Writer on the Wall Part II CONT.
Writer on the Wall Part II CONT. suspense stories
  •   1 comment

usagi Socially awkward swamp witch.
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
Part II continued, the gore begins.


Writer on the Wall Part II CONT.

He quickly shot back, screaming a string of staunched profanity at the girl. He unzipped the mask, revealing shadows of his lips.

"No! You only bleed when I want you to bleed!"

He kicked her in the ribs, forcing her body to lay flat on her stomach, her legs and arms now flailing in the air helplessly.

The man grabbed the ropes around her wrists and pulled her up off the floor, her head drooping to the ground, hair covering her face.

He shoved the blade in her line of sight and whispered something into her ear that didn't make its way to me. I could hear her mumble a response.

"What was that, dear?" He sliced one of her arms, a warning slice. "I couldn't hear you, speak up. It's not polite to mumble." He sliced her other arm.

Blood oozed from her wounds, racing towards the plastic to create crimson rivers as she choked out screams of agony.

He stood above her, still forcing the top half of her body to levitate.

He seemed to wait a moment before taking the serrated knife and running it down the length of her spine without cutting her skin.

"I'm sorry," she shouted past stifled cries.

"Sorry for what, precious one?"

"Sorry for bleeding too early...master."

"See? Now was that so hard?" He let go of the rope and let her fall to the ground. She landed face first.

When he rolled her over, blood was gushing down her face from what was clearly a broken nose.

"We're going to play a game. I'm going to cut you, and if you don't scream, I'll let you live," He paused, as if pondering some important mystery, before erupting into a cacophony of laughter.

"Honestly, I'm hilarious. Let you live. Sweet pea, you're not making it out of here in one piece let alone alive.

" He tapped the serrated knife on her forehead, leaving a small pinprick of red behind.

Blood from her nose was pouring down the back of her throat, making her gag on her own life force. He sighed.

"Now, now. We can't have you drowning before I've had my fun."

He grabbed her greasy hair and pulled her over to one of the storage containers, leaning her up against it, forcing her head forwards towards the floor. She vomited blood in her own lap.

The disturbing vision below me was what is was to lose all dignity. I was witnessing the lack of humanity in one soul kill the humanity of another.

I was utterly horrified and simultaneously entranced. My pen continued to write, though I was sure it was nothing but the terrified scribbles of a useless bystander.

He knelt down between her legs, puncturing the growing puddles of blood beneath her. I could feel my pupils dilating, absorbing the vast amounts of blood pouring from her.

Never had I seen so much in one place, it made me feel all too vulnerable in my own skin,

as though it would jump off my bones leaving nothing behind to prove I was alive but my blood staining the floor.

He used the butt of the butcher knife to prop her head up just enough to look him in the eye.

"I'm going to cut your toes off, one by one, and you're going to watch me do it. Understand?"

She didn't respond. For the first time during this entire ordeal, I was able to see her face fully.

Her cheeks were hollow and her eyes were so sunken into her skull, I was almost convinced he had maniacally carved them out before bringing her here.

She stared straight ahead, straight through him. Shock must have finally set in, or maybe a grave acceptance that this was truly the end.

Her silence upset the masked murderer. He stood up, violently twisting his feet in the blood pool, making it splash up on her thighs.

He threw the knives down amongst his other toys and plucked the electric saw from its place. He flicked a switch and the blade began whirring around.

I could taste the bile in the back of my throat rising.

He wasted no time letting the saw meet her flesh. He rushed her, plunging the rotating blade into her thigh. Her apathy about her own life died as pain coursed through her body.

The poor girl was wailing on her knees, bound but pushing against her restraints in a last feeble effort to free herself. Blood was spraying everywhere.

A large amount hitting the man directly in the face, landing in his mouth. His tongue escaped the zipper hole, licking her fresh blood in.

"Your blood tastes so sweet!" He exclaimed licking his lips. "Then again, the young ones always taste sweet! Life hasn't made you bitter yet!"

A loud crack resonated throughout the mill, splitting my eardrums. He dropped the saw, and her screams stopped all at once. With both hands, he grabbed hold of her thigh and pulled.

It came out from underneath her, but it snagged. Her ankles were still tied together.

He groaned and pulled her forward until she was laying on her stomach again, her bare body soaking up her own blood.

He quickly undid her ankle restraints and grabbed hold of her thigh again, holding it high above her body allowing it to drip blood onto the back of her head.

Severed tendons and ligaments swayed from the limb, entangled in each other, reaching for her body in the hopes of being reconnected.

In the middle of it all, her femur stood out perfectly white among the red.

My hand slapped up to my mouth as the bile I tasted made an appearance. I was no longer able to hold it back. Vomit gushed from between my fingers and onto the journal in front of me.

I knew I wasn't quiet, but that didn't seem to matter anymore. The masked man was maniacally laughing, actually milking the blood from her thigh onto her, bathing her in it.

He tossed the limb aside into an open container and picked up the saw again, flicking the thing to life. He began to slice into her other leg.

The cotton mill was no longer empty, it was filled with her fresh screams. He continued to remove her limbs, one by one, until her body was limp, her life spilled out on the plastic.

The only thing still attached to her body was her head. He cackled and lifted her by her hair once more, putting the saw to her neck.

I couldn't watch anymore. I crawled slowly backwards into my hiding place, rocking back and forth gently.

The smell of iron and vomit swirled in my nostrils as my thoughts went on repeat again, I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here.

Stories We Think You'll Love 💕

Get The App

App Store