The Schizophrenic Killer

This is a short story that I wrote for my AS English coursework, hope you enjoy it, leave comments and what not :)

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1. The Schizophrenic Killer

 

 

 

At the end of a plain white corridor was room five. The paint was peeling off the walls just like pealing bark. Robert Blake had been in mental hospitals a lot in his lifetime, due to a major case of schizophrenia. He was used to being placed in a white room with only a bed, a high window and a big steel door. His room was just like the corridors: the paint was peeling off; the floor was dirty; the walls were covered in deep gouges like someone had scratched into the walls with a knife; the mattress was placed on a rusting bed frame. Where it used to be white it was turning a red copper colour.

 

Robert Blake sat there in his dilapidated room, staring blankly at the dirty white walls with the paint peeling off. He sat there, motionless in his forcefully tightened straightjacket the doctors used to keep him at bay. He sat in his room and rocked back and forth staring mad-eyed into nothing.

 

                                                      *                    *                     *

It was a cold dark winter’s night; he was walking down a deserted street with the ice-cold wind blowing him along the street. His body was shaking, his black trench-coat blowing behind him like a cape on a super hero. Inside his coat was a butcher’s knife. He walked up the road talking to himself about how his plan was going to work and how the victim would not be alive once he had finished with him. He wanted his revenge and he would get it. He couldn’t bear to think that the pathetic little runt was still alive and sleeping with his wife, the one person he truly ever cared about.  As Robert was thinking, his hand moved inside his coat, he grabbed hold of the knife’s handle. He wasn’t afraid to commit this crime.

 

                                                  *                       *                    * Each and every day Robert would have a doctor come and visit him. They would check up on his progress and see what else could be done to prevent another night like that from happening again. It was up to the doctor whether he would face his sentence of fifteen years or only half of that, depending on how he was getting on. The doctor was a tall, crippled old man with white hair and a bearded face. He had horn-rimmed glasses and walked with a limp. Dr Jones would check up on Robert once a week to have a talk and to see how he was doing; he was evaluating him. “Robert, how are we today?” asked Dr Jones with his elegant tone of voice echoing in the room. “I’m fine,” replied Robert blankly still rocking back and forth, but that was normal to Dr Jones. He had seen it all before with many of his other patients. “That’s good, very good. Well I was wondering if you want to talk about that night when you killed that young boy. Nineteen, wasn’t he?” asked Dr Jones “I don’t want to talk about it?” replied Robert who had stopped rocking back and forth. He was thinking about that night. Robert and Dr Jones had had many meetings before and each time he was unable to get an answer from Robert but this time he would.                                     

                                                      *                         *                       *

He walked up the path to the house, where he knew the boy lived. Everything was quiet. The streets were empty, and all the lights were off. The whole place looked dead, or as if it was haunted. He walked up the stone pathway towards the big house with a white door and big windows, which showed the contentment of their home. When he got to the door he just stood there, and waited. He waited until he knew he could go in and complete what had to be done. Suddenly a light from upstairs came on, which meant he knew someone was home. Was it that nineteen year old? He wouldn’t know until he went inside.         Robert waited until the light had gone off, then he began to pick the lock, Robert was a man of many talents he could pick a lock and open a locked window. (All these talents helped him complete this terrible crime.) All the lights were off downstairs. It was pitch black. He tried hard not to bump into anything. He didn’t want the people to hear him. He didn’t know if the nineteen year old was in, but he would wait for his return. He wasn’t going leave until his job was completed. He wanted that boy dead.                                                     *                          *                       *

“Come on Robert, it’s just a little conversation about what happened,” pushed Dr Jones. He needed this in his records. “Come on Robert. What happened?”

 

                                                   *                            *                       *

Once on the landing, he found his bearing before he moved further. He walked towards the boy’s bedroom, and heard a noise; it was the boy coming home. Robert was ready. Ready to take his life. When he knew it was safe, he opened the door. His time had come, his time to get his revenge.

 

                                                 *                              *                        *

“Come on Robert what happened?” asked Dr Jones once again.    

                                                 *                              *                        *

The boy was facing away from him, this was his chance. He walked towards the bed. He gripped on to the knife. He was ready. Once beside the bed he waited a few minutes, the body stirred and wiggled. Robert waited until he was still again. He was ready, ready to take his life. He pulled the knife above his head and rammed it into the victim’s chest. He heard the ripping sound of it breaking through his skin, the blood oozed out of the freshly made cuts. The boy screamed for his life and tried to get free, but it was too late.                                            

                                                 *                              *                        *

“I KILLED HIM! I KILLED HIM! I KILLED HIM!” shouted Robert “HE TOOK MY WIFE! HE TOOK HER FROM ME! He took her,” shouted Robert shaking and shivering, as he began to cry. 

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