⠀𓈒⠀⠀𓏸 Man In The Attic 𓇼

02.

𝑪hapter Two
         ౨ৎ 🍓｡˚🍰♡ ˚₊‧ ︎      

" We're at the cabin where Mr. and Mrs. Edward died. Mrs. Edward found out about her husband's cheating with her boss, Mrs. Manderson, and stabbed him. Before she could do more harm, he shot her with a Mossberg 940 tactical shotgun. She died quickly from the injury. The police reported that Mr. Edward lay beside her and said, "I love you" before passing away from the loss of blood." Two men stood at the front of the cabin, pointing at the porch where Mr. and Mrs. Edward were found. One held a Panasonic S-VHS Reporter, motioning it around the guy who narrated. They had flashlights shining through the cabin's windows as they stalked toward the patio.

"You see that?" The narrator said while pointing at the white and brown bird that sat on a dead tree branch. It was a great horned owl perched, its 35-inch body still. Its piercing orange-yellow eyes watched the two people intently. Like darts, its pupils seemed to pierce through them as they stared. The cameraman focused the camera on the bird, observing its surroundings as its head smoothly turned 135 degrees.

"That's a great-horned owl. They're nocturnal and have a wingspan of 4.6 feet." The man said, going off-topic. He was amazed by the owl; it was rare to see such a sight in Canada. The cameraman diverted his camera from the owl and pointed it towards the narrator. As he peered through the lens, he caught sight of a person vanishing from the window.

"Did you see that?" The man quickly said, taking the camera away from his eye and pointing at the window. The narrator hurriedly pointed the flashlight at the glass, looking through it to see if anyone was there watching them; the area was empty, and no sign of movement was happening. "You're probably tired. Let's hurry this up. I'm getting cold," he said to the cameraman as he tightened his jacket around him. It gets cold at night in the woods, especially near Moraine Lake.

As the man shared additional details about the murder, the camera remained focused on him, capturing his every word and expression. "Three years ago, on the day before Halloween, Manderson hollered the night the police found their bodies. She kept apologizing to Mrs. Edward's body as they rolled it away in a black body bag." As the narrator led them back toward the front of the cabin, he explained minor details. However, he suddenly stopped talking and turned his head sharply to the right in response to the creaking sounds that sounded like footsteps behind him.  

"You hear th-" A loud whoosh swept through the air before a hard smack was planted against the narrator's face with a rusty, sharp shovel. Blood streamed down his nose like a waterfall before getting hit again, this time on the back of the head. As the shovel struck the back of his head, a loud ding resonated through the metal, causing it to vibrate gently.

The cameraman tried to run, letting the camera slip out of his hands. It thumped as it hit the ground, sending a few loose pieces flying. 

An old lifting wooden plank caused him to trip and fall to the ground, scraping his face against the wood. Thin splinters pierced his skin, making him hiss in pain. He pressed his hand to his face, applying pressure to the painful areas. They stuck out his skin like darts, forcing bits of blood to slip from the wound.

The camera was pointed towards him, still recording through the broken lens. It captured him turning around and staring at the pair of feet hovering over him. As he looked up, his face was hit with the shovel, causing his body to slap back on the patio. The shovel disappeared from view as if it were being lifted. After a few seconds, the shovel came down between the man's head and neck, splitting him in half. Blood sprayed from his neck like a sprinkler, splattering and oozing onto the ground. The same feet approached the camera before slamming it with the shovel and breaking the footage.

After the commotion, the same owl spread its wings before descending to the wooden railing, its four sharp talons gripping it tightly. "Hi, Gray," Bill said, rubbing his fingers through the owl's feathers. They felt as soft as cotton. If he could, he would bury himself in Gray's feathers. For sixteen years, the owl had been his faithful companion. After his father's death, he set the owl free. However, the owl's persistent return indicated its reluctance to leave. As Bill brushed through the owl's feathers, he surveyed the mess he had caused. Two bodies lay dead, and a broken camera had shattered glass everywhere."I need to clean this before she wakes up."

After five hours of cleaning, Bill stood over the kitchen sink, scrubbing his bloody palms with clear, soapy liquid. Bubbles formed, making squishing sounds as he ran his left fingers between his right. The sink faucet ran a thin stream of water, creating a soft puttering sound as it splashed into the basin below. He extended his clean hands beneath the warm flowing water, thoroughly rinsing away every trace of soap. Once finished, he reached for a green dish towel that India had thoughtfully hung from one of the nearby drawers and dried his hands.

Bill carefully put the towel back in its rightful place before quietly walking up the stairs toward India's room. The wooden door creaked slightly from Benny's earlier comings and goings. As he pushed the door open, he noticed India's hidden body beneath layers of white cotton bedding, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath. Her lying head peaked from the top, showing her sheer yellow scarf covering the top of her head while the rest of her braids spilled over the side of the mattress.

He stood at the foot of her red-and-white plaid canopy bed, surrounded by lace ruffles trimming the edges of everything in sight. The decor reminded him of strawberries or perhaps cherries. How she had chosen her furniture and appliances made him smile, knowing she had found comfort in the cabin. Unlike others, she had no intention of changing, instead embracing the cabin with her unique style.

From under the bed, Benny, the golden retriever, came and unexpectedly began to nip at Bill's bruised toes. His sharp teeth poked at his skin, making a painful sensation run through his foot. The dog growled as he nipped, hoping Bill would come down and play with him. He responded by gently kicking the small puppy underneath the bed, away from his painful foot. It turned purple and red hues, unable to heal from Bill's constant straining.

Benny once again growled before barking. Immediately, causing the sleeping beauty to stir in her sleep. Quickly, Bill froze in place, motionless like a statue. His heart pounded so rapidly that it felt like two brass cymbals were rhythmically striking within his chest. She groaned as her body flipped towards the right side and fell right back into a deep slumber.

After twenty seconds went by, Bill felt safe enough to move again. He quietly kneeled on the floor before slipping his huge body underneath her bed. Benny's small body hid there perfectly, while Bill forced his body to fit in. The wooden floor was freezing against his bare skin as he lay straight against it, but with Benny's warm kisses, he didn't mind. 

The day Benny saw him, it felt like the dog had fallen in love. He was always nipping and kissing him like he was the best human in the world. A few more licks across the face before Benny called it a night and fell asleep on Bill's stomach.

The room was silent and dark, so he stared at the black fabric underneath her box spring for a while. He listened to her soft snores as if she were some kind of song playing on the radio. It was both entertaining and peaceful—something Bill longed for.

Authors note 📝: If your man doesn't kill for you, throw him in the trash 🗑. I'm just playing, but isn't that crazy? Getting killed with a shovel. Couldn't be me, but anyway I hope y'all liked it.

Stay positive bitches
🦦