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Member
Join Date: Aug 2005
Location: Sunny California
Posts: 6
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Andre Peterson Understands Now (May be graphic to some)
I wrote this a while ago and really haven't touched it since. I would like to know what readers think about it, so here it is! Thanks!
~BlueMoon~
Andre walked into his home office and stopped when he was only a few feet inside. He looked up from the papers he was looking over and scanned the room. “Hmph,” he thought, “just as dirty as I left it this morning. Why do I have a housekeeper again?” He walked to the desk that sat opposite of the door and picked up a stray peice of paper. On it he wrote “To Do List: 1). Fire housekeeper".
He walked around the desk and sat down in his expensive leather office chair and went back to looking over his papers. The huge house was very quite and Andre sat in peace. His wife was nowhere to be found, and neither was her yellow Mustang. Remembering his absent wife, Andre looked up from his papers, a scowl was on his face. He picked up the To Do List and wrote “2). Get a divorce". “I’ll teach her not to cheat on me, that two-faced-". Faint footsteps on the front sidewalk stopped Andre in mid sentence.
He sat motionless, waiting to hear the front door open and slam closed and to hear the wife’s high heels abusing his Italian marble floor. Hearing nothing, he went back to his papers, telling himself it was his imagination playing tricks on him.
The sun had just set, and Andre got up to flip on the lights in his office. He continued reading the papers and paced back and forth on the maroon carpet that was printed with gold fleur de lis. The walls were painted the same maroon and the furniture was made from very dark stained Cherry wood. Huge bookcases completely packed with books flanked the door with two on each side. The big desk sat in front of two huge floor-to-ceiling windows that were fully open and letting the breeze in. Two comfortable armchairs sat in front of his desk for visiters. The room was dark and packed with huge furniture, making it stuffy and comfortable, just as Andre liked it.
Andre paced from one side of the room to the other. He took a few seconds to open a bottle of Scotch and pour some in a glass and continued his pacing. A few minutes later he refilled his glass.
Suddenly, Andre heard the sound of breaking glass. He stopped in his tracks and remained silent, but heard no other sounds. Very quietly, he opened the door and peeked his head out into the hallway. He looked one way and then the other, trying to detect anymore sounds in the empty house.
Silence.
He slowly closed the door and went to stand near his desk. Pouring himself another glass of Scotch, Andre pushed the sounds out of his mind. “Just my imagination again,” he told himself. His paranoia was getting the best of him, though, and Andre added to his To Do List. “3). Install security system. Cameras, alarms, everything.”
He felt better and went back to reading, but he sat in his leather office chair this time. Andre began to relax again, and he poured himself yet another drink. By this time, he was beginning to feel a little drunk. As he took a gulp of his Scotch, he heard a noise. It sounded like a thud or a pounding. He heard it again. And then a third time, and it stopped. It sounded like it came from the other side of the house. Andre sat in his chair, slightly shaking and swallowing hard.
The banging started again, but sounded louder, and closer this time. A second thud, the floor under him vibrated with the sound. A third bang. Silence. Andre was standing next to his desk, staring at the closed door. The banging began again, only this time closer and louder, as if it was coming from right down the hall. A second bag. A third bang. Then silence. Andre was breathing hard and beads of sweat formed on his brow. The banging began again.
One bang, the floor shook. A second bang, “Where is it coming from?” Andre thought to himself. A third bang, and floor shook, sending ripples through the Scotch sitting on Andre’s desk. It was coming from the other side of the closed office door.
Andre was frozen in fear. The sweat began to drip down his face, but he made no attempt to wipe it away. He still held the papers in his hand. Suddenly, the phone on his desk rang, startling Andre, causing him to drop his papers onto the floor. He hurried to the phone and answered it. “Hello?” No sound came from the other end. “Hello?” Still silence. “Is anyone there? Hello?” The other end hung up, and only the dial tone answered Andre’s stuttering voice. He hung up the receiver, and gulped the rest of the Scotch remaining in his glass.
There was something on the other side of the door, he could hear it scratching softly on the stained wood. Andre didn’t move to open the door, but only stood motionless, too scared to move. The scratching became more intense. Andre’s breaths quickened again and a cry rose in his throat, but it didn’t escape his lips.
Suddenly, Andre rushed to the door, still holding his empty Scotch glass, ready to confront the sounds once and for all. He reached the door and turned the handle, ripping the door open.
No one was there. “What the hell?” he said under his breath. “What the hell is going on here?” He was yelling. “Who are you? Show yourself!” He heard a shuffling from one end of the hallway. Without thinking, Andre raised the empty glass and threw it toward the noise. He waited, and waited, and waited, but he never heard it land and break. Silence.
Andre was shaking and sweating, and his eyes darted from one end of the hallway to the other. He felt something on his leg, scaring him and making him jump back in fear, only to realize it was his cat. “Dammit, cat!” He picked up the purring cat and slammed the door behind him. He walked to the desk and added to his To Do List. “4). Get cat declawed.” He set the cat down and began to pick up his papers off the floor.
Settling back in his desk chair, Andre tried organizing the papers but to no avail; he was too shaken from the events of the last hour or so. Finally he gave up and put his head in his hands, trying to calm himself by saying that it was his imagination or the cat.
Lifting his head up, Andre reached for the bottle of Scotch and the glass, but realized that he threw the glass down the hallway. He sat back in his chair wanting only another drink of Scotch, but not directly from the bottle; he wanted the glass back.
Not a second passed since he had thought to himself about wanting the glass back when the footsteps began. Andre sat up straight, staring at the door, listening to the quickening footsteps that seemed to grow louder with each step. They came closer and closer and closer, until they stopped on the other side of the closed office door. Andre was gasping for breath. The door flew open. Andre screamed.
Something was there. It was visible. It was breathing heavily. It was covered in layers of black robes. It was huge and intimidating, and it had no face. The black figure moved toward the desk where Andre had sat, but Andre had bolted from the chair and backed away from the cloaked beast. There was no way around the huge figure; he was too fast to try and out run, and he soon had Andre cornered against the maroon walls.
Andre’s eyes were wide with fear, and he breathed quickly and deeply. His sweat poured over his face, stinging his eyes. He could taste the sweat in his mouth, which was poised and ready to cry for help, but it never did.
The black figure held his place a few inches from Andre. He lowered his head to be eye level with Andre, but Andre saw nothing but the black cloak where the beast’s face should have been. What did this beast want? This Bringer of Death, this Devil’s Advocate, this Servant of Satan. Slowly, the huge black beast reached into his cloaks and pulled out a huge scythe. Andre cried in horror.
The beast took a step back and raised his weapon to strike. Andre sheilded his face with his hands and screamed in terror. The beast swung the scythe, slicing the air and making a whistling sound. Andre screamed and yelled and cried; then everything faded to black.
***
Andre’s cheating wife returned home and went looking for her husband. She entered the office, but he was no where to be found. She was turning to leave when something on the desk caught her eye. She walked around the desk and took a closer look. After realizing what she saw, she screamed in horror and fainted.
On the desk sat Andre’s papers stacked neatly and in order. The words on the top page read: “‘The Truth About Heaven And Hell: They Do Not Exist’ by Andre Peterson.” Sitting on top of the stack of papers was Andre’s Scotch glass, still intact. Inside the glass were Andre’s eyes.
The glass held the papers down as they blew in the wind that came from the huge open windows.
***
Once again, thanks!
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