Dating : World Oblivion 1:23 Short Horror Story Challenge

h2>Dating : World Oblivion 1:23 Short Horror Story Challenge

Pearce Wintderhand

I didn’t wake up today thinking that I was going to kill someone for the first time. I woke up thinking that I was going to kill someone for the second time. I wasn’t exhilarated about it, of course, but I assumed that killing a second person would be easier than killing your first. However, killing anyone was difficult, and my first kill was still bound to my conscience. I would regret this act, but it had to be done. After all, the cult that had overtaken my high school had to be stopped. If I had not killed Jake, he would have summoned elder horrors, from realms unable to be comprehended, to our town. Today, I would slay Ernest Lyrchen, ending his plot to terminate his classmates, whose deaths would almost certainly aid in summoning a foul aberration from the outer reaches of the non-dimensions. Even though I despised the idea of killing another human being, I had to, the fate of my world depended on it. That morning, I brought a few additional implements to school with me, besides my curricula and pencils. I packed, in my backpack, my father’s machete, an artifact of his Amazon explorations, a few hammers, a heavy brick taken from my neighbor’s crumbling garden wall, and the brass knuckles I had stolen from the confiscation bin in the Principal’s office. I had to kill Ernest, even if it meant using the most brutal means possible. That day, I ate a rushed meal of a single granola bar in the morning, and boarded the school bus the moment it arrived at the edge of my suburban lawn. As usual, I strode to the back of the school bus without speaking, and took my seat between the dullards and the uninterested. It was there that I decided that the best time to kill Ernest would be when he went to the bathroom, as he always left class at precisely 1:23 to use the bathroom. For whatever reason, he was obsessed with his routine. At the exact same time, I would ask to leave my class to use the bathroom. The aftermath of my deed would be concealed by the fact that a huge flood of seniors would break through the hall at 1:30, leaving an ample number of suspects. I didn’t want to kill Ernest, and it bothered me that I had orchestrated his death, but it had to be done. After arriving at school, I progressed through my classes in much the same way as always; doing well in all of my subjects, until Biology Lab. At 1:20, I asked to use the bathroom, saying that it was absolutely imperative that I reach it before too long. Enduring the snickering of my classmates, I grinned through Mrs. Manner’s two-minute explanation of how to use a hall pass, and left the room with a fresh pair of plastic gloves. As I approached the boy’s bathroom, I smirked, the foul cult would be greatly injured today. I opened the door quickly, and turned the corner. Ernest was standing in front of a urinal, undoubtedly communing with some alien terror. He looked up to see who had entered, and said, in his shaky voice, “you’re not supposed to be here”. I smiled, and replied “no, you’re not going to be here for long” as I drew my father’s machete from my backpack. Ernest fell away from the urinal, desperately trying to pull his pants up, and put his hands out in front of him, attempting to cast an evil spell. I lunged forward with the machete, and delivered two quick slashes to his chest. Ernest cried out in pain, and begged for mercy in a blubbering cacophony of shouts. How clever, I thought, he wants to draw attention to the bathroom, so it will look like I attacked him for no reason. To soften his protest, I leaned forward, and grabbed his tongue brutally with my hand. Then, in one clean cut, I severed it, removing it from his mouth. Almost immediately, before Ernest could shriek, I grabbed his head with my hand, and slammed it into the side of the urinal. Ernest was quiet now, and was unstable on his feet, but he had the awareness to attempt an escape. He rose to his feet, and broke into a tumbling run towards the door, I cursed, throwing the machete into a sink, and swung my backpack wildly. It hit Ernest, knocking him onto his stomach. I slipped on my brass knuckles, pull Ernest up by his shirt, and punched him savagely. His jaw crumpled, and his head whipped backwards. However, the deed was not yet finished. I picked up the brick I had brought, and glimpsing the fear in this foul cultist’s eyes, bashed him to death with three truculent strikes. Victory, it was mine to cherish. Soon, I would kill every cultist in the school. But, at the moment, I had to clean up the bathroom at least a little bit. I took the blood-covered brick, and shoved it into my backpack. The brass knuckles came off my hands, and I left the bathroom. Little did I know that they would find my father’s machete. Little did I know that I would be forced to kill them all…

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