Psycho Fear

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Psycho Fear

It was a depressing, gloomy evening. Pedestrians walked the streets of Manhattan attending to their daily routines, not wondering what horrific atrocities were taking place at The Manor House...he had killed.

        With the knife in his hand, the tension spread through his body like an uncontrollable spasm. The blood dripped from the sharp jagged blade as he held it high above his head, he had a malicious look upon his face. It was as if in slow motion and with a sickening sound, the blood plummeted to the once clean ceramic floor.

        James Pearce was the third on his list, the third he wanted to brutally kill, and now the task was complete.

        It was then he saw a decorative ornament that gave him a fascinating idea, and idea of murder and psychotic feelings. Beyond the basin and the microwave that stood so still on the wooden table, was a shelf. A shelf filled with ornaments from around the world, miniature statues and paintings, but that one single ornament, the one that stood out from all the rest, was a small shrunken head. It gave him the incentive of collection, the collection of his enemies’ heads, the people that so tortured him as a child.

        He thought of it as a trophy, a trophy of revenge, sweet sweet revenge. Yes, decapitation of his victim’s heads was, he thought, necessary.

                                        

For the next twelve hours the house was deserted. Then, at eleven O’clock the next morning James Pearce’s Psychiatrist came by to give him his prescription and noticed there was blood on the doorknob and the door was ajar. He ran inside and the gruesome sight of James Pearce’s rotting body met his eyes...he gasped and immediately ran to the phone to call the police.

        By mid-day the house was swarming with police along with the F.B.I’s homicidal investigation unit.

        The aroma in the house was repulsive, it almost made an investigation impossible, but nonetheless it took place. However, no conclusive evidence was found to inform the police to who committed the murder.

        Agent Smith, member of the renowned F.B.I commented pattern of the murders. This person and the two before that were killed; all went to high school together. The police could be dealing with a personal vendetta he thought.

        Though the F.B.I scoured the house and searched every nook and cranny, they found nothing until the police did. A cassette was obtained from James’s stereo system. Just as soon as it was found, the F.B.I came out of nowhere to take the evidence for their own study.

        Agent Smith took the tape to the van outside. Maybe it was just a music tape that James would listen to, but seeing as though nothing else was found, it was worth a shot.

        Inside the van definitely wasn’t normal, computers lay on small side tables whilst men wearing futuristic looking headphones typed away. You would think some sort of 'Secret Government Operation' was going on, either that or a film scene for a children’s program.

        Agent Smith handed the tape to one of the men with headphones, and sat down on a small chair next to him.

        'So we finally have some evidence do we?' Said the man with a smirk on his face. 'It’s about bloody time,' he added.

'Don’t think yourself so witty Andrew, if you have no evidence to examine then you have no job!' Agent Smith replied stubbornly.

Join now!

Andrew, the examiner who had just been contradicted by his 'supposedly' amusing joke had now started listening to the tape. It all went quiet, only the sound of Andrew nodding his head and humming could be heard.

'Ah Ha,' Said Andrew at regular intervals.

'What... What?'

Though Agent smith eagerly asked Andrew to tell him what he had found, he carried on examining the tape, until finally removing the headphones with a contented look on his face. Eventually, he broke through the barrier of his pleased ego and said something.

'Well, I think 'I' am getting somewhere Mr Smith.'

...

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