By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee/#GeeGranny on Twitter
Photo is of our porch at one time, photo owned by Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee
A cool breeze was blowing gently in the leaves. Birds flew around, some singing their special songs only they could sing. Sunlight glinted off their glossy black wings.
Car door slamming in the distance ... a child squeals in delight. One could imagine children running, chasing each other playing tag. Laughter was in the air.
A plane flew overhead. The sound of the motor put one into hypnotic state ... sleepy, lazy. All was calm.
A yellow and green taxi drove up, parked in front of 328 Baxley Street. It sat for a few minutes ... one could imagine the passenger was paying the driver. The back door opened ... an average-sized man got out, stood ... looked around. He leaned back, looked up as he yawned.
The taxi driver got out. He walked to the back of the taxi, unlocked the trunk, opened it. He began sitting luggage out on the sidewalk in front of 328 Baxley Street.
The taxi driver glanced at the man, looked back to what he was doing. Something wasn't right ... he didn't feel good about his passenger. No, he didn't like that man. He couldn't wait to be gone. Damn! that suitcase stunk! Like something dead.
The taxi driver nodded his head, got back in his car, sped off. The man stood there ... he was ready to go inside 328 Baxley Street.
He'd rented the house online without ever meeting the owner. He'd paid with credit card for a whole year. He was going to be the best neighbor in this neighborhood. He licked his lips as he smiled a cold, evil smile ... his eyes were squinted as he looked around.
The man got his luggage inside the furnished house. He was satisfied with his choice. He was right in the smack middle of the neighborhood ... whatever happened, the neighbors would know that he ... was the best neighbor around. He was unaware he was smiling ... an awful smile.
He put the contents of his suitcases away. He didn't open the one that smelled bad. He had a special place for it ... down in the basement where the 2 freezers were. He knew all that was in this house ... he'd done a virtual walk-through online. The owner assured him that all the furniture, appliances would stay with the house when he rented it.
He took the suitcase downstairs ... sat the suitcase down in front of one of the freezers. He opened the freezer ... spotless white, empty. He opened the suitcase, took out plastic containers that had been frozen to protect the contents while being transported.
He could tell by smelling ... he needed to get the tightly wrapped package into the freezer. He didn't want it to ... spoil. He resisted the temptation to open it, look at what was inside.
The package went into the freezer. He went upstairs ... now, it was time to blend into the neighborhood.
All was calm in the neighborhood. John ... that was his name now ... stood out on the front porch. He took in fresh breaths of air. This was going to be the life!
John knew how to blend into neighborhoods. He had blended into many. His friends always missed him when he moved away. He was the best neighbor one could have.
He was a handsome man ... the ladies liked him. Men liked his firm handshake, his clear ... honest eyes. John had a way of looking directly into one's face with such sincerity, kindness. Oh my, how lucky I am to have John for my neighbor!
John loved children. Children were drawn to John. Why John would come down to their level ... John loved to run, play ball. John loved to play games.
John began walking, looking around the neighborhood. On his first trip out, John made friends with many neighbors. The children loved John, couldn't wait to see him again.
That night, John sat outside on his front porch. His porch was perfect ... he could look in all directions, see the whole neighborhood. The nightlight was just the right light for him ... it didn't shine directly on him when he sat outside. He took a deep, relaxed breath ... stopped mid-breath ..........
His eyes scanned the big, front porch. John could see many shadows, he knew no one could possibly be on his porch. He knew only porch furniture sat in the dark shadows. What the hell?
For the first time in his life ... John felt fear. Real fear that he was in danger. What made him feel that way. It came from the darkness, shadows on his porch. John got up, stepped inside the door, turned on his porch light. He walked out onto the porch. Nothing to feel fear from here. He couldn't imagine where it came from.
John turned the light off, went back to sit on the porch. His breath caught in his throat. What the hell? He felt it again ... then, it went away. He relaxed in the night air, almost fell asleep listening to the happy sounds of children running, playing until time to go inside.
I smiled. It was me. I was the shadow in the darkness of the night. I struck fear in the heart of a serial killer. John had left shattered lives behind him from every community he lived in.
Children were missing, never found ... parents were left grieving their hearts out ... never having closure. I knew where those children went ... in the stomach of John. John had a taste for children ... sweet, tender flesh.
I can't be in all places dark ... at all times. I can only protect what I can see around me. For now ... this was my watch.
There are many others like me who live in the dark, watching ... protecting. Sadly, we can't be all places dark.
People's lives who are saved by a miracle they can't see, understand ... know it was myself, or others like me. We will protect you to the end. We are from the darkness, the killing kind. A good killing kind. We kill to save lives that are worthy ... from bad, evil people. It is what it is, regardless of what one thinks.
I placed my attention on John once again ... he sat up straight in his chair. John felt fear again, he looked around. No, John would never see me ... he could turn his porch light on all he wanted to ... when the light comes on, the darkness goes away ... so, do I.
John had come here to hunt ... hunt delicious, young children. This neighborhood was his supermarket. His mouth salivated while thinking of putting tasty morsels of young meat in his mouth.
John didn't rape children, he didn't torture children. He only killed to eat. Isn't that what one is supposed to do when they hunt? Eat what they kill? Never waste anything.
John got up, shivering from the cool night air. He felt the fear again ... shivering more. He went inside, locking the door behind him. John never locked his doors ... why would he? He was the one everyone should be afraid of.
He was hungry. He stayed hungry. It was a good thing he'd walked back down to the basement to get the package of food from the freezer. He knew he'd want a snack tonight. John went to the refrigerator, opened the door.
A lone package, wrapped in plastic ... sat on the shelf. The refrigerator was spotless. A smell of death met John's nose when he opened the door. It didn't bother him like it would you, or I. Death ... of young flesh was to him ... like the smell of cured ham is to us. Damn, John loved that smell!
Like the shadow of darkness behind the opened door of the pantry ... I was there. I could watch, smell what John did. This ... I couldn't do anything about. This deed had already been committed. I could only watch John as he smacked his lips, drool fall from his mouth as he salivated in anticipation of his meal.
He turned the range on, placed a pan on the eye. He drizzled olive oil into the frying pan. As the pan heated ... John placed the contents of his package on the counter. He unwrapped the package ... a young child's leg lay there. Plump ... baby fat.
John began slicing thin strips of child's flesh ... wrapped up the remainder. He placed the wrapped package back into the refrigerator. The tender strips of child's flesh went into the frying pan. The aroma of flesh cooking didn't bother me ... it was just the aroma of flesh cooking.
John began to smell deeply at the scent. He was drooling more, now. John couldn't wait to sit, chew, savor the meat he'd cook. So juicy, tender ... the best money could buy. Only ... he didn't ever have to buy his groceries ... children were always around. They were a dime a dozen ... and he didn't even have to spend his dimes.
Note by this Author:
Another short thriller story written, owned by me ... #Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee. Photos owned by me.
I am in a writing mode ... practicing my writing ability once again. I hope it will inspire to finish my book ... The Saga of Victoria Fairchild.
I hope your short stories inspire you too. I am waiting to read your next book about Victoria Fairchild. I admit you do know how to write some good stories!! Love, Ms. Nancy
ReplyDeleteNow that was a story worthy of Stephen King. Get in touch with Hollywood they haven't made really good horror stories in a while.
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