He Who Wore All Black (2014)

He watches the death of his daughter, but no one remembers her existence. (Could be greatly edited.)

From the moment I saw this happen I knew it’d be life changing, I knew I could be losing my little girl, but there was nothing I could do, nothing quick enough to stop him from shooting her. The bullet went straight through her heart, killing her instantly. I had no idea what to do, I fell to the floor, drowning in my own tears. Through my voice was a bunch of unfinished words with occasional gasps for air, I knew what I had to do. I had to call the police and have this terrible man incarcerated.

“911, what’s your state of emergency?”

“My daughter… She’s just been… shot.” I struggle to get the words out of my mouth; I struggle to even think about what had just happened.

“Okay sir, please keep calm and tell me your location so I can send someone right away.”

I have to catch my breath before speaking again. “282 Smith Avenue.”

I sat there waiting, still drenched in my own tears. How will I tell my wife? Will the man go find another child to kill? If he does, it’s my fault. I should’ve done more to stop him.

The police arrive and run to me. “Sir?” One of the officer’s says tapping my shoulder. “Are you the one who called?”

“Yes.” I reply.

“Can you describe the individual who shot her?”

“He wore all black, head to toe, he was very tall and scrawny. He was too far for me to describe anything else but his eyes were something else, unbelievably blue.”

The police investigated the area, trying to find any evidence, they found nothing but little Sophie’s body. Days had past, maybe even weeks, they still never found her. I talked to my wife about Sophie’s death, but she said she didn’t know who I was talking about. She didn’t remember her own daughter… Night after night I dreamt about he who wore all black, I dreamt of the gunshot, Sophie’s lifeless body hitting the ground, and I remember his painfully bright blue eyes as he ran away. The police never returned, never called to say whether or not they found him. It was never on the news or in the papers, the case was nowhere, it was like nobody even knew it had happened other than me. Maybe I’m insane, maybe Sophie didn’t get shot, maybe she was never real to begin with.

All I do is sit here and think about her and our memories together. Why am I the only one who remembers her? My wife comes into the room and sits next to me with a bowl of soup. I haven’t eaten since she passed.

“It’s been a week now. You NEED to eat!” She says, but I just stare at her.

“How can you just forget your own daughter?” I ask her angrily.

“We never had a daughter; Sophie never existed.” I’m still beyond confused with this situation. Each day I feel more and more insane. Is there anyone else in this world who doesn’t truly exist? Am I even alive right now?

My wife seems to slowly disappear. She doesn’t come home from work every night anymore. I don’t sleep, he’s always here, always watching my every move, my every breath. Two weeks with no sleep, no food, and no movement. I should be dead by now, but somehow I’m not. I can feel my body slowly shutting down. My wife has been gone for three days, I fear she won’t return. Maybe she’s not real either.

More time has passed, I can no longer hear. All I can hear is the voices in my head. I don’t know how long it’s been, but he’s still watching. He hasn’t left that spot in the window across from my bed, he’s been there since the night after he killed Sophie. I finally fall asleep after all this time, I don’t know how much time I spent asleep, but when I awake; he isn’t there. The man in all black with the strikingly blue eyes isn’t there…. I mean, I am relieved, but he’s probably out to kill another child and brainwash everyone… I decide that I need to get up; I need to find him.

I leap out of bed for the first time in what feels like forever. My muscles feel weak so walking is difficult. I leave my room and enter the hallway.

“Dad!” I hear from the end of the hall, the same scream I heard before he shot her…

“Sophie! Sophie where are you?” I yell, hoping to hear a response. I’ve missed her dearly and I hope that she’s still here.

“He’s coming…” I hear her say, but she wasn’t screaming; her screams turned to whispers. I could tell she was frightened. I run for the closet door where her voice was coming from, but I trip over my own feet, and fall to the ground.

“He’s in the window again.” Sophie says, still in her small hushed voice. I panic and quickly try to get back up again. “He knows you’re not in the room anymore.” She whispers as I feel something cold grab my ankle and pull me back down. I get dragged back into my room and into my bed. Then I see what pulled me in here. It’s him.

“Sophie’s dead.” He says calmly while staring deep into my eyes with his own. “So is your wife.” He says, turning his head a bit. I’m now angry and he can tell. He takes a step back then in the same voice as before he says “ I erased all memories of them both. You’re the only one who remembers them at all.” Then he turns his head even more than before, looking less human.

“Why me?” I scream. He doesn’t respond, though, just tilts his head more and stares at me.

Reviews

[Deason]

Excellently paced, this story kept my attention from start to finish. An extended and edited version of this story would be phenomenal. The only thing that fell short for me was the ending, I feel like there is a little room for tweaking there. Great work nonetheless!

[Chloe Powell]

Thank you very much! It's actually great to hear that because I wrote this as a freshman and now I'm graduating. I will really look into editing this piece and adding parts eventually. Hopefully then it'll be even better. Thank you for your comment. :)

[Deason]

You're welcome, I'll have to keep an eye out for what you decide to do with this story!

[Stacy Purvis]

Shattering twist. This is a dark piece, but a very good one, indeed.
This could be a book, really, with a lot more meat.

[Chloe Powell]

Thank you so much. I have an opportunity to get my work published but they don't like anything gory and I feel like if I went into more detail and made the story more graphic (how I'd like to,) they wouldn't accept it. Writing isn't always for the author to get published though, I have to start somewhere, you know? So maybe I will look into creating a book out of these ideas. :)