'The Stabbing', by Kaleb Bennett (Though of in B/W)

“This is…”

    K

    R

    S

    S

    Pro-duc-tion Radio

    ANNOUNCER: From your local broadcast radio, KRRS Radio presents…’The Stabbing!’

    Cold spews of trumpet, and the slow burn violins introduce the theme

    ANNOUNCER: Directed and written by Harrison Plainview, produced by KRSS Radio. Now, please welcome...Harrison

    HARRISON: There is a chill calm outside the homes of many. Still air filling the cracks of the walls with stilted temperatures. But it’s not felt by those busy with their time, doing the house chores, or busy with other adult actions. Only those caught in a still motion feel this draft. It’s a dangerous feeling, an encouraging danger that would inspire only the most determined. There is a man who absorbs this draft, a local man with the look of a 20’s circus lifter, mustache and all. A man with solid form and popping veins, a face so crimson, you could hardly tell who he is. This man, named Mitchell Withers, is getting ready for a life changer. It starts, however, by lifting a one hundred, seventy five pound weight...alone. On his back, he continues to lift.

    “Seven...eight…”, Mitchell continues, his body shape shifting into forms of nightmarish proportions. His veins exposed, streaking down every crease in his body, crossing paths at some points. The man’s eyes sharper than a cat’s during twilight, his teeth tightly compacted together. Blending in is the wet maroon flowing down the gap in his lip. The man, at this point, could be mistaken for the devil. But he’s not about his looks, but about the next push up. Thrusting those weights into the cement sky above.

    “N...niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii...agh! AGH! AGHH! AGHHH!” It’s up, up up up. It’s then thrown across the room, denting the cement five feet from Mitchell, who now on his bottom. His veins seep back into their own crevice, and the draft is then sucked back into the outside. It’s just dark, with a bit of purple and green from the eyes of the dizzy lifter. He’s staring at the wall, the broken wall now, catching his lost breath. His nose blood drips on his right leg, a tid bit of blood, but is wiped quicker than he could say the word. The workout session is over.

    HARRISON: There used to be calm in this man’s life, a lover. Dianne Goodman, turned Wither, had been bed ridden through most of their marriage. Bringing in food, helping with bathing, and even their “intimate” moments a little awkward. But they made it through with the sensation of love. However it was when the man begin experiencing break ins, done by some petty men, that stirred things around. Mitchell was scared for his home and his wife, hoping no harm would pursue anyone. But there was an itch in the back of Mitchell’s head, a hard KNOCK. A wake up call, to him, that suggested Dianne was helping these criminals, giving them whatever for a price. 

    Paranoid, creating a bubble around him, Mitchell kicked away Dianne. Both were broken, and what life Mitchell lived after this was nothing but beatings to himself and isolation. Dianne on the over hand found new love, very quickly in this world in fact. A Gene Myers, the next door neighbor. An instant match, the two begin to live a life of love and respect, Dianne eventually getting better. Mitchell became jealous, but for ten years, as the relationship must have grown, he did nothing. He waited, he thought. But tonight, in the hour of twilight, he was going to confront the two. But, not before pre-mediation with a cup of tea.

    “This is KRRS Radio, playing you the classics and getting deep into what makes you jive. To start, let’s kick off tonight with a favourite over here, ‘Dear Hearts and Gentle People’, by ‘Bing Crosby’.” 

    Sitting alone in his kitchen, sipping some homemade hot tea, Mitchell studies his window. Outside, across the air began to thicken, an olive green home. Inside that home, a couple with an intention of sleeping the night away together. But in the tan home opposite of them, there lives a man. His intention, darker. A smile wipes across Mitchell’s face as he begins to giggle at the thought of his ex-wife. But to move her away from though, a few cigarette drags help. Now listening to music, the clock ticks, and Mitchell waits, patiently. 

    HARRISON: It’s time. The eyes of a madman glow, like a black cat ready to cause the most superstitious of people to scream in worry. But this is no predator, nor prey story. All this is, a simple conversation between three people. But one is not like the others. What will happen? Who can look up to the image I present? A nightmare come true, or just reality? Mystic questions, some making less sense then some, bounce around Mitchell’s head as he reaches the stairs of the couples home. Mitchell’s grey, his color having been sucked out of him. He’s a ghost, but a determined one. Build up and build up, one knock and it’s time to talk about everything. It was time to let go of steam, which may or may not burn the whole house down. Just a simple knock. Just...a...simple...knock.

    Ding-dong, ding-dong.

    Mitchell’s trapped now. He’s forgotten what he will say, he’s losing strength. Breath has been cut off, eyes blackening. It’s going dark, beyond the palette of twilight. But then, just before everyone is gone, the door opens. Mitchell’s back, and with his swift return, another smile grows on his face. Behind the door is a young man, black hair. He has a cardigan sweater, black boots. A baby face given to this chubby man. His hair slicked, but there’s no smile on him. Just a straight face.

    “Hi,” says Mitchell with a sadistic glee tone, “You Gene?”

    The man shakes his head. “No.” His throat sounds dry and gunky. “Who’s Gene?”

    “Lives here, or so I’m told, and have seen."

    “No Gene lives here my friend, sorry."

    “No Gene?”

    “Sorry.” Keeping his head peeping out, the young man scans the monster a foot away from him. “Any serious business I should know? Murder?”

    Mitchell’s face drops. “No, no murder. No…,” Mitchell giggles to himself, looking down, “I’m not here to commit a crime man, I...I was wanting to know...is there a Dianne here?”

    “I don’t know if, and correct me if I’m wrong here, but there was two people here before. However, they died awhile ago.”

    “What?”

    “Some fat dude was murdered around...ten years, or so.”

    “What?! Who killed him?”

    “Don’t know. Maybe that Dianne. Maybe, I, I don’t know.”

    Dumbfounded, Mitchell looks around, taking in his surroundings. He starts to think hard about Gene dead. Forming a picture to find answers, he imagines him hanging without eyes. Dianne has a knife. That’s all he has. “Well,” Mitchell looks back at the young man, “You got any sugar I could borrow?”

    “Sugar? What?”

    Just then, with a sudden oomph, Mitchell charges the front door. The young man is thrusted into his plank hallway, his back cracking as it impacts. Mitchell then, for the briefest second, studies the hall. Green walls, bright green in fact. A couple framed photos of a woman, a kitchen just ahead. Mitchell was hoping to find some blood on the walls. He was disappointed in his result. 

    “Sir,” cries the downed young man, “I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me-look I have a hundred upstairs and-”

    Mitchell, swelled with emotion, grabs hold of the young man, pinning him to a wall, the bright green wall. The cat eyes pierce into the soul of the young, trying to suck out any dignity or strength the young man possessed.

    “Games! You playing games!”

    “No! Please man! Please!”

    Mitchell thrusts the young man into the wall again. “These are games! You know what I’ve been doing for five years?! Do you know!”

    “No! I’m sorry.” The young man pours out his emotions. Mitchell follows suite.

    “Look at me. Do you see me? Do I look like some human with a normal plan? I sat across the street, sat there with my fist in my mouth holding back horrible things-HORRIBLE THINGS. I waited five years to come here...waited to long, sure-but tonight I, I WAS GOING TO DO IT!! I was going to take Dianne home. To love her again. Do you understand?!”

    “Yes!”

    Mitchell throws the now grey man on the ground. Now he’s the ghost, next to the devil. The ghost begins to cry hysterically, meanwhile the red man paces beside him, rubbiing the back of his gruffed hair. He breaths frantically. His fingertips are solid, back sweaty, face sweaty.

    “Look, look,” Mitchell continues, a short distance from the lying down ghost, “Is there a woman here?”

    Sobbing, just sobbing.

    “Sir?”

    Continued sobbing.

    “Sir!”

    “What?!”

    “Is there a BLONDE woman here?!”

    “No, no, no. No. No.”

    “No secret dungeon where I’ll find here, god knows where?”

    “No. I’m sorry.”

    “Don’t be sorry. You shouldn’t be sorry...you know I’m not  going to kill you right?”

    “I know.”

    “You’re a great guy.” Mitchell mutters to himself hysterically. “But, anyways, no Dianne or Gene?”

    “No.”

    “Okay then.” Mitchell nods to himself. “Damn shame, huh? I mean,” he bgins to giggle, “It’s funny, I...well anyways, goodbye.”

    Silence. Mitchell walks over the boy, heading out to the front door. However…

    “Before I go, do me a favor or I will kill you horribly. Son?”

    “Ye, yes, yes?”

    “Do me a favor and don’t call the police. If I get an officer at my door, I’ll break in and, well I’ll earn the arrest. Deal?”

    “Deal. Done deal man.”

    “Well then, good. Goodnight. Oh wait, wait. Who murdered Gene?”

    “Some guy, I, I,” the young man begins to slither back up to his feet, “Some guy. Who knows.”

    “Okay, that’s fine. Just a guy?”

    “I don’t know. Had a pair of shades or something.”

    “Okay, just checking. Well, goodnight.”

    “Goodnight.”

    “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite, heh.”

    “Sure. You too.”

    “No cops.”

    “No police. Please go.”

    “Sure.”

    HARRISON: And out went Mitchell, huddling back into his home. There was few glances over at the olive home, but it was done. The night was over. The air thinned out and the stars bloomed over the sky. The moon said hello, and Mitchell said goodbye. Thirty five minutes after the incident, police came. However, they didn’t find Mitchell...nor the young man. That was the story, at least, for a couple months. How could two men disappear in thirty minutes? No one knows. But everyone knows that four months later, both men were found skeletons under a tree twenty minutes from their homes. The case was deemed closed, and to this day, whatever happened, the killer, it’s all open. But they say, as they always do, that the man by you, the closest...they’re watching you…

    ANNOUNCER: This has been a KRRS Production! Sponsored by ‘Arnold’s Diner’, where “The only good thing is diner conversation”. So with that, we say…

    Thank you, thank you, thank YOU FOR...coming over to listen, oh listen, to the cursed words of radioooooooooo!

    ANNOUNCER: Thank you ladies. Goodnight!