'"911 what's you emergency?" "There's a man banging at my door. He has an axe. The cops need to come here now!" "We're sending the police." "Don't you need my address?" A dial tone followed.
That was a good day - another person killed. I now walk down the street as a normal person; no one knew that I'm the person who had murdered Amy Mansfield two weeks ago.
It was easier than the other the other two murders I had committed in the past year. All I had to do was get Mark, my policeman brother, to be at the phone when Amy called.
He said he would come, and I broke through a window and easily chopped Amy in half. I put the body in my truck and dropped the pieces into a lake in front of her house.
"Let the gators eat 'er," I had said. I drove home that day with no guilt. I still have no guilt inside me. My phone rings, so I pick it up with my bruised hand; Amy had whacked me there.
"Hello?" "Hey, it's Mark. Ya got everythin' ya need? What's ta next step?" "I think I got the next victim. Don't know 'er name, but I know dat she lives by that Willow Creek."
"It's that big brick mansion with da little pond in da front, right?" Mark says. "That's da one," I respond. "What time are we gonna do da job?" "How 'bout tomorrow?" I say.
"Sure thang," he hangs up. I pull into the driveway of my cabin and make my way to the front door. I open it up, not needing to unlock it - the key broke weeks ago - and walk inside.
I pull out my map of the town and look where I marked it last: Willow Creek "Alrighty then," I say, "Looks like somebody's gettin' a surprise tomorrow.
" I sleep peacefully tonight, knowing that I'm ready for tomorrow. I wake up, excited by the fact that it will be an eventful day.
I get out of my small bed, cook and eat three sunny-side-up eggs, grab my axe, phone, car keys, and walk out to my truck. I throw my axe in the bed and press the 'unlock' button for my truck.
Then I pull open the door to the driver's seat, climb inside, and put the key into the ignition. I turn the silver key to the right to start my truck. It fails. I try again, but it fails.
"Ah, shucks!" I holler in frustration, "Ya fired yesterday! Why not t'day?" I slam my hand onto the black dash, hurting my hand more, and jump out of my car, leaving the keys inside.
"Let somebody steal ya! I don't care no more!" I snatch my axe out of the bed and start walking down the hill. I try to call Mark, but he doesn't answer.
I see a black truck coming up the hill toward me; I wonder why it's coming up here when I'm the only one who lives out here. The hill is my property, and my property only.
I raise my arms and yell, "Hey! Wait a minute!" All of a sudden the truck turns toward me and starts going faster! I run as fast as I can to get away from the truck, but I don't make it.
The black truck reaches me and my leg goes under one of the front tires. I immediately fall to the ground as I feel the bones in my leg crack.
As the rest of the truck goes over me, I stop feeling.'
"Not a chance. This story is too hard to make into a movie. I mean, c'mon, it's 1952. I can't put this on television! How am I supposed to make it seem like a person gets run over? Seriously, Jane, I know you can do better. A lot better," Steve Howard says in a harsh way.
"What if you just skip over that part-make it where she just gets shot instead of run over. You can do that, can't you?" Jane argues back to him. "Yes, of course I can do that. But, even if I wanted to make this a movie, I couldn't. It's way too short. This would be less than fifteen minutes in a movie! You didn't even try!"
"Fine. But just know that I did try. You said that I onl-" "Get out of my office," Steve interrupts.
"You didn't even let me finish my sentence!" Jane screams in dismay. "There's the door," Steve says as he points to the right.
" "Ugh," Jane says in disgust and frustration. She reaches for her papers, but Steve slams his hand down on them.
"I'll keep these," he says as he opens a drawer in his desk and shoves the thin stack of papers inside.
Jane glares at him and stomps out of the office saying, "You'll regret this, Steve Howard." She gets to her red Chevrolet and hops in.
Jane puts her handbag in the passenger seat and turns her car on. She starts pulling out of the large parking lot and soon makes it to a small dirt path that takes her to her house.
All of a sudden, a white truck comes smashing into her! Jane's head hits the dashboard and blood starts rolling out of a gash on her forehead.
The man in the white truck got his left arm smashed against the car door, but he isn't seriously injured.
He painfully gets out of his truck and walks around the back to the red Chevy he just crashed into - deliberately.
He chuckles as he makes it around to Jane Coleman and sees her bloody face in the rolled over car. Jane is barely conscious, and says, "Help..uh..me."
"Oh, please!" Arnold Morrison screams as he swiftly takes out a pocket knife from his jeans and slices open Jane's throat as if it's a piece of paper.
Arnold quickly stuffs the knife back into his pocket and glances around. No one had seen him, for he was now the only one here.
He gets back in his truck that is now missing its front bumper and starts the engine. Apparently the wreck wasn't half as bad for him as it was for Jane Coleman.
Arnold backs out some and then goes on his way to his house, after robbing some of Jane's possessions at her house. At Jane's house he had gotten about ten dollars, one piece of jewelry, and a .22 caliber. Arnold Morrison passes Clyde Truck Stop and gets ten gallons of gas for two dollars and seventy cents.
After Arnold gets gas, he briskly walks toward another man and shows him the piece of jewelry he had stolen from Jane. Arnold asks for twenty dollars and gets eighteen.
He gets back in his white truck and continues to drive to his tiny wooden house that contained only one room with a bed, table, two chairs, fireplace, and a well out back.
When he gets to his shack, it's about ten at night. "Time for bed," he says. He gets out of his truck and walks to the front door; he opens it up since it has no lock.
Arnold meets face-to-face with another man named Robert. Robert is stronger than Arnold, and is holding a pistol. "What are you doing in my house?" Arnold almost shouts to the man.
"Oh, it's my house now," Robert snaps at Arnold. Robert instantly pulls up his gun and cocks it. Arnold winces and braces himself; Robert pulls the trigger, but nothing sounds but a click.
"I told Mary not to touch my gun! When I get home I'm gonna kill her!" Right after the Robert finishes his sentence, Arnold swings back his burly arm and slams his fist right into Robert's nose.
"Ahh!" Robert stumbles backward and screams after Arnold's hand makes contact with Robert's face. Robert holds his bloody nose as he falls onto his back, making the floor creak greatly.
Arnold runs forward as he swipes his knife from his pocket and slices Robert's throat; he does this even easier than he did Jane's, perhaps because Robert deserves it, and Jane didn't.
After clearing out Robert's body and throwing it into a lake not far from Arnold's house, Arnold walks back to his house and sleeps in his bed. About eight in the morning Arnold wakes up.
He starts to make a ham sandwich when he thinks back one year ago when he had proposed to someone named Carla Martin, but she was Carla Gardener at the time; she had rejected Arnold because she was about to marry someone else named Stanley Martin.
Carla had cheated on Arnold, and Arnold hated her for it. Now Carla was pregnant, and Arnold couldn't stand it.
Carla had only married Stanley for his money, and nothing else. Arnold knew only one way to get back at Carla-executing her.
Arnold gets in his truck and drives to Farfield, where Carla lives. He finds her mansion and gets out of his truck with his pistol in his leather holster on his belt.
He peeks through the large window pointing into Carla's family room. Arnold doesn't see anyone, so he goes around to the back of the house and looks into another window.
This time he spots Carla walking briskly through a hallway, her stomach sticking out more than he expected. He scowls at her, wishing she could feel the hatred he felt for her.
He turns around and went back to the front of the house and starts ripping out all the neatly placed daises and roses and stomps on them with all his might.
"How could she?" he whispers to himself with tears in his eyes. He runs back into his truck and drives back to his old, wooden shack that he loathes. The next day Arnold drives back to Carla's house and this time sees Stanley getting into a small silver car.
Arnold waits for Stanley to drive past him until Arnold pulls up next to Carla's house. He walks up to the window and sees Carla watching Stanley drive off towards town through a different window.
This was the twelfth day this month that Arnold had come by Carla's house. It made him so angry some days that he had to wait a couple of days to come back to the mansion. But soon there would be no need to be angry; Carla was going to die tonight.
Arnold loads his pistol to get ready for Carla. He waits until ten, while Carla and Stanley are sleeping, so that he can get in without anyone noticing.
Arnold swiftly breaks the front window with a rock; there was no reason to worry about being caught because the house was a long way from town. Arnold barely gets through the window; once inside, he softly walks up the long staircase to the second floor.
Arnold cocks his gun and opens the first door he sees-it's the right one. He slowly approaches the bed and taps Carla on the shoulder.
"Ah! Oh my! Stanley!" "What's wr-" Stanley stops mid-sentence as he spots Arnold.
"Say bye to Carla!" Arnold yells as he points the gun at Carla and pulls the trigger. "No!" Stanley screams. Arnold cocks the gun again and fires at Stanley.
Arnold smiles with contempt. He shot who he wanted to - not Stanley, not Carla, but their sweet, innocent baby.