- SquarerFire
- |
- Noble Member
I had a friend who lived in a MASSIVE house. He moved to Wales and I never saw him again, About 7 years after he left, the place was messed up, graffiti EVERYWHERE. I decided to have a look around (being the 13 year idiot I was) and relive some memories. I started in the bedroom, where I had learnt guitar with him. I was surprised to find that a dark red guitar was sat in the corner, gathering dust. Thinking of no-one but myself, I took the guitar from it's resting place and slung it over my shoulder.
Feeling that nothing more could be achieved in that decrepit room, I returned to the hall.
I saw the cupboard under the stairs, the one place I was never permitted. I went straight for it, nearly ripping the rusty door off it's hinges. Bending down, I realised that the guitar made it impossible to get in, so I took off the strap and placed the guitar by the door.
When I looked inside, the brilliance of the diamond sat between numerous other precious items blinded me for a moment, before I placed my hand on it. The smoothness of the jewel was incredible, the edges cut perfectly. I was stunned for a moment, but the second the jewel had sunk to the bottom of my pocket, the paralysis dissapeared. I was about to turn and leave when I heard guitar strings being plucked to a tune, and a distinct tune. My friends favourite song, Welcome to the Jungle, was flowing through the air, chilling my blood. I was too scared to move, so I listened to the music for a while, until it was abruptly interrupted by the slamming of a door behind me. I instantly whipped around, even as the cold breeze ruffled my hair. Grabbing the door handle, I instantly rose in height, hitting my head on the door frame.
When I woke up, I reached for my head, feeling for damage. I flinched at the feeling of the open wound, looking at my bloodied hand. It was then that I realised that there was water on the floor.
Red water.
I licked one of my fingers, and screwed my face up at the mixture of coppery blood and sea salt. I tried standing up to look at my surroundings, but the floor was swaying, knocking me into the wall, which was much colder than I had imagined, When I looked, the wall was made of steel. It was then that I realised.
I was on a slowly sinking ship.
I looked at my surroundings for the first time. They weren't impressive, just a bed and table. On the bed was a skeleton with what looked like a diary in one hand, and the backside of a photograph in the other. On the table was a small but ornate box with a note next to it.
When I read the note, I found that it would be wise to read the diary first, or I may not understand the contents of the box. I walked over to the bed, cringing at the sight of the diary, which was covered in what I assumed was my own blood. I pryed it from the hands of the skeleton, my clean hand soon drenched in blood. I placed the diary on the table, then wiped my hands on my clothes, which didn't help much, as they were also saturated. It was only then that I thought about my way out, and felt a chill run down my spine when I found that there was no visible way out. I went back to the skeleton to retrieve the photo, being careful not to see the picture on the other side, just in case.
Upon reaching the table, I was startled to find that two chairs had appeared, one of them occupied. The figure was dressed in a sailors uniform, and I recognised him immediately.
My friend was jesturing for me to sit down, my brain wanting answers, my legs thinking otherwise. I sat down, looking my friend straight in the face. He smiled happily and pointed to the diary. I knew instantly what he meant.
I opened the diary.
The first page was just a sketch of what appeared to be the box on the table, but with a diamond next to it. I thought about it for a second, but then I reached into my pocket and placed the diamond on the table. A laugh fell from my friends lips, but not a laugh I recognised. It was a psychotic laugh, filled with greed and gluttony. I shivered.
Turning the page, I found an incredibly small key in the crease of the book, and on the left page there was a short paragraph, on the right a sketch of an island. The paragraph read:
We have put the island behind us, and with it the fate that threatened us. The crew still seem uneasy, but I'm sure that will change when they get their share of the money we'll be making back home. This jewel is flawless, the box so mysterious. I have not yet opened it, but the crew have told me that do not wish it done until we are ashore. They believe it may condemn us while we are at sea. I'm not prepared to take a chance.
I felt something different in the room. When I tore myself from the diary, I saw a ladder to my side, leading out of a large hole in the ceiling. The box was missing and so was the key. The photo was still there, so I grabbed it and left the room.
I felt a strong breeze, and saw trees and sand. I pulled myself up and out of the room, and stood up on the sand. When I looked back at the room, I found that most of the ship was buried in the sand, only the bridge and prow protruding from the ground.
Looking at the ground, I found that the box and key were there, and my friend was sat on the sand by them. I sat down beside him and looked at the photo I had in my hand. It depicted him and his family standing proud in front of their house.
I continued reading the diary, which had most of it's pages torn out, and many of those that remained merely described the journey of the unfortunate sailors. The last page said:
I have made it home without opening the box, no matter the temptation. I will open it without delay, the mystery is killing me with it's tight embrace.
I looked at my friend, who in turn gestured toward the box. I reached for the key and stretched out towards the box. Once it was in my lap, I gently put the key in the lock and turned. The click of the tumblers echoed through the trees behind me.
I opened the lid on the box and gasped at what I saw.
A blood spattered gun with a clip of bullets next to it lay before me, an air of horror emmanating from it. A small note lay tucked into the corner of the box. I reached in and pulled it out.
To he who reads this, I cannot handle the thought of the poor men who died on that island to save this trinket. It was not worth the sacrifice. I am already married. I have no need of a ring, no matter it's worth. I leave it to the one worthy of it's beauty. Steven Kenny.
I took the gun from the box, a stunning ring fell. I picked it out of the sand and placed it in the box. I picked up the ammunition and placed it in the gun. Closing my eyes, I fired every bullet that rested in the chamber into the distance. I knew what I had to do. I had to compensate for this mans foolishness. I looked at my friend, who nodded, and suddenly, the pain in my head became excruciating, and i fell into the sand, slowly fading into darkness.
I awoke in blinding light, with my head bandaged and the box, guitar and diamond at my feet. I was outside a house. Not the house I had been in an hour prior. A smaller house that was looked after. Considering that my friendship with him was across a wide age range of 8 years, because he was leaving high school when I was starting, I presumed this was his house.
I knocked on the door and waited. A young and pretty woman answered, and I explained that I was there to see Robert. She seemed happy to have a visitor. She took me through to a room where I saw Robert sat watching TV. When he saw me holding the box and diamond, with the guitar over my shoulder, he looked shocked, but then smiled and introduced me to his girlfriend. I told him that we needed privacy, and his girlfriend seemed to understand. I felt out of place as I was so young and they were adults in love, but I had a duty.
I first handed him the guitar, but he shook his head and told me to keep it, as he had a new one. I smiled and agreed. I then showed him the diamond, and he looked at me as if I was his brother, and refused once again, telling me to keep it. But I shook my head and placed it on the table.
Finally, I handed him the box, and he had no idea what it was, so I told him never to let anyone see it's contents, and never get rid of it. He asked me how to open it, so I took out the key and opened the box.
The disgust on my friends face was unmistakable, but then I hande him the note. He read it slowly, then he read it again, and again. He pressed it to his face, even as the tears streaked down. I waited for him to stop, then handed him the ring. He was silent, so I told him to give it to his girlfriend.
We went back into the living room, where his girlfriend was waiting. I turned to leave, but my friend grabbed my arm and told me to stay. I watched as he went down on one knee and proposed to her. She cried out with joy and flung her arms around him, then she offered for me to stay the night. I had no idea where in Wales I was or how to get home, so I agreed. She tended to my head wound, which was not serious, but was quite deep. I slept soundly that night.
6 months later, the marriage took place in a small church by their house. It was a pretty affair, and I was content with what I had done.
3 months after that, Harry was born. They had named him after me, which made me cry. He was 6 pounds exactly.
The same month, a memorial went up in the local graveyard to honor Roberts father, Steven. I stood in the darkness contemplating the future, and went back to Roberts house.
This, my friends, IS a TRUE story. It may not be that scary, but I wanted somebody to know. Robert and Mellisa are now happily married with 4 children, and I visit regularly. If you were bothered to read this, and want to investigate, go to Earby, North Yorkshire, Number 12 Cowgill street and ask for Liam Morrison. He will tell you about me if you ask the right questions.