Tick Tock, Tick Tock.

The fire at the fair, the scent in the air. And in the morning, dawn. All would be there. Laughing and cheering with each other, so blasé, not wanting to leave that astonishing, sun filled day. But, on this wretched night, oh! on this foul day. An event had occurred, that no one dared to say. Ten years today, on this very same night, the carcass had been ravaged, the town filled with fright. The streets bustling with fear, the houses filled with terror. The product of a murder, in which there was but one error.

 

He loathed the man so. As for his fate, he did not know. For he would be murdered, and no, not one, would know! The man was stalked, the man was prey. His life would end on this very same day. As day turned to night, and the darkness masked the sun, the light had done its course; it had run its run! TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK. The sound of a clock. The time has come for the reaping to take place, and oh you can only imagine the smug grim on this killer’s face! His brow raised high, his smile, ear to ear. The story would come to an end soon, oh yes! The climax was far too near. A hunting knife, fit for the game. The weapon that would gain a morbid sort of fame. Long, and sleek, made of stainless, ice cold steel. Stood a fair eleven inches tall, with petite glossy black handle.

 

Oh! There it goes! Out went the candle. He started for the man, and out the door he went. The man had past his house, he was so close to death, as if death had a scent! Now the man was on his toes, for he felt a chill down his spine. He was closing in on the victim. TICK TOCK TICK TOCK, the clock, it did strike nine…

 

 Hurrying faster and faster, the victim running free, he knew his stalkers intention, he yelped, “Leave me be!” There a dead end did come, just as the killer had foreseen, he took his knife, oh did it glow with life! And with a graceful swipe, with that very same knife, this knife had cut its seam. 

 

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But that wasn’t the end, for the reaping did not go unnoticed. The victim’s neighbor saw the odd looking favor,  that the killer lent the man. He waved his knife, and said, “darling, it’ll be alright’’, but the neighborly men did flee. And as for the killer, oh wasn’t he filled to the brim with vigor! Another reap tonight,  oh maybe this one he’d keep for the night…Maybe, just maybe that’d be just alright.

 

 

TICK TOCK TICK TOCK. The neighbor placed his hand on the lock…"TOO LATE," the killer said, your fate is in my hand. This knife will find a lovely place upon your lovely face to land. He caught him.

 

The neighbor tried to resist, oh did he persist! But not for long, for the killer’s grasp was too, too strong. He took him down with another swipe of that knife, oh just as before, it glistened with the juice of life! The neighborly, neighbor did die.

 

Then the killer caught the look in his eye. He dropped the knife; he was filled with strife! What had become of his middle-aged, suburban life? Just him and his knife. This was the only error. The killer, had now himself filled with terror. He took up his knife. TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK.  He knew it was right. TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK. And with one last swipe, of that very same knife…he woke up.

It was a new day.

 

Reviews

[Michael G. Smith]

I have to say I was surprised because here you jumped miles ahead of the last to pieces of your work I just read. This an excellent short tale. Although, with all the rhyming I would catagorize it more as prose/poetry. You kept my interest all the way to the end. Not easy thing to do when I am reading. My favorite line and actually made the whole piece for me was "it had run its run". I think this is where I felt you had hit your stride spot on. Now be a sport and read my poem "The London "Dead End".

[stephen dillon]

i wish i could write horror like you i bow to thee

[Ufi Auttorri ~ Amy C. T..]

I was with you all the way up to the very last line: "And with a graceful swipe, with that very same knife, this knife had cut its seem." I guess it's the choice of the last word, really. It seems that it should have been "seam." But, when is a story a poem or the other way round? Should we slice at the threads or rail at the sound of close-cropped counterpoint chopped and diced into a souffle of terror that was done rather nice? Perhaps... let's let it go at that.

[Coyote Poetry]

I like the use of time to strengthen the story. A story with a dangerous situation and mystery. I like the description of the situation and how you ended the story.
"Hurrying faster and faster, the victim running free, he knew his stalkers intention, he yelped, “Leave me be!” There a dead end did come, just as the killer had foreseen, he took his knife, oh did it glow with life! And with a graceful swipe, with that very same knife, this knife had cut its seem. "
A amazing ending. Thank you for the excellent story.
Coyote

[ValBonScallon]

Wow a 30 inch long blade? Damn. Inspired by Poe? The Tick Tock is so eeriely resemblant to "The Tell Tale Heart". Well done, I would develop this further, I am very curious as to our killer's motive here, I'd develop this further :)

-V