The Entertained

A Chelsea Grin

"Are you finished yet honey?" A voice called from downstairs.
"Almost!" A voice replied, it was a male voice with a happy tone, obviously glad to hear from a loved one. The man in question was named Thomas, Thomas Peterson. Thomas was in the middle of some woodwork, it was originally supposed to be a surprise for his wife's birthday but of course, the amount of time he'd spent in his workshop... It made her suspicious. He didn't really see the point of continuing the project but he was so far into it, it was too late to do anything about it. So he was sawing away, trying to create the shape he so desired.

A figure, a silhouette stood in a moderately sized garden. A house stood before him, pretty suburban, lights on, everybody home. The perfect target. He had no disguise or ski mask for he was not one to perform petty crime. Those who did that made mistakes. He made no mistakes. Ever. Such clumsiness would surely ruin his fun, and he had no plans of stopping that anytime soon. Some may have called him a psychopath, some a maniac, but he loved nothing more than chaos. It was just... Perfect.

Thomas finished up his work, a lick of paint and he was done. The piece was full of the loving shape of a heart. A large heart-shaped photo frame was featured in the middle, adorned with many smaller carved hearts. He had painted it with care with varying shades of crimson and pink. It was more of a valentines present than a birthday present, but Thomas did not care, he was glad to be finished with it. The suspense of seeing his wife's face when he would show it to her had both been a blessing (as it had fuelled him with adrenaline) and a curse. He finally unlocked the workshop room and stepped out.

No The figure had moved, now he stood in front of the house. He scanned the windows and saw the darkened silhouette of a man in the upstairs window. There was another window next to it, open, if he scaled the wall he would definitely be able to get inside and give the gentleman a slightly less than pleasant surprise. He placed his hands on the wall and tried to get a grip. When his hands slipped without any imperfections to hold onto, he made his way to the door. He jumped, hooking his palms onto the shelter and pulling himself up, then he reached with his right hand to a window ledge and swung toward it. His left hand met his right. He looked up. Right above him was the open window, he smiled, a wide smile full of anticipation. In a feat of strength he lifted his legs onto the ledge and stood up, grazing his head slightly on the bricks, he did not care. One final pull up to the window above and he was able to carefully climb in. He stood in front of the door, waiting. Waiting for the man to open the door. Waiting to enjoy himself. Waiting to kill. He heard the familiar sound of the door handle clicking, he was ready.

Thomas opened the door, expecting his wife to be close so he could call her over. His wife, however, was not the one outside the door. No, outside the door was a man, and he was smiling. Smiling right at him. His eyes darted to the window, its curtain flying in the wind, looking like a parachute. He felt the chills in his spine and opened his mouth to either scream or call for his wife (she was a dab hand at that frying pan). The moment he tried to get the sound out he was met by a strong, clammy hand. Out of instinct he tried licking his captor's hand, hoping that he would remove his hand in disgust, he did not. The hand tasted chalky and dusty.
"Oh God..." He thought
"He's climbed the fucking wall..."
As he was pulled back into his workshop, he felt his heart pushing against his chest, intuition told him that this was it. This was the end. He did not even get to give his wife her present. He did not get to say goodbye. He could not tell her he loved her.

This was going to be exciting, this was going to be great. Absolute chaos. He grabbed his victim's gloves and slipped them on, proceeding then to grab the electric saw. Seeing Mr Peterson's panic, he could not help but let out a chuckle.
"Oh this isn't for you." He said in a voice that went straight through Mr Peterson. He picked up the frame that his victim had worked so hard on and turned on the saw, hacking it to pieces. When he was finished he turned to Thomas.
"Did I say it wasn't for you?"
Thomas nodded quickly
"Well I meant it wasn't for you... Yet." He laughed to himself, going back to the desk and picking up a piece of wood, he walked back over to Mr Peterson and thrust it into his mouth.
"Bite it." He said forcefully, smiling when his target complied.
"I'm a reasonable man sir, I'm sure you know by now that I am going to kill you,"
"I'm also a one murder a session kind of guy so if you make a single sound I'll be forced to kill your wife too, and we both don't want that do we?" Thomas shook his head violently, accepting his fate but trying to keep his wife alive.

The saw was on again and now it was held against his legs. The pain was excruciating as it slowly cut through his legs, it reached his bones and he reluctantly destroyed his wife's chance of survival.
"Please... Stop..." He said weakly,
"Stop? Stop!? Well thanks to that I have to do more work,"
"Maybe I won't be as creative."
The saw was pushed harder as it tried to get through his bones, when it finally reached the other side, he fainted at the sight of his amputated legs. Everything went dark permanently however when the saw was finally plunged into his chest.

He turned off the saw, leaving it lodged in Mr Peterson's chest. He then found one of the only surviving wooden hearts from the photo frame and pushed it inside the wound and taking the saw out when he was done. He laughed again and reached for his knife. It slipped out with ease. He leant over the body and held the blade to the corner of Thomas's mouth, he sliced, not caring about how the blood was pooling around him. He moved to the other side and his work was finished.
But wait, no it was not. He still had to take care of the wife.

He left the workshop and entered the bedroom where Mrs Peterson was now asleep. He opened a drawer and took out the protection he needed. The last thing she would remember was to be the crinkling of the wrapper and the warmth of what she believed to be her husband against her.

WOO! Chapter 4 finally done! I've had like no motivation. Hope you liked this more descriptive and gruesome murder, I hope the end leaves nothing to the imagination as I am not writing that shit.
Anyway hope you enjoyed, if I get views/likes/comments I'll try to do chapter 5, I'm just at a loss for ideas.
Tell me: what should Graham and Annabelle do next?

Byeeee
~Pom