A Story and a Poem For Your Enjoyment, Happy Halloween!
Waeyne
A Short Story
Waeyne Carlson fidgeted in the dark alley at the entrance of Main St. His whole body was shadowed except for his brooding, yellow, cat-like eyes that sparkled menacingly in the dim streetlight. He waited and fidgeted. He waited and fidgeted. And then he waited and fidgeted some more. The only parts of his body that fidgeted, though, were his hands, which fingered a thin, silver object.
Finally, Ryan Powers came around the corner, like he did every night at ten o’clock, from the bar. Waeyne’s fingers twitched as his mind convinced himself of his plan. It’s okay. He needs it anyway. Ryan was twenty feet from the alley. The world needs to be rid of him. Fifteen feet away. Wayne’s head twitched slightly. Ten feet. Do it. Five feet. Waeyne crouched down, ready to pounce like a panther. The object glinted in his right hand. Three feet. Do it, his mind chanted. Two feet. Do it. Do it. One foot. Do it. Do it. Do it! Ryan Powers would never be heard from again.
“It was wrong! I won’t do it again!”
“No you weren’t. And yes you will. You’re doing the world a favor and if it weren’t for you, people would be suffering.”
Waeyne clutched his head, shut his eyes, and fell on his knees. “No! No! It’s wrong! It’s wrong!!”
Lawrence Soyan glared down threateningly at Waeyne, “You have a job to finish!” He pulled Waeyne to his feet and shoved him to the door. “Now, go!”
Waeyne collapsed on the floor, sobbing. “No,” he said through his tears. “I can’t, I can’t.” Each phrase weakened as he started to lose control of his body.
Howls and screams pulsated through Waeyne’s head as he tossed and turned on the floor. A silhouette crouched, like a cat, ready to pounce in an alley. A man walked around a corner. Waeyne tried to help the oblivious man, but a hand held him back. He screamed and waved his arms at the man, but his efforts were useless. The dark figure smiled and licked his lips mockingly at Waeyne. Waeyne, now in convulsions, spasmodically tried vainly to jerk his way to the man, who was nearing his doom with every step.
Then, the man reached the dark alley. The dark figure leapt up, the glinting object poised and ready to strike.
“No!!” yelled Waeyne as he sat up and looked around. He was on the floor of his house. Waeyne hesitantly looked down at his hands. After a quick glance, he leapt into the bathroom and feverishly tried to wash his hands, but it was no use, they were permanently stained.
“Nice job,” said Lawrence from the doorway.
Waeyne jumped and turned around. “Where did you come from?” he shrieked.
“I’ve always been here. You, of all people, should know that,” Lawrence said calmly.
“No. Get out of here. I don’t want to see you again,” Waeyne sputtered.
“What?” said Lawrence, cocking his head to the side.
“Get out of here. I want you out of my house!”
“You can’t ever get rid of me Waeyne,” Lawrence’s tone was rising, but Waeyne did not back down.
“Yes I can. Get out of here!”
“No! You need me and you know it!”
“No I don’t. I survived once without you and I can do it again!”
“You’re going to regret this.”
“Get out of here! Get out of my house!” Waeyne clamped his eyes shut and put his white fists to his temples as he continued to shout, “Get out of my house! Get out of my house! Get out of my house!”
There was a pause and Waeyne slowly opened his eyes, one after the other. Lawrence was gone. Waeyne, becoming filled with joy, ran around the house, checking for any sign of Lawrence. He did not find one. Waeyne jumped and thrust his fist into the air and shouted a cry of jubilance.
“I’m free!”
Waeyne ran around in circles and laughed while he shouted, “I’m free” over and over again. Then, a creak from a nearby room stopped him in his tracks. Waeyne crouched down and tiptoed to the nearby room.
“Who’s there?” he asked quietly.
He stood at the threshold and listened. Nothing. He asked quietly again, “Who’s there?”
Then a slow, menacing chuckle floated out of the room. Waeyne’s eyes opened wide, and with a surge of adrenaline, he slammed the door shut before anything could come out.
He tore down the corridor and skidded to a stop in the living room. He bent over to catch his breath when he heard something scatter behind him. He spun around and yelped as he saw an eight-foot tall spider looking at him. It’s fangs clicked and venom dripped onto the floor, and just as it was crawling towards Waeyne, Waeyne tore down a different corridor.
He came to a stop in the kitchen, took a deep shuddering breath, and tried to figure a way out. He glanced anxiously to his left and right when a hand came down on his shoulder. Waeyne twisted around and looked into the pitted, rotten corpse of his long gone wife. “No!” He screeched as the corpse took hold of a butcher knife and raised it over Waeyne’s head. He ducked out of the way and tore down the last corridor.
He stopped in the middle of the room and saw the open bathroom door off to the side. He looked back down the corridor just in time to see a viciously grinning clown, whose laughter had now become a piercing shriek. To the left of the clown was the hungry spider and the grotesque trio was lead by his dead wife, one eye missing, her head half severed, and a shining knife in her hand.
Waeyne dodged into the bathroom and shut and locked the door. Waeyne left one last message on the edge of the sink. His wide, blood-shot, dilated eyes locked back onto the door when a loud pounding began on it. Waeyne collapsed on his knees and he clasped his hands to his ears and rocked back and forth as he tried to drown out the persistent hammering with his own shouting.
“Go away!” he screamed, “Please!”
The pounding grew in intensity as Waeyne continued his desperate cries for salvation.
“Go away! Please!! No! Away! Away!!”
And then, suddenly, it stopped. Everything was quiet. Waeyne slowly looked up at the now open door. He gazed at the now vanished terrors. Waeyne got to his feet when a single, bone chilling sound was heard: the sharpening of a knife. Waeyne turned around and stared at Lawrence, who was calmly leaning on the counter.
“I told you that you needed me,” he said as he continued to sharpen his knife. “Now, you have two options.” He pointed to himself and said, “This,” and then he glanced down at the knife and said, “or this.”
Waeyne looked in horror and begged his final words, “Please, just leave.”
Detective Story observed the scene before him. He said to his assistant as he stared at Waeyne’s dead body, “Well, I think we can close this case. Definitely suicide. Knife in hand. His medical report says he was schizophrenic, and I’m pretty sure he is the culprit behind the recent murders. Though, he left a pretty funny note, just two words, I think it’s a name: Lawrence Soyan, which is just an anagram for Waeyne Carlson.” The detective just shook his head as he turned around and walked out of the decrepit house, leaving the scene for the clean-up crew to take care of.
Schizophrenia
He saunters in and looks around
To make sure no one’s followed.
After he is sure he’s safe
He sighs and takes a swallow.
He looks around with a watchful gaze
And his eyes lock onto me.
I stare back at him in great horror
And I make my plea.
“I will kick you if you touch me,”
I say with false assertion.
And then he just stares right through me
As if I’m an obstruction.
Then with a nod and a small shake
He goes back to his stance.
And then without a single warning,
He latches on my pants.
With a yelp of revelation,
I kick him ‘cross the floor.
“You stupid idiot cat!” I yell,
And I toss him out the door.
Both the poem and story, Copyright, Chris Ramos Publications; yes they have been printed, SO YOU CANNOT USE THEM!!
A Short Story
Waeyne Carlson fidgeted in the dark alley at the entrance of Main St. His whole body was shadowed except for his brooding, yellow, cat-like eyes that sparkled menacingly in the dim streetlight. He waited and fidgeted. He waited and fidgeted. And then he waited and fidgeted some more. The only parts of his body that fidgeted, though, were his hands, which fingered a thin, silver object.
Finally, Ryan Powers came around the corner, like he did every night at ten o’clock, from the bar. Waeyne’s fingers twitched as his mind convinced himself of his plan. It’s okay. He needs it anyway. Ryan was twenty feet from the alley. The world needs to be rid of him. Fifteen feet away. Wayne’s head twitched slightly. Ten feet. Do it. Five feet. Waeyne crouched down, ready to pounce like a panther. The object glinted in his right hand. Three feet. Do it, his mind chanted. Two feet. Do it. Do it. One foot. Do it. Do it. Do it! Ryan Powers would never be heard from again.
“It was wrong! I won’t do it again!”
“No you weren’t. And yes you will. You’re doing the world a favor and if it weren’t for you, people would be suffering.”
Waeyne clutched his head, shut his eyes, and fell on his knees. “No! No! It’s wrong! It’s wrong!!”
Lawrence Soyan glared down threateningly at Waeyne, “You have a job to finish!” He pulled Waeyne to his feet and shoved him to the door. “Now, go!”
Waeyne collapsed on the floor, sobbing. “No,” he said through his tears. “I can’t, I can’t.” Each phrase weakened as he started to lose control of his body.
Howls and screams pulsated through Waeyne’s head as he tossed and turned on the floor. A silhouette crouched, like a cat, ready to pounce in an alley. A man walked around a corner. Waeyne tried to help the oblivious man, but a hand held him back. He screamed and waved his arms at the man, but his efforts were useless. The dark figure smiled and licked his lips mockingly at Waeyne. Waeyne, now in convulsions, spasmodically tried vainly to jerk his way to the man, who was nearing his doom with every step.
Then, the man reached the dark alley. The dark figure leapt up, the glinting object poised and ready to strike.
“No!!” yelled Waeyne as he sat up and looked around. He was on the floor of his house. Waeyne hesitantly looked down at his hands. After a quick glance, he leapt into the bathroom and feverishly tried to wash his hands, but it was no use, they were permanently stained.
“Nice job,” said Lawrence from the doorway.
Waeyne jumped and turned around. “Where did you come from?” he shrieked.
“I’ve always been here. You, of all people, should know that,” Lawrence said calmly.
“No. Get out of here. I don’t want to see you again,” Waeyne sputtered.
“What?” said Lawrence, cocking his head to the side.
“Get out of here. I want you out of my house!”
“You can’t ever get rid of me Waeyne,” Lawrence’s tone was rising, but Waeyne did not back down.
“Yes I can. Get out of here!”
“No! You need me and you know it!”
“No I don’t. I survived once without you and I can do it again!”
“You’re going to regret this.”
“Get out of here! Get out of my house!” Waeyne clamped his eyes shut and put his white fists to his temples as he continued to shout, “Get out of my house! Get out of my house! Get out of my house!”
There was a pause and Waeyne slowly opened his eyes, one after the other. Lawrence was gone. Waeyne, becoming filled with joy, ran around the house, checking for any sign of Lawrence. He did not find one. Waeyne jumped and thrust his fist into the air and shouted a cry of jubilance.
“I’m free!”
Waeyne ran around in circles and laughed while he shouted, “I’m free” over and over again. Then, a creak from a nearby room stopped him in his tracks. Waeyne crouched down and tiptoed to the nearby room.
“Who’s there?” he asked quietly.
He stood at the threshold and listened. Nothing. He asked quietly again, “Who’s there?”
Then a slow, menacing chuckle floated out of the room. Waeyne’s eyes opened wide, and with a surge of adrenaline, he slammed the door shut before anything could come out.
He tore down the corridor and skidded to a stop in the living room. He bent over to catch his breath when he heard something scatter behind him. He spun around and yelped as he saw an eight-foot tall spider looking at him. It’s fangs clicked and venom dripped onto the floor, and just as it was crawling towards Waeyne, Waeyne tore down a different corridor.
He came to a stop in the kitchen, took a deep shuddering breath, and tried to figure a way out. He glanced anxiously to his left and right when a hand came down on his shoulder. Waeyne twisted around and looked into the pitted, rotten corpse of his long gone wife. “No!” He screeched as the corpse took hold of a butcher knife and raised it over Waeyne’s head. He ducked out of the way and tore down the last corridor.
He stopped in the middle of the room and saw the open bathroom door off to the side. He looked back down the corridor just in time to see a viciously grinning clown, whose laughter had now become a piercing shriek. To the left of the clown was the hungry spider and the grotesque trio was lead by his dead wife, one eye missing, her head half severed, and a shining knife in her hand.
Waeyne dodged into the bathroom and shut and locked the door. Waeyne left one last message on the edge of the sink. His wide, blood-shot, dilated eyes locked back onto the door when a loud pounding began on it. Waeyne collapsed on his knees and he clasped his hands to his ears and rocked back and forth as he tried to drown out the persistent hammering with his own shouting.
“Go away!” he screamed, “Please!”
The pounding grew in intensity as Waeyne continued his desperate cries for salvation.
“Go away! Please!! No! Away! Away!!”
And then, suddenly, it stopped. Everything was quiet. Waeyne slowly looked up at the now open door. He gazed at the now vanished terrors. Waeyne got to his feet when a single, bone chilling sound was heard: the sharpening of a knife. Waeyne turned around and stared at Lawrence, who was calmly leaning on the counter.
“I told you that you needed me,” he said as he continued to sharpen his knife. “Now, you have two options.” He pointed to himself and said, “This,” and then he glanced down at the knife and said, “or this.”
Waeyne looked in horror and begged his final words, “Please, just leave.”
Detective Story observed the scene before him. He said to his assistant as he stared at Waeyne’s dead body, “Well, I think we can close this case. Definitely suicide. Knife in hand. His medical report says he was schizophrenic, and I’m pretty sure he is the culprit behind the recent murders. Though, he left a pretty funny note, just two words, I think it’s a name: Lawrence Soyan, which is just an anagram for Waeyne Carlson.” The detective just shook his head as he turned around and walked out of the decrepit house, leaving the scene for the clean-up crew to take care of.
Schizophrenia
He saunters in and looks around
To make sure no one’s followed.
After he is sure he’s safe
He sighs and takes a swallow.
He looks around with a watchful gaze
And his eyes lock onto me.
I stare back at him in great horror
And I make my plea.
“I will kick you if you touch me,”
I say with false assertion.
And then he just stares right through me
As if I’m an obstruction.
Then with a nod and a small shake
He goes back to his stance.
And then without a single warning,
He latches on my pants.
With a yelp of revelation,
I kick him ‘cross the floor.
“You stupid idiot cat!” I yell,
And I toss him out the door.
Both the poem and story, Copyright, Chris Ramos Publications; yes they have been printed, SO YOU CANNOT USE THEM!!
posted by Chris at 6:39 PM
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