I gave myself a challenge, I wanted to write something fucked up and weird.
This is the produce of that self challenge.
Part 1 of a 3 part (so far) story, if you guys like this one I may turn it into a video trilogy, audio drama style.
Anywho, I hope you enjoy…
He opened the basement door and was immediately smacked in the face by that familiar coppery scent, he could never remember to grab one of those damned masks.
He slammed the door, locked it, walked into the kitchen, pulled a chair over to the china cabinet to stand on, and started digging through the small plastic baskets up there.
He always told those damn kids not to touch his shit, but being kids they never listened so he had to put anything he wanted intact in these stupid baskets.
He could never find what he wanted up here either.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, he found the masks and climbed off the chair, glad to finally be on steady ground again.
He snapped the rubber bands of the mask around his sweaty bald head and made his way back to the basement door, unlocked it, and flipped the light switch on…nothing happened.
He flipped it off then back on, nothing.
“Did she unplug the fucking thing again?” he wondered for a moment then started stomping down the stairs.
He was the only one that mattered in the house, why should he bother being quiet?
There it was plain as day, the damned three prong plug hanging from the light fixture, swinging away.
He grabbed the cord and groped around in the darkness to find the socket.
It connected and a few sparks shot out, he swore she was boobytrapping him every chance she got, trying to get him out of the way for his bank account.
He pulled the chain on the fixture and one of the two fluorescent bulbs sprang to life then flickered out.
Then it began flickering like a strobe light at a rave.
He kept meaning to buy a new one, but he had so many things on his plate at this point that a new light fixture was the furthest thing from his mind until he came down here to work.
He headed over to his work bench and slipped on an oily substance.
Cheap goddamn boots had no traction anywhere, inside or out.
He pulled the chain over the bench and thought “Finally! Something actually works the way it’s supposed to in this stupid shithole”.
He turned around with his back to the work station, leaned against it with his palms on it’s gritty surface, and looked at his work.
A pile of rags were thrown infront of the old stained mattress in the corner which, between the relatively dim bench light and the other light’s strobing, looked like a job well done.
Nothing to be proud of, but that’s why you do these things a few times.
You’ve got to hone your craft and get all the kinks worked out, after all practice does make perfect.
“Wakey wakey” he said aloud.
There was no reply, not even a sound.
When suddenly…the rags moved.
To Be Continued…
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The world sucks enough kids, try to make it a bit better by not being a fuckin’ dickhole yourself.