I am terrible at picking out presents -especially for Valentine’s Day.
I glided through darkness. The glow of streetlights overhead lit my pathway over snow-covered lawns. My mind was made up. My mission was dire.
I had traveled this way before in the light of day and amid my dreams. It was finally time. As I approached my destination my heartbeat increased. It pumped precious blood to each freezing arm and leg. So many times I had imagined what this moment would be like. So many times I had calculated every motion in my head. It was as if this was just a dream and at any moment I could lift into the air and fly high over the many houses I passed.
My trek reached its end as I stood in front of the black-tinted bay window. I had reached my target location -house number 1312. I could tell by the blue siding, the large windows, and the elongated, white windowsill. Adrenaline flooded my being and my dream-like state intensified.
All of the unpleasantness of the cold vanished as I stepped closer to the window. I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered inside. The rest of the world tunneled and disappeared. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room before me. The brilliance of the moon helped me to perceive each structure of the room. Every piece of furniture had been covered in sleek plastic wrapping. Pictures hanging on the wall displayed an older couple in different tourist locations.
On the mantle above the fireplace sat a porcelain statue of the virgin Mary. I felt as though she looked straight into my soul -judging me on the act I was about to commit. It was as if, for a short moment, tears ran from her solid, silvery eyes.
The wind picked up which reminded me of the frigid air I endured. I took out a flat-head screwdriver and pry bar. After just a brief moment, I was sliding my body under the large pane of glass. I closed the window behind me with care.
The room was warm and inviting. Everything was spotless. The dirt and snow I had tracked in with my shoes stood out on the pure carpet. I wiped my feet and, after full inspection of the living room, gained the courage to roam further within the home.
Both the kitchen and the hallways sparkled with immaculate cleanliness. Depictions of Jesus and biblical scenes hung on every wall. I closed my eyes and exhaled. Trembling, I reached for the doorknob of the first room I encountered. It creaked but opened with ease. To my surprise the room was empty. Not a sole piece of furniture occupied the space. What was going on?
I knew the layout of this house, number 1312. I’d been inside more times than I could remember. Had they rearranged? I left the door open and continued on to the next. This door sat ajar, revealing a toilet and bathroom sink. The final room lay just ahead to the left.
My limbs were numb; not from the cold or frost bite but from my inconsolable nerves and the reality of what was about to take place. This doorknob was warmer than the rest. It seemed as though I had some extrasensory perception that informed me -this was him.
The darkness of the room engulfed me as I pushed the door inward. I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I cracked my knuckles and entered. My nervousness transformed into rage.
As I walked forward and pulled my arm back towards my ear, ready to strike, I remembered why I had come. My mind spiraled with images of this man’s face. I could see his smirk. I could hear his voice. This, the man that had caused my fiancée unbearable agony -the love of my life beaten by the hands of who lay before me.
So many times had my love’s beautiful face been bruised and scarred by the unforgiving fists of this brute. Vengeance blared its hideous voice in my head. Too many times I had let it pass after she assured me that everything was okay or that he had been drinking. But I no longer cared. I didn’t care if my actions would result in jail time. Nor did I care that this man was her father.
My fists proved unrelenting in their task. No matter how many times my throbbing knuckles hammered his face they continued to collide again and again. The room remained pitch black. I never got the satisfaction of seeing his bloodied face but the image in my head would have to suffice.
When I sensed a dense stickiness in my fingers and the smell of iron filled my nostrils I dismounted his lifeless body and stumbled towards the front door. I was quivering with every emotion a human could muster -everything except regret.
I am terrible at picking out presents -especially for Valentine’s Day.
This would be the perfect gift. My greatest yet. A chance to live without fear of being preyed upon. Never again will my love have to look at the man who had beaten and raped her. I wiped my hands on the hem of my black coat and opened the front door.
I shielded my face and made my way off of the porch. When my eyes had finally adapted to the outdoor light I recognized the neighbor’s house across the street. It was strangely similar to the one I had just exited. A large black window with an elongated windowsill sat within the blue siding of its walls. On the front of the house, above the doorway, bronze-toned numbers glistened with sickening clarity: 1312
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Credits to: photofreecreepypasta
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