Blood Moon 3 (Haunted)

Dead Key

Early 1900's

A loud banging could be heard all the way down the hall. It was not the sound of someone banging against a wall, or that of a rocking chair banging back and forth as an elderly lady sat knitting what was to be a grandchild's Christmas sweater. No, it was the banging you heard when someone was hard at work, with ideas and words flowing effortlessly as they slammed on the keys of an early 1900's typewriter. It was still new at that stage, with black keys that were still stiff and had to be banged on in order for it to actually make an impression on the white paper that had been fed into it.

Charles Whittaker was the city's leading writer on conspiracy theories, though most people thought him to be a crack-pot. His ideas and theories held no proof or even made sense, yet was fun and entertaining to read. Admit it, in the early 1900's people needed to take their minds off of what was happening. Life as we know it now in modern times, was not so easy back then.

"I knew it! Now the world will know too."

He banged furiously on the typewriter, in a hurry to get his article done before the newspapers went into print for the next day's top stories.

"I will make front page for this." He muttered to himself under his breath as he lit yet another cigarette, the previous one still burning in the overflowing ashtray on the desk beside him.

He had done it, he had stumbled across the proof he needed to reveal the largest conspiracy the world had ever known, and he was about to blow the lid right off it. Oh he knew that there were going to be people angered and hurt. He knew he was taking a risk, but to him it was nothing, after all, what could they do? Awards and bountiful riches were going to be his. Or so he thought.

The door behind him creaked open, but he was so focused on the words that were appearing on the sheet of paper in front of him as he banged on the typewriter that he didn't even notice the large burly man with a vicious gleam in his eyes standing right behind him. Nor did he notice as the axe came swooshing down, cracking his skull and lodging itself deep as blood sprayed and poured down over his face, into his eyes and over the typewriter. The white paper was now nothing more than a soggy crimson mess. .

"I knew it." A mere whisper escaped him as Charles Whittaker took his last breath, slumped over onto the typewriter and died. The intruder grimaced at the sight before him, turned on his heel and left as quietly as he had entered, leaving nothing but death behind him.

The door clicked closed just as the first bang on the typewriters keys could be heard. Over the bloodied soggy page it typed out one sentence. "The world will know."

*~*~*

Present

"Perfect! Absolutely perfect! Baby, you know me so well. I love it, thank you!"

Thoughtful and kind, always supporting his hair-brained schemes, Donovan Reed adored his wife Ellie. Every so often he would come up with new ideas on how to make money quick, and Ellie always just smiled the same knowing smile and nodded. She adored her husband just as much, she loved how he made her smile and laugh, the way he treated her and doted on her every need. They were in a word, perfect.

It didn't bother her in the least that she had to be the main breadwinner, she enjoyed her job at the law firm where she had been made partner. She earned enough for them to enjoy a comfortable lifestyle, live in a nice little house in a decent neighborhood and never go without whatever was needed. Donovan had a brilliant mind, he was creative and innovative, even though some of his schemes failed most of the time; Ellie still found it amazing how even after so many failures, her husband would get up and try again.