

 

I was called names had my hair pulled

And some of the other kids even spat on my face.

That is when i retreated into my mind.

And went to a better place.

 

So i bought myself a pocket knife.

And started to cut.

The best places to cut.

Was my inner arms and thighs.

I cut and cut with silent cries.

 

When i was fourteen.

I was brutalised so much at school i could barely

function.

I struggled home a broken little boy.

The other kids had taken all of my joy.

 

That night i ran myself .

To try to drown away my sorrows.

As i washed myself my eyes were drawn to my fathers razor

sitting on the edge of the tub.

I picked it up and gave it a tender rub.

 

The razor was a wilkerson sword of unknown vintage.

Old and rusty but sharp just the same.

As i held that razor.

I heard it calling my name.

 

One deep cut.

And all of my pain would be gone.

But o couldn’t do it.

I didn’t want my parents to find me in a bath full

of blood.

 

So i just gave myself a shallow cut.

And marvelled at the drops of red.

I smiled at the sight.

And toddled off to bed.

 

I cut because i feel like it.

I cut because i can.

I cut to free myself.

I cut to be a better man.

 

They say that the first cut is the deepest.

But my deepest cut is yet to come.

It might be tomorrow or the day after that.

But my deepest cut will be one day very soon.

Of that i can give you a guarantee.

So listen really well.

Because this is my final plea.

I CUT.

 

 

 

 

THE END.

Murder Of Crowes

08 Saturday Apr 2017

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‘Jesus Christ,is that freaking clock going backwards?’

It is the last day before the summer break.

And the clock in the classroom decides to mess with my mind.

 

Has time stood still?

Has the second hand frozen in place?

Finally the school bell rings and i race outside.

Summer vacation is my favourite time of the year.

Six weeks without homework and teachers.

Six weeks of sunshine and fun.

 

Three of my friends are waiting for me by the school gate

Kyle Coogan,Brian Jones,Dennis Steele and i have been friends since

kindergarten.

But next year we will be going to different high schools.

So this could be the last break that we spend together.

 

My name is Charlie Osborne and i am twelve years old.

I am almost a teenager but not quite.

If this is to be the last summer break i get to be with my friends.

I want to make the most of it.

 

My friends and i are just like any boys our age.

We like to go swimming,fishing and camping out in our backyards.

Sometimes we will collect tadpoles and pick blackberries.

All the normal boy stuff.

 

Today we decide to explore the bush land behind Kyles place.

Sometimes we will come across a kangaroo chewing on grass.

Or a goanna climbing up a tree.

But this time we see something different.

 

A black crow is on the ground running around in circles.

It has a broken wing and cant fly away.

I tell Kyle to go back to his house and get a box.

Maybe we can look after this bird until its wing heals.

 

Kyle looks at me like i am crazy ‘Fuck that it is only a crow’

He bends down and picks up a rock and throws it at the crow with all of

his might.

He misses but Brian and Dennis also start to throw rocks and stones at the crow.

 

Rock after rock hit the target and the bird falls to the ground.

They keep on throwing until that bird is dead.

I cant believe that my friends just did that.

But they are laughing and giving each other high fives.

I cant do anything for the bird so we run towards a water hole.

 

Up in the trees about twenty black crowes watch as the boys run away.

They fly from tree to tree following the boys as they wander down the

dirt track.

The crowes all have two things in common,they are all black.

And they all have murder in their eyes.

 

After a few hours of  swimming and skylarking around we decide to head home for something to eat.

All except Kyle who decides to stay behind and do some more swimming.

We wave to Kyle and tell him that we will be back in about an hour.

 

Kyle strips down to his underwear  and dives in head first.

As he swims and splashes around he doesn’t notice the crow’es gathering in the trees

above.

He continues to swim for a while but soon becomes bored.

So he decides to rest up and wait for his friends.

He spreads out his towel and starts to bake in the sun.

 

One of the crow’es lands on a branch just above Kyle and sizes up the situation.

Than without warning in lands on Kyle’s face with talons extended.

Kyle screams out in panic and tries to fight back but he has been taken by surprise

and he soon tires.

And before he knows what is happening both of his eyes are plucked out and swallowed

down whole.

 

By now Kyle is hysterical as the crow attacks his face.

Soon he goes into shock and offers little resistance.

The other crow’es descend onto Kyle and start to strip the flesh from his body.

Kyle’s body shudders as the black birds have their way.

They peck and claw at his body until he is nothing but a pile of bloody bones.

 

After lunch i meet up with Brian and Dennis and we make our way back to the water hole.

When we arrive Kyle is nowhere in sight.

All we see is his beach towel and his baseball cap floating in the water.

Beside the cap floats a single black feather.

 

We run home as fast as we can to get help.

My mother calls the police and we wait for them to arrive.

The area around the water hole is cordoned off and the police send for divers to

search the bottom.

And soon Kyle’s body is brought to the surface.

 

There is a gasp from the onlookers when the body comes into view.

His mother tries to run forward but is held back.

 

How has Kyle’s body been reduced to a skeleton in such a short time?

Was he attacked by a pack of wild dogs or is there a madman on the loose?

The police hold a police conference and tell everybody that until an autopsy

is performed.

It is best for people to be on their guard and for all of the neighbourhood kids

to stay indoors.

 

Brian Jones is home bored out of his mind.

It has been a week since Kyle was killed by who knows what

Brian feels sorry for Kyle,but it is summer break he needs to go out and play.

So he decides to sneak out and see how Dennis and Charlie are going.

He climbs out of his bedroom window under the cover of darkness.

 

Dennis only lives a few blocks away,so he will hang out for a while.

His parents want even know that he is gone.

As he walks under a street light he senses movement over his left shoulder.

When he looks back something slams into his face.

He staggers around in bewilderment with a bloodied nose and cut cheek.

 

Another black crow swoops down and attacks Brians face and neck.

Brian shit;s his pants and runs away in shock.

Straight into the path of a semi trailer.

 

The driver cant bake in time and he hits Brian full on.

The truck skids to a stop a hundred metres down the road.

The driver jumps out and races back hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

And the worst it is,

He cant believe that what he is seeing was once a living human being.

He looks away and vomits up his dinner completely covering a single black feather.

 

Dennis Steele is in his room crying into his pillow.

First Kyle was killed and now Brian.

Why are his friends dying?

It is school holidays we should all be having fun not cooped up inside.

When will his parents let him outside to fucking play?

 

Dennis knows that he has just  said the F word out loud but he doesn’t care anymore.

All he wants is for things to go back to normal again.

So that everybody can start to feel safe again.

 

Everything is getting to be too much for Dennis.

His nerves are shot to hell and his stomach is playing up.

And for the fifth time that day he makes his way to the bathroom.

 

He pulls down is pants and takes a seat waiting for nature to take its course.

When he hears a noise coming from the water below.

He looks down between his legs and sees a black bird heading for his scrotum.

 

He tries to jump up but he isnt quite fast enough.

The crow pecks open his ball bag and his testicles disappear down the throat of that

crazes bird.

His screams could be heard from twenty five miles away.

 

Inch by inch Dennis is pulled down into the toilet bowl.

His bones creak and crack and finally break as he is swallowed down into the sewers.

 

As Dennis enters his watery grave his parents are frantically trying to kick down the bathroom door.

And when they finally do all they see is a broken toilet

.And a single black feather.

 

Holt fucking Christ on a crutch.

I cant believe it.

First Kyle than Brain and now Dennis.

Who or what is killing all of my friends?

 

As i sit with my parents watching some TV i remember the cops telling them about finding a black feather in Dennis bathroom.

My mind goes back to that day at the water hole.

Surely it cant be about that?

Do crow’es have good memories like elephants?

They  say that elephants never forget but what about crow’es?

 

I tell my parents that i need to go for ride.

They try to stop me but i am gone in a flash.

I jump on my bike and race back to that waterhole.

And i soon arrive at the spot where we stoned that crow to death.

 

So i am so nervous my goose pimples have dimples.

I sit down in the middle of the track and wait.

All of the leaves in the trees shake and fall to the ground.

Soon i am surrounded by a green carpet and a thousand naked branches.

Is the devil coming to take me away?

Or are the black crow’es on the warpath?

 

I am guessing the latter but i don’t really know.

Soon the sky is full of black wings and an eerie silence.

Then twenty black birds land at my feet and start to do a war dance.

Or maybe it is a rain dance? One can only hope.

But the sky i clear there isn’t a cloud in sight.

So war it is.

 

One of the crow’es rushes in and attacks my left foot

I look at that crow as it grabs my little toe and tears it from my body.

And it flies back up into the trees with my twinkie in its mouth.

 

As i am distracted another bird attacks my other foot and another toe is swallowed

down.

It looks like these crow’es are going to kill me very slowly

Toe by toe bit by bit.

 

The remaining crow’es continue to walk around me in a clockwise direction.

What body part will they attack next?

‘God don’t let it be my eyes i don;t want to be blind’

And Jesus don;t let it be my willy.

I haven;t had sex yet please don;t let me die a virgin.

 

While i have been sitting in the dirt thinking another bird has flown in and taken a chunk out of my ear.

I don’t dare to fight back because i know that if i do the birds will go into a feeding frenzy.

So i cover my nuts with both hands put my head down and pray.

And through the pain i try to relax and hopefully the crow’es will fly away and leave me

in peace.

And not pieces.

 

 

But no such luck.

Another chunk is taken from my body

Blood is pouring from deep groves and starts to pool on the ground.

I pray to God and whisper goodbye to mum and dad.

 

But you know what ? Fuck that.

I jump up and scream at those fucking birds.

I tell them that i am sorry that their friend died but enough is enough.

I close my eyes and count to fifty and when i open them the birds are gone.

I turn back and start to limp home.

Than the crow’es are back.

 

These freaking birds swoop down in attack mode.

And they attack my head with venegance tearing out my hair strand by strand.

Holy fucking crap i am getting scalped by a bunch of birds.

Or should i say a murder of crow’es.

 

I cant see a thing as my blood streams down my face.

I wait for another attack but it doesn’t come.

I wipe my face with my shirt and scan my surroundings.

There isn’t any sign of the crow’es.

I pick my self up ans wander towards home.

 

Than a crow lands on the track just in front of me

He is obviously the ring leader.

With his chest puffed out he struts around like a peacock.

I look down at that black bird and once again i apologise for my behaviour

I will never ever harm another crow as long as i live.

 

The crow looks up at me with disdain.

Than he flies up and lands on my shoulder he walks over to my bleeding ear

and whispers ‘Don;t forget i know where you live’

 

 

THE END.