School Creepypasta

18: A killer

The house looked different from how he remembered it.
Charley stared at it, Jeff standing behind him impatiently.

"Well? Done staring?"

"Why are we here?" Charley asked in an odd tone. He knew, but still he asked.

"Well guess," Jeff pushed a knife in Charley's hands despite the knife Charley already had in his pocket. He glared at Jeff.

"I can't do that."

"Well then," Jeff took a knife off his own and put a finger on Charley's side. He felt it against his sweater, but he could imagine a knife down his skin, "First I'll make a cut here—"

"Okay!" Charley stepped away and held up his hands. He was scared as he looked at the monster next to him. "I get it."

Jeff grinned and pointed at the house. "Let's go in then."

No.

Charley looked at the house.

His parents house.

He prayed that somehow he was wrong, that somehow he was simply here to visit them. With that false, but very sweet and almost addictive hope, he slowly walked to the door.

His hand had barely even grazed the doorknob. Charley froze when he heard glass breaking inside.

"Oh," Jeff's grin widened, "I didn't think you'd be living in a household with troubles."

Charley shook his head, his terror getting thrown aside with confusion. "I'm not."

"Sure, but let's go in." Jeff said quickly.

As Charley stared at the door, he frowned. He was supposed to kill two people very close to him. He just heard glass break— Jeff stared at him impatiently. With a sigh Charley told himself to just go in and see what would happen.

As overwhelming as it was, Charley took a deep breath and tried the door.

"It's locked," he told Jeff before walking to the flower pot. He knew there to be a spare key, hiding behind it.
As he reached he found it and then froze at Jeff's curious glance.

Charley sighed and shook his head miserably.
He just had to get inside, and then he'd see to the rest later.
He unlocked the door, it hit against some glass and Charley looked down at the floor.

An empty bottle of beer, why was it on the floor?
Picking it up, Charley put it down on the shoe rack he used to store his shoes. Now he noticed, he found only his fathers shoes. He stared a moment. Voices came from the living room.

"Mom?" Charley hurried inside, throwing open the door to the living room. Sitting on a couch, looking confusedly at Charley, was a stranger. A woman with eyes just like his mothers, but it wasn't.
As Charley's eyes shifted to his father he found him sitting on a couch, looking at him in shock.

"Charley?"

He looked tired, his father did. Messy, his hear unkept, head unshaved, eyes dark with dark bags under them to match.
Charley looked at the beer bottles laying around before looking back at his father.
"Where's mom?"

The woman sitting on the couch glanced between the two. Jeff wasn't near, Charley didn't see him anyway, but he just wanted to know where his mother was.

Softly, the whisper of his father broke through.

"She left."

It was as if the thin ice shattered.
Charley stared, his fist clenching tightly, tighter until it shook and he wished he could throw it at someone.
The silence rung as Charley told himself to stay calm.
"Why?" Charley demanded. It was hardly a question.

The woman finally spoke up.
"Sorry, but it was because of me. Anyway, who are you?"

Charley looked at the woman now. Anger wanted to blind him, to do things he tried not to think off, but he held his ground and just took a deep breath.

"Whatever." Charley's father got up from his seat and took a step towards him. His hand pressed on Charley's shoulder tightly. Charley recognised it now. The way he held it, Jeff had wanted something horrible from him as well when he had held his shoulder like that.
"Go to her if you want to cry," his father gave him a sharp glare and Charley felt himself shake uncontrollably, "I've moved on, with—"

Before Charley could stop himself, his clenched fist came forwards in a quick, practiced punch.

Stumbling back, his father held his now bleeding nose.
"Fuck!"

His anger took over, Charley pushed his fist in his father's face again, again, and again. His father fell over, but Charley just continued to throw his fist in his face as his chest burned with a sharp cramp. Everything he had ever bottled up, he continued to punch his father. He hated him.

When he noticed the blood on his hands, the misformed face in front of him, the low chuckle in the air, Charley realised it was too late. He was supposed to hold himself back, why didn't he?

Feeling stupid, Charley sat back, his knees weak as he kept on staring at the face he didn't recognise anymore.

"Fuck."

—

A while passed before Charley got up.
Jeff had been watching him. The woman from before was stuck in his grip, her ugly dress torn because of the knife close to stabbing her.
"Should I save her for you?"
Jeff's grin told Charley he was having fun. Charley looked around at the ground and picked up the knife he had dropped somewhere in his 'blind rage'. He hated it.

Charley didn't speak. He didn't think he could think. His thoughts seemed thick, unable to be. He felt sick.

Still he had thoughts which said he wanted this to end. He wanted to leave, and quick.

Clenching the knife, Charley felt himself smile. He came here to kill, he realised how simple it was. Murder was what he came for, not family drama.
"I think you should."
He should finish his job.

When Charley left, he felt satisfied.
Of course he discouraged this, but still he left the house with a satisfied feeling.

Jeff cackled up. "I wish all sitcoms were like this!"

Charley smiled. He suddenly chuckled. "Fuck, I do too!" He had wanted to kill his father, did he not? How many times had Charley wanted to? Wasn't it nice that he was dead? Wasn't it good that Charley had been angry at him? Was it really that bad?

An arm circled around Charley's neck and pulled him down into a rough half hug. Jeff laughed and cheered Charley's mood on.

When Charley sat in his dormitory though, he stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the world around him.
Another chuckle escaped him when he wanted to cry.
He was a killer, until now he hadn't even realised that. Until now it hadn't dawned on him who he was.

A murderer.