Blood is written on the Crown
(Outro)
By
Robby Richardson
“And . . . done,” leaning back in his chair Stephen rested his fingers together staring at his screen. His last work finished as he smiled over it, “I can’t believe . . . it’s done”. “It is my latest masterpiece,” he reached over and hit save. Wiping his glasses he stood up from his chair, his brown hair was matted spending two whole days writing his latest work. He stretched his legs as he headed to the only thing he desired now, a shower. “I hope the fans like it . . . the scariest work yet,” he nodded, “yeah that sounds good”. He headed out the door, his house empty. “Tomorrow the madness of life would begin,” he smiled as his thoughts took over. The horrors that he wrote about we’re nothing compared to the horrors of daily life. The simplicity of writing horror was less scary than living it. Oh how he wished he could write stories, his stories, all day instead of returning to the world that he dreaded so.
He headed down his corridor revealing the different celebrities he had met, “ah, the one that started it all,” he ran his hand over the dusty glass and repeated the title, “Sherrie”. He turned his head as the memories of the late nights he had spent writing his first book flooded his head. He moved down the corridor finally getting to the stairs, “time for a hot shower, before the family gets back”. It was funny how talking to himself provided the only other comfort to him. The shower seemed to call to him as his foot touched the first step.
He could almost feel the warm water running over him. KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK, he stopped and turned to the front door. “Jesus,” he growled, who would be coming at this hour of the night. He stopped, was it his family? Did they come back early? He shook his head, “no, no they wouldn’t. They know my ritual for writing”.
Stephen crossed the room in two strides as his hand landed on the doorknob. “Alright, this better be . . .” he stopped midsentence as he stared at the strangest pair standing on his doorstep. He walked back in utter terror, “no, this . . . this can’t be”? “Mr . . . .” he stopped as his terrified stutter babbled uselessly, “Ste . . . Ste, Steph, Stephen . . . this can’t be,” he turned to run but the double doors crashed shut.
He slammed against them.
“Let me out,” he turned back as the pair entered his house. The boy was nothing compared to his company. It was like something out of one of his horror stories. He shook his head as he made his way towards the stairs. “I wouldn’t do that Stephen,” Stephen got up a couple steps, “STEPHEN”! He stopped mid-step as he stared at the hooded figure, “You know why we are here”. Stephen shook his head, “I don’t know what’s going on . . . keep away from me”! He raised his hand and pointed to the cloaked figure, “it’s not my time. I’m not going”. The young boy next to him had a wide white smile. His hair was tussled as his young complexion made him look juvenile to his older interior. “But Stephen, I thought . . . I thought you wanted to meet him, that’s . . . that’s why I am brought him . . . here, to your very door . . . to you”. “Here,” he said, Stephen advanced up the stairs as the Grim Reaper entered the room. The lights gave a little pop and the room went dark.
The chill grew colder as the Reaper’s shadow surrounded the room. His cloak was thick as it pushed aside the boy and advanced towards him. His legs seemed frozen, the young boy advanced too. His jaw fell as no scream exited. He felt like one of his victims in his books. True fear and death standing before him, it was something he couldn’t imagine. The boy advanced with the Grim Reaper leading the way, “Death . . . he, he wanted to meet you”. Stephen took a step back and tripped landing on the stairs as Death descended upon him. His glasses slid off his face, shaking violently he turned to the laughing boy. “What . . . why are you doing this,” unsheathing a large butcher knife he twirled it in his hand smiling, “so kings may rise Stephen”. He gripped the knife tighter as his tone grew more serious, “so kings may rise”.
The End