Short Stories

Here's a collection of short stories. I hope you enjoy.


1. Suicide Letter

To Whom It May Concern,


On this page,  I write my last confession. My name is Henry Thompson. I am thirty years of age and I am a widower. I lost my family in some unfortunate events. I work as a sales manager at the brand new Macy's store here in New York. It's the first of its kind you know. It's quite a stressful job and not the best paying, but it's enough to get by.

I grew up an orphan in Brooklyn. My mother, father, two sisters and two brothers were all found dead one morning in the Parlor of our suburban home. I was only five years old at the time. The newspapers described it as a slaughter house. Blood was everywhere and entrails of my family members were located all over the inside and outside of the house. I was the only witness. Unfortunately I could not be much help in locating their murders. All I could remember was my father had just come home from work. He was a salesman, and we were all sitting in the parlor playing cards and then everything went black. When I could finally see again,  I saw my sister, but she wasn’t dead yet. There was blood oozing from cuts on her body and she was missing an eye. I ran to get help but it was too late. She was gone. But it’s not like there was anything that could have been done.

Five years later when I was ten, I was put in a foster home. I lived with this nice old lady and her youngest son. They gave me everything; food, water, clothes, and an education. But for some reason I felt angry. I had no idea why but I never let it bother me. Until that fateful morning, we all sat down for breakfast when suddenly there was a loud crash and then everything went black. The next day the headlines read Murder in Mason House. Again I couldn't help locate the killer but the days that followed were quite strange. Everytime I closed my eyes I saw the gruesome images of my family members sprawled on the floor, dying. I was taken to a doctor but he said that it's normal for a person to see images such as these after a traumatizing event, known as PTSD. But every night I would have these strange dreams. My dreams would be from first person view and this person was the killer. I saw that poor woman's face as the killer stabbed her in the arm, face, and heart over 50 times with a butcher knife. Then I watched as he beat his son with the pipe from under the sink. I watched as his skull started to crush under the immense pressure. But it is intriguing to watch the face deform passed the point of recognition, If I do say so myself.  But, the dreams soon stopped and I never paid any mind to it.

Just five years later tragedy struck yet again. In my boarding home, three of the boys were found dead in her beds one morning. The coroner said the cause of death was cyanide poisoning and the deaths were ruled a suicide. But between you and me, I know it wasn't a suicide. Because every night I had  more of these dreams that I had after the death of my previous foster family. But this time I could hear things. The boys were sitting in their dorm listening to the radio.I heard this in the dream : “Today Francis Scott Key,  author of the Star Spangled banner, has sadly passed away.” And then I watched as the killer snuck cyanide in their water. But there was nothing I could say that wouldn’t possibly frame me for murder so I kept my mouth shut.

Five years later I was finally free from foster homes and orphanages. I was twenty, and young, and free so naturally I went looking for a good time out in town. Here in New York there's many things to be done. For example you could go see a play, or go to one of our many taverns with your friends, or the zoo which is always a popular family favorite. But for a man who spent his whole life caged up like an animal the first thing your mind races to is downtown. Now downtown is known for many things such as: crime, murder, mugging and a lot of other violence.

But one thing it has always been and always will be known for is... girls. But the twist is I didn't go down there for lust or curiosity..  I went for pity. My thinking was if I take one of those poor girls home, feed her, and clothe her properly and hopefully teach her to stop degrading herself in this way, then she can learn to settle down and get and education. I walked for hours before I finally found the one. She was a small African American girl, probably no more than eighteen years of age.  She told me her name was Diamond but I didn't believe it. Once we got to my flat in the city I sat her down and fed her and asked her name again,  this time she responded with Addy. We conversed for about an hour or so until something strange happened. She mentioned my mother and something in me snapped and I could feel anger rising inside me, then everything went black. The next morning, I awoke to bloodshed and terror and Addy was dead. She was hanging upside down from a hook on the ceiling.  Her blood was dripping all over my lovely wood floors. I tried to remember what had happened the night before but everything was blurry. I remembered sitting down and talking but I was having these strange memories that seemed more of a dream then it did reality. One of the memories was cutting the woman with a rusty railroad nail and then hanging her upside down from the ceiling. Thank the heavens that is all that I see. For if I were to see anymore I would faint. Ten years later and I still remember that night like it was yesterday.

Another five years passed and I was married to a beautiful woman named Elizabeth. We had a handsome young son named Jonathan. As I said before I am a widower. I remember that horrible day. Not only was I there to witness the murder of my family but I saw the killer. I looked him dead in they eyes and asked why and he just stared back at me and laughed. But that day I had returned from work at Macy's and we were all sitting in the parlor which is where I lost a game of chess. I could feel anger rising in me as Elizabeth started to mock me. I slowly rose and walked over to the chest. I reached in and grabbed a revolver and I put it to Elizabeth's head. She cried as she begged for her life and for me to stop. I tried to stop myself but I couldn't, it wasn't me..,  I couldn't control my body as I pulled the trigger. I watched in horror as her cold lifeless body fell to the ground. I saw the complete and utter terror in my sons eyes as I pulled the trigger on him. And bam! He was gone too. I looked to the mirror on my right and what I saw was horrendous. It's eyes were glowing red with anger, it's hair was a mess. And on his face was a wide and evil grin. And it said to me; For us.

It was me. It was always me. The one who killed my family and a poor innocent women. Every five years I turn into this monstrous thing five years have passed soon it will happen again and nobody is safe.  How can I carry on in life knowing that anytime now it will come to kill. I'm sorry, oh,  I'm so sorry to those to whom I did wrong hopefully you can rest peacefully knowing that the horrible creature will soon be resting at the bottom of the Hudson.


My deepest apologies,

Henry Thompson


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