Imagine your OTP meeting when A and B both try to rob the same bank at the same time.  Bonus:  They dated years ago, lost contact, and this is the first they’ve seen each other since.

(via deeeanspeeeeeeeeeeeeeeenis)

So real talk, I’m thinking of pursuing a career in writing, and for a class project at my school we had to write a horror narrative, so it would mean a lot if you guys would read it (it’s seven pages on google docs, I’m sorry) and send feedback in my ask box. You guys rock-Karel (pronounced Carl for all you substitute teachers out there)
P.S. Please do not take and publish somewhere else, without saying the source, or talking to me first

P.S.S. My grammar isn’t very good, I think, please send feedback on how to improve :)

*warning* mild gore, sad

“You’re listening to KBVC here with the latest blues rock, and your local news. In tonight’s broadcast, we remember the tragic deaths of Andrew Dotkins and his family, in the tragic murder and burnings that were reported to be inflicted by Mr. Dotkins. Though Mr. Dotkins’ body was never found, he’s presumed to be de-”

Why am I even listening to this, I hate the blues, Russell thought. Russell Ashbury is an average man living an average life. He has a wife and two children, and a modest home outside the city. His days are spent working at the Foidel Creek Mine out in the mountains in Colorado. He and his Kaiser Traveler would often come home covered in soot from the days in the mines, but no matter how hard Russell tried to clean out the car, the soot just seemed ingrained in the seats and floor. As Russell approaches his driveway, he is greeted by his family

“Hey Darling” Russell says, exiting the car. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up for dinner, we’re having stew.”Russell’s wife, Cecilia chimed. As Russell walked through the door he couldn’t help but notice the window leading out from the kitchen. That window, Russell thought.

This large window over the faucet seemed to project the woods as more menacing than they usually are. Maybe it was the window itself? The glass seemed to never be clean, with always a thick coating of dust. The window never seemed to be able to be unlatched, leaving whoever to be cooking in the kitchen to be stuck in insufferable heat from the stove. The frame itself even seemed to radiate disgust. The once ornate woodwork had been destroyed many years earlier by the previous owners. In places the paint had been stripped and the tacky beige revealed a layer of scuffed up white and in some places the paint had been stripped more than once showing a layer of beige, white, and even blue, to the barren cracked cedar the frame had been carved in. This window seemed to be a patchwork, last minute, piece added to the construction of the house. The window itself seemed to be askew in the wall, and the wall above the window seemed to slouch onto the window, as if the window were Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on its shoulders.

It struck Russell that he had contorted his face in disgust as he was staring at the window. He was promptly shooed away to the bathroom by Cecilia to go clean up, but the only thing that he could think about throughout dinner was the window, and as Russell went to sleep, the window seemed to pop in and out of his mind.

November 7th 1964 (Journal entry 1)
Work was okay today. Ashton almost blew his hand off with dynamite, newbie. I have to do something about that window in the kitchen, its driving me insane, the way its tilted just puts me on edge. Maybe I’ll just cut a hole in the wall. Can’t even unlatch the thing to let a breeze in. I’ve been feeling ill lately, hopefully it’s not black lung.
As Russell pulled up to the mine, he couldn’t help to feel as if he’s being watched, though looking around everywhere seemed to prove the contrary. His day went as usual drill hole, insert dynamite, haul the coal to the surface, and repeat, but today felt different. He could feel someone’s eyes boring holes into the back of his head, but every time he looked around, everyone was just doing their job. Regardless the circumstances, Russell still had to work, whether it felt like he was being watched or not.
November 12th 1964 (Journal entry 2)
Well Ashton is dead, freaking kid can’t handle his gunpowder. Looks I’m out five dollars to Bill. I wonder how he knew the kid wouldn’t last a week? The whole time at work, I felt as if someone was behind me, just watching my every move. Anyway, looks like we’re hiring again. Hopefully this time we’ll get someone who can properly handle dynamite.
The next few weeks were normal as usual for Russell until one day when he saw something.

Russell was exiting the mine after a long day, when across the clearing where the equipment is parked, he saw what looked to be a man. The soft November sun had cast the perfect light to show every repulsing feature of the man. The man’s beet red skin seemed to be blistered on some parts of his face, and the burn coating his face seemed to have blinded him in one of his eyes. The man’s tattered jacket and jeans seemed to be charred and hanging off him, to show an equally burned abdomen and legs. The man was not wearing any shoes, and the tops of his feet seemed to have been mostly safe from what seems like the fire that ravaged the rest of his body, but the bottoms of his feet seemed to not have been so lucky, seeming blacker than night and cut up, possibly from walking barefoot in the forest behind the mine.

Russell yelled out to the man, but the man was unresponsive. Russell exclaimed to the man that hes going out to his car to get his first aid kit. As Russell walked to his car, he couldn’t shake the same feeling of eyes boring into his head. Once Russell had retrieved the first aid kit, he had turned around to walk towards the man, but as he faced where the man should’ve been, there was only an empty spot where the man was, about 1000 yards away, and the forest.

December 7th, 1964 (Journal entry 3)
This man. This poor man. Whole body singed by a fire and covered in blisters. Why didn’t he want my help? I could’ve given him first aid, but when I had gotten my kit, he was gone. Did he just run into the forest and disappear? Maybe he just went and found a hospital. Hopefully he’ll be okay. Cecilia and the kids have been acting weird lately. They’ve been very stand offish. Every time I approach Cecilia she seems to just back off, and the kids never seem to want to interact with me.
The weeks have all been to feel the same for Russell. Each day he goes to his job drills holes, blows up said hole, and hauls the profits. The only change to his life is the sightings of the burned man. On many occasions Russell sees him when he’s done working, just staring at Russell. A few times Russell thought he saw him in the mine, watching his every move, as usual. On a few occasions, Russell has approached the man in a fury, and each time Russell has gotten close to the man, the man just seemed to disappear within a blink. The man seems to disappear in the day, only to reappear in Russell’s recurrent nightmare

January 3rd 1965 (Journal entry 4)
I can’t take it anymore, the burned man is driving me insane. His burned skin just penetrates my eyes, and seems to be the only thing I see when I close my eyes at night. The nightmares are making me an insomniac. I can’t take it. Every night the only dream I have is me bound and gagged to the kitchen chair sitting in front of that awful window. The smell of gasoline is so pungent it makes my eyes water, and makes me want to gag. The only thing I see out the window is the burned man. His one beady seems to pierce my soul. I just watch and see him standing there for what feels like eternity. Then he brings up one blistered and infected arm and holds out a lighter. As he drops the lighter the only thing I can feel is the flames engulf my body, and the last thing I see before bolting up awake, is the man’s beady eyes and unwavering, burned, face. Not only are these recurrent nightmares keeping me awake, but Cecilia and the kids are providing no relief. We haven’t spoken in what’s felt like eons, and the kids seem to disregard my presence.

The night of January 16th 1965
Russell’s insomnia has proven a formidable opponent, and often at night he wanders around the house. Each unsteady step, caused from lack of sleep, causes Russell to feel nauseous and he often sits down on the couch, waiting for the ascension of the sunrise. Often Russell walks to the tap to get a glass of water, almost exerting all his energy in that one trip. Russell has come to terms that the burned man outside the window, and work is just a figment of his imagination.

January 19th 1965 (Journal entry 5)
I so tIRe. I live our BI our WAnderi when mI tYME well com. EvaRTYn hORts. It fILs lYke avERy stIP I take simEOne droPIn more wate oNTo my BEdy. THe BORND MAN doSNt lEVe me aLINe at neGHt. SomTYMes wHIn I lUk out tHa kITOn wenDOow, I sE HIm. HE whESPers 2 Me. DOnt uNDIRstend

Translation if hard to understand: ( I’m so tired. I live hour by hour, wondering when my time will come. Everything hurts. It feels like every step I take, someone is dropping a weight onto my body. The burned man doesn’t leave me alone at night. Sometimes I look out the kitchen window, and I see him. He whispers to me. I don’t understand.)

Night of January 24th 1965
Russell walks up from his room to the kitchen. The walks are getting more and more exhausting. On several occasions he has fallen and passed out, with the impacts with whatever surface he hits, is the only relief he gets from his insomnia. On this night Russell makes it to the kitchen without falling. He comes face to face with the burned man, but this time Russell sees that the burned man has more pitying in his beady eyes than normal. They stand their, eyes locked, for what seems like hours, rage building in Russell. Russell’s rage peaks and with all the energy Russell has, he strikes the window. The window shatters, and pieces of glass fly everywhere. As Russell lowers his fist, blood dripping, the rage subsides. As Russell’s head clears, he looks out the window frame to see only forest. Where is he, Russell thinks, where has he gone? Russell turns on the faucet and looks down to clean his burned bleeding fist. My fist…My arm…, Russell thinks. He brings a shaky hand to his face, only to wince at the fiery pain searing through him. Russell looks down at the glass to see the burned man”s and his face dispersed between glass pieces. Russell turns around unsteadily, about to vomit from the pain, fear, and sight of Cecilia. “Ce…Cecilia” Russell says. “That is not my name” Cecilia say, calmly. “W-w-who are you…” Russell says. The woman in front of him looked and sounded like Cecilia, but there was something different, Russell could see through her, at the ravaged house. The house he and Cecilia had purchased when they were about to have their first child. The once pristine house now seemed to be scorched to crisp. The curtains that hung on the large atrium, now were rotted about halfway to the top. The wood furniture was only a pile of ash, with a few termites here and there. The walls of the house, that were once a light brown, no had graffiti from floor to nonexistent roof. Things such as Burned man’s den and He lives were spray painted into the walls. “My name is Maria,” Cecilia said. “No… it can’t be… I can’t be…:” Russell trailed off. “It is true, Andrew…Andy,” Maria said. “D-d-did I-i kill you… the kids” Andrew said, no longer Russell. From behind Maria, come two children. Andrew breaks down crying. “It’s okay Andy,” Maria comforts, “Just come with us, I- Drew and Julia- we miss you,” Maria says. “O-okay” Andrew says in between sobs. Standing up is almost as excruciating as the feeling in Andrew’s chest. Each sob andy feels, only hurts the burns on his chest more. Each step towards the basement feels like days. The burns on his hands feel as if someone is branding Andy, when he opens the door knob to the basement. once fully open, Andy proceeds down the stairs, behind Maria and the children. When Andy reaches the bottom step he sees the crudely constructed pyre. He understands what’s happening. The tears brought to his eyes this time are not from the gasoline vapors, but from the sorrow of the murders of his wife and children. “Be with us…” Maria says, with longing in her voice. She hands Andrew a Zippo lighter, with the markings M+A etched into it, surrounded by a heart. “We miss you dad,” Drew says to Andy, hugging him in the process. The ghastly hug penetrates through Andrew, and he can feel the the coldness seep through his burning skin. “We love you,” Maria says, placing a cold kiss on Andy’s cheek. Baby Julia, just barely old enough to walk looks up joyfully at her father, and Andy knows she’s saying I love you to him. “Okay…” Andy says, walking slowly to the gasoline soaked pyre, feet made of cement. As Andy drops the Zippo onto the wood, and the flames climb higher, engulfing his body, he doesn’t feel pain, or sadness, only a warm feeling rising through him, as he knows that he will be with his family again.

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