The Wedding Present - Cassie Parker (books for men to read .txt) 📗

that day would be the day I would have another visit. Last time it was a week, why wouldn't it be the same this time? So, I stayed at home claiming sickness.

That day the sun was shinging bright and the world knew nothing of the killer clown. I gathered all of our sharpest knives from the kitchen, set small traps for him, and even set up a video camera that I borrowed from Cass. I was prepared this time.

That night I hid in my closet waiting for him to appear, knives stashed all around my bedroom to attack him with. I was shaking again, but this time it wasn't only fear couring through my veins. It was adrenaline.

I don't know how much time passed before I felt his breath on my shoulders, but when I did, I fought the urge to scream. To my credit, I fought it and won. I was holding a meat cleaver, and before he could react, brought it down onto the shoulder of his clown suit. I could feel his skin being sliced open and the cleave stick to his bone. When I looked into his eye however, there was no trace of pain or even anger. My grip on the black handle bacame feeble and hurrid as I try to pull if from his shoulder, but soon I tear my hand away and push away from him and out of the closet.

I stumbled over my own feet and landed hard, my teeth chattered with the force. I crawled backwards using my hands and headed towards my bed. Underneath it, I had another knife. I prayed that it would do some good, but in my hearts of hearts I knew that it wouldn't. As I gripped for the knife behind me, He came walking out of the closet slowly. He didn't even pull the cleaver from his bone.

His one good eye was on me, emotionless. Finally I gripped the knife and held it out to him. My hands shake as I point it at him. "St-stay away from me." I stuttered.

He kept walking towards me, his bone shoes dragging across the carper. They made no noise which was almost as scary as the lightning outside my window flashing against the flapping cheek skin. Then, the power goes out. The whirring of the heater quit. The rumble of the washing machine quieted. The lights vanished. I was in a noiseless house with my worst nightmare in front of me, only a sillhouette in the darkness until a flash of lightning brought him into focus. 

I slowly stood, but I wasn't brave enough to run at him. He was getting closer and closer. And, once he was in front of me, he slowly reached his hand up to the cleaver. He harshly tore it from his shoulder and dropped it to the ground without a care. Black blood oozed from the blade. He picked up his cheeck flap and held over his teeth. His hand stayed there, covered in some goo I can't describe.

When he spoke, his voice was void of emotion and ... everything. It was more of a croak than anyting. "Death be yours. Visit Four."

And like that he was gone and I was crying.

Now, now I am waiting on Visit Four. I am waiting on my death.  The room is beyond freezing now, the blanket barrier doing nothing to protect me. I know tongiht is the night. I just wish my mother were not home to hear my screams. My breath comes out in short gasps.

I have no defense. I have no idea what could save me, if anything.

Then, I feel it. The brush of his deadly warmth beside me.

Imprint

Text: Cassie Parker
Images: Google Images and Cassie Parker
Editing: None
Translation: None
Publication Date: 03-13-2016

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To Clarissa. Sorry not sorry.