Blood Moon 3

Blood Moon 3

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright©2015 Chandre Toye, Cody Toye

  Published by Ink Blood Publishing

  All Rights Reserved. This Book May Not Be Reproduced, Transmitted, Or Stored In Whole Or Part Or In Part By Any Means, Including Graphic, Electronic, Or Mechanical Without The Express Written Consent Of The Publisher Except In The Case Of Brief Quotations Embodied In Critical Articles And Reviews.

  *~*~*

  TOC

  Dead Key

  Snoodledoogen

  Upon the November Moon

  Oh Rats!

  Karma

  Freak Show

  Sex Toy Terrorist

  Welcome to the Dollhouse

  Jimmy

  Musical Chairs

  My Friend, Death

  Last Call

  Credits

  *~*~*

  Dead Key

  Early 1900’s

  A loud banging could be heard all the way down the hall. It was not the sound of someone banging against a wall, or that of a rocking chair banging back and forth as an elderly lady sat knitting what was to be a grandchild's Christmas sweater. No, it was the banging you heard when someone was hard at work, with ideas and words flowing effortlessly as they slammed on the keys of an early 1900’s typewriter. It was still new at that stage, with black keys that were still stiff and had to be banged on in order for it to actually make an impression on the white paper that had been fed into it.

  Charles Whittaker was the city’s leading writer on conspiracy theories, though most people thought him to be a crack-pot. His ideas and theories held no proof or even made sense, yet was fun and entertaining to read. Admit it, in the early 1900’s people needed to take their minds off of what was happening. Life as we know it now in modern times, was not so easy back then.

  “I knew it! Now the world will know too.”

  He banged furiously on the typewriter, in a hurry to get his article done before the newspapers went into print for the next day’s top stories.

  “I will make front page for this.” He muttered to himself under his breath as he lit yet another cigarette, the previous one still burning in the overflowing ashtray on the desk beside him.

  He had done it, he had stumbled across the proof he needed to reveal the largest conspiracy the world had ever known, and he was about to blow the lid right off it. Oh he knew that there were going to be people angered and hurt. He knew he was taking a risk, but to him it was nothing, after all, what could they do? Awards and bountiful riches were going to be his. Or so he thought.

  The door behind him creaked open, but he was so focused on the words that were appearing on the sheet of paper in front of him as he banged on the typewriter that he didn't even notice the large burly man with a vicious gleam in his eyes standing right behind him. Nor did he notice as the axe came swooshing down, cracking his skull and lodging itself deep as blood sprayed and poured down over his face, into his eyes and over the typewriter. The white paper was now nothing more than a soggy crimson mess. .

  “I knew it.” A mere whisper escaped him as Charles Whittaker took his last breath, slumped over onto the typewriter and died. The intruder grimaced at the sight before him, turned on his heel and left as quietly as he had entered, leaving nothing but death behind him.

  The door clicked closed just as the first bang on the typewriters keys could be heard. Over the bloodied soggy page it typed out one sentence. “The world will know.”

  *~*~*

  Present

  “Perfect! Absolutely perfect! Baby, you know me so well. I love it, thank you!”

  Thoughtful and kind, always supporting his hair-brained schemes, Donovan Reed adored his wife Ellie. Every so often he would come up with new ideas on how to make money quick, and Ellie always just smiled the same knowing smile and nodded. She adored her husband just as much, she loved how he made her smile and laugh, the way he treated her and doted on her every need. They were in a word, perfect.

  It didn't bother her in the least that she had to be the main breadwinner, she enjoyed her job at the law firm where she had been made partner. She earned enough for them to enjoy a comfortable lifestyle, live in a nice little house in a decent neighborhood and never go without whatever was needed. Donovan had a brilliant mind, he was creative and innovative, even though some of his schemes failed most of the time; Ellie still found it amazing how even after so many failures, her husband would get up and try again.

  This time he had decided to try his hand at writing and to her surprise, he was good, really good in fact. He also had a thing for antiques, their house was filled to the brim with it, so when Ellie had seen the old typewriter in the window of a small second-hand store, she absolutely had to get it for him. Yes, they had laptops and tablets and all the modern luxuries most middle-class people owned, but this was different. To actually see the words typed out on black and white was awe inspiring.

  Donovan kissed his wife’s cheek and carried the heavy typewriter to his little study he had set up for himself at the far end of the house. He was excited about his new venture. All the research had been done on how to get published once his masterpiece was completed and he already had a few ideas on he was going to write about. A full length novel that was his aim. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he was positive that he could do it. Some of his short stories had already been published in a handful of magazines. A copy of each was neatly stacked on his desk beside him, and would keep him motivated.

  With the typewriter neatly in place, Donovan made himself comfortable and fed the first blank sheet into it. Making sure he has it properly aligned. With his index finger, he started pressing down on each individual key, testing to see if they worked and whether or not there was still ink on the antique tape. So far so good.

  The very last key he pressed just wouldn’t budge. He pressed harder, still nothing. The “period” button was just not responding. Still this didn’t deter him. He could always just add it in later with a pen when he was done so he shrugged the significance of it off.

  With his test done, he removed the paper, crumpled it up and tossed it in the waste basket next to the desk before feeding yet another paper into the typewriter.

  *~*~*

  Late the same night, when the couple had retired to bed and all was peaceful and silent within the house, a sudden loud banging echoed through the halls. Ellie woke with a start, reached over and shook her husband awake.

  “Don... There’s someone in the house.” Her frightened whisper was barely audible.

  With a loud yawn he merely turned over and shooed her hand off his shoulder.

  “Go back to sleep Ellie. There’s no one.”

  Ellie watched and listened in the darkness as Donovan fell back asleep, the only noise she could now hear was that of his rhythmic breathing and soft snores. She lay back down and closed her eyes. She was certain she wouldn’t sleep a wink, but only a handful of minutes passed before she too joined her husband back in the dream world, where all was right as rain.

  Meanwhile down in the study, anybody close enough to see it, would have been frightened to death. A mist was hovering over the seat which Donovan had been occupying just a few hours earlier. Deep within the mist came the voice of a man...

  “The world will know.”

  Slowly the words started appearing on the blank sheet which had been fed into the typewriter. Followed by a long row of the same period, which hadn’t previously worked. With a final loud bang on the keys, the mist dissipated.

  The next few days the words went unnoticed, Donovan hadn’t really started his writing career and as such, had not been into his study. He was in for a shock when he finally did.

  “Ellie!! Ellie!!”

  His panicked voice ec
hoed through the house. He sat down at the desk and pulled the sheet of paper out of the typewriter, held it closer to his face and started examining it from all angles.

  “What now Don?” came the voice of an annoyed Ellie.

  “I’m busy with an important account.”

  He held the paper up for her to see.

  “Is this some kind of joke?”

  Ellie leaned in closer and saw the words. She saw the confused and irritated look on her husband’s face. Not understanding what the big deal was.

  “Uhm...”

  “I came in here and this was typed out. Also, the other day when I tried out all the keys, the period button had refused to work. Dammit Ellie. What’s the deal here?”

  “You think I did this? I told you the other night that there was someone in the house. You refused to get up, all you did was blow me off!”

  Rage filled her. How dare he accuse her of something this stupid! She had done something nice for him, had wanted him to get ahead in his writing career, and now he was pulling this? She wouldn't have it.

  “Just tell me whether this is some kind of joke Ellie.”

  His voice was pleading, but she wouldn't have any of it. She merely shook her head and walked off. Leaving him alone with the sheet of paper.

  Maybe he had done it in his sleep, he’d been known to sleepwalk every so often. Maybe he had done it without realizing it. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation for it. Thus he let it go, shrugged it off and put it out of his mind.

  *~*~*

  His first novel. Excitement filled him as he fed the first blank sheet into the typewriter. This was it. He was going to be a novelist. Images of him standing on a podium, receiving an award for his debut book filled his mind. He would be a best-seller. He knew it.

  He inhaled deeply and tried to focus. His fingertips skimming softly over the old worn keys of the antique typewriter.

  “Chapter 1.”

  For hours he sat by his desk, banging away at the keys. It was like something had come over him. He knew exactly what he wanted to write, the words came to him without hesitation. Inspiration was the word of the day, and he felt that he had enough of it to last him a lifetime.

  By the time he stopped, the day had passed him by completely. It was pitch black outside. The only light was that of the small desk lamp beside him, which was dim and casting ominous shadows all around his small study. His neck hurt, he was tired, hungry and thirsty, yet he was still in good spirits. He had made progress. More than what he had hoped for, and he felt himself swell with self-pride. This was slowly becoming an addiction, and obsession. He wondered whether all writers felt the same kind of pride wash over them when they achieved as much as he had in one day.

  Completed pages stood stacked on the corner of the desk. He knew he didn't even need to go through then, why would he? He was a proficient typist, hardly ever making any mistakes. He knew what each page contained.

  With the day drawing to an end, he finally got up and left the typewriter. It was time to face life's responsibilities again.

  In the living room of the house, Ellie sighed in relief. The banging had finally stopped. She was grateful that she would be at work the very next day, not having to listen to the infernal banging of the typewriter keys as her husband continued with his masterpiece.

  Ellie couldn’t help but wonder whether things were OK between her and Donovan as she lay in bed that night. She peered over at her husband with worry etched all over her face. He seemed different somehow. Dark rings were under his eyes, he seemed distant and distracted. All through dinner she had noticed he was off-ish. She had prepared one of his favorite meals, Mac and Cheese with crispy bacon bits, but instead of gorging himself with second and thirds helpings, he merely picked at the food with his fork before finally declaring that he wasn’t all that hungry and getting up to go make himself comfortable in front of the TV.

  She gave herself a mental shake, maybe he was just coming down with the flu, or perhaps it was the effort and stress of trying to be a writer that was getting to him. Either way, she would go to the store the next day and buy him some vitamins. That might help. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep with the sound of her husband’s soft snores acting as a lullaby.

  *~*~*

  The banging grew louder and louder, so loud in fact that it was starting to sound like gunshots.

  Donovan just kept going, nothing and no one would stop him. All his focus was on the sheet of paper that had been fed into the typewriter once again. Even when that mailman had knocked on the door for a good fifteen minutes, he had not heard. Off in the distance a lawnmowers engine was humming as it cut the lawn of a neighbor. Within the house, the shrill ring of a land line could be heard, just not by Donovan.

  He had hardly slept the previous night, he found food bland and he couldn’t concentrate on anything besides writing, and so, that is just what he did. Hours went by, but there he sat, pouring words onto blank sheets of paper. The stack beside the typewriter growing larger by the hour. He was making immense progress.

  *~*~*

  A Few Weeks Later

  Ellie was worried, genuinely worried. Something had snapped in her husband. He wasn't eating, he wasn't sleeping. All he did was sit in front of that stupid old typewriter and bang at the keys. He wouldn't even allow her into the study anymore, and he himself hardly ever left it. He had become obsessed. When she had asked him if she could read some of his finished chapters, he had refused, more than just refused, he had called her mad, accused her of trying to steal his work, told her to stay away. Now he kept the door to the study permanently locked. He went as far as to install an extra padlock hole into the door and hid the key away.

  She was scared, scared of losing him, even more scared of what he might do. He had lost it.

  “Frank, its Ellie... Yes, yes... I’m doing OK thanks.... The reason I’m calling... Frank I’m in desperate need of your help.....Don’s lost it.... Please could you just get him out the house for a while? He’s been stuck in the study for so long now, it’s been weeks.... Thank you. Talk soon.”

  With the phone call over, she went to work on finding a locksmith nearby. She needed to get into that study, she needed to get hold of the typewriter. Something nagged at the back of her mind. A few days earlier she had been doing research on old typewriters and had come across a very old newspaper article. It mentioned a man that had been murdered over his typewriter, it mentioned his job, it also mentioned how even after the man’s death, the banging of the typewriter had been heard for days in the apartment he had lived and died in. The picture clipping in the article looked just like the typewriter she had bought her husband, and she could swear it was the same one. She had found out what the serial number had been, and needed to compare them. Only then would she know.

  With key in hand, she slid it in the keyhole of the padlock, twisted and waited for it to click open. A deep sense of fear and dread filled her to the core the moment she entered the study. Heaps of papers stood stacked on the desk, crumpled papers littered the floor and even worse, the walls of the study was covered in writing.

  “The world will know.”

  The room was cold and the smell was nauseating. Damp and mold was visible through rips in the wallpaper.

  It had only been a week or two since she had last set foot in the study, how this had happened baffled her. Ellie took a deep breath and stepped forward, further into the abnormal room. There it was, the typewriter. The object which she now feared more than anything. The cause of her life falling apart. It had taken hold of her husband.

  She instinctively knew that it was the same one she had read about. An eerie silence followed her as she reached out to lift the typewriter and turn it over. She shut her eyes for a second before allowing them to fall upon the serial number printed underneath.

  The loud bang startled her, she dropped the typewriter back onto the desk. She watched in horror as the keys started typing. How? There was no-one.
Suddenly Ellie started choking. A thick mist came pouring out of the typewriter. It filled her nostrils and mouth. She couldn’t breathe. She flailed her arms and clawed at her chest and throat. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, and for Ellie Reed, the world went dark.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Over and over. The house trembled and shook. The windows rattled and picture frames shattered as they fell and hit the floor.

  The once neat study was now a place of ruin and death.

  *~*~*

  Donovan could see the bright blue and red flashing lights of the police vehicle parked in front of his driveway. The lawn was littered with swarms of curious people who were being ushered away by deputies, to no avail. The once peaceful and quiet neighborhood was thrown into chaos. Not often were there police lights and sirens seen or heard. The rumors and gossip had already started.

  As the car drew to a halt, he jumped out and sprinted to the front door of his house. He tore the door open and was met with handcuffs as he was read his rights.

  “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “Ellie! Ellie!”

  “Mr Reed, please calm yourself. You understand the rights we just read to you, don’t you?”

  “No! Like hell I do! What is this? Where is Ellie?”

  “Mr Reed... You are under arrest for the murder of your wife Ellie Reed.”

  He hardly heard what the arresting officer was saying. The study door swung open and as the gurney was pushed out, he clutched his abdomen, doubled over and expelled the contents of his stomach.

  There, on the gurney, was his darling beautiful wife, dead. Before he could look away, his eyes caught the state of the study.

  That was not how he had left it. He had neatly stacked his papers on the desk, emptied out the trash bin and lit a few sticks of incense. This was... Wrong.

  He watched as the officers packed up all his personal items. His papers, the typewriter. All his hard work.

  “I didn’t do this! I swear! I loved my wife. Please! You have to believe me!”

  *~*~*

  “Choked and tortured to death”, that is what the police report said. The room where Ellie Reed had been found in by a neighbor who had heard the banging and crashing of furniture, had been trashed.

  Pictures had been torn, frames lay broken, papers were strewn all over the house, and the study walls had been covered in the words “The world will know”.