CHAPTER FIVE-XVIII

1 0 0

by kieka11

by kieka11

“Hi there, Harold.” George said as he walked into Harold’s room smiling. “Oh...Hi George.” Harold as he fixed his glasses. “You know...I’ve got a few questions for you.” George said as he clasped his hands. “...Why haven’t you been taking your medicine?” George asked. “What?....No, I have been. I don’t know where you got that idea from…” Harold said looking down at the ground. “Come into my office.” George said. Harold followed George into his office. Harold looked at the ground as he walked slowly behind George. Hailey looked up at Harold wondering what was going on. He didn’t even make eye contact with her.

George shut the door quietly behind them and sat down in his chair. “...Now...why would you lie to me, Harold?” George said as he clasped his hands and took a deep breath. “...I would never lie to you. I’ve said nothing but the truth…” Harold said to George. “Well Harold, I think you’ll be shocked to learn that hiding books under your bed doesn’t cut it anymore.” George said grinning as he pulled out Harold’s notebook from a drawer. Harold’s eyes widened with panic and shock. “Where the hell did you get that?!” Harold asked as his voice shook with fear. “....Don’t you know Harold? That I know…” George asked as he stood up from his seat. “...What do you mean?” Harold asked. “I mean I know everything….about you...you're plans...I know about every damn thing that goes on in this fucking building.” George said as he slowly walked over to Harold. Harold backed up into the corner while trying to get free from George.

“Harold, how could you think I was that stupid?” George asked Harold as he pushed Harold’s arm against the wall and held it there tightly. Harold’s eye shifted from side to side trying to find a way to wiggle free from the grip George held on Harold’s left arm. “You're not stupid…” Harold said looking down. He felt overwhelmed, and knew what was going to happen next. “....Your evil...you're a sick monster.” Harold said as he looked up at George. George’s face turned as red as the blood of all the innocent people he killed. “You will not escape! You will not run free! You will not survive!” George screamed into Harold’s ears. The screaming was nearly deafening. Harold shrieked in pain as George skewed his knife into Harold’s left forearm. Harold slowly looked over at the knife in his arm. It was vertical stabbed into his arm. Thick red blood slowly drizzled down his arm. Harold looked over at George in anger. “...You will not survive.” George said repeating himself with a cunning grin.

“You won’t be needing this...I have...other...plans for you now.” George said looking at Harold’s arm. “...Go ahead. I can’t even feel anything anymore you asshole!” Harold said angrily. “...Oh, you will. You most certainly will.” George said as he slid the knife down Harold’s arm. “Right here? Huh, is that a good spot?” George asked. “...You’ll rot in hell.” Harold said looking down. Harold was in so much pain, but he wasn’t going to break down and cry. His victims shrieks were what kept him content with himself. George picked up a bloody stained ax that was leaning up against a shelf. “...Remember this?” George asked Harold grinning from ear to ear. The ax had been left behind by the attackers in boots at the beginning of the apocalypse. “...Yes..I do.” Harold said as he swallowed in his throat. Without having a moment to think, Harold felt the shock in his arm. He saw an ax in his arm right under the knife. The darkness slowly took over everything Harold saw.

George dragged Harold by the feet across the floor. “Margaret, I know you're hungry.” George said as he took down his make-do wall of Acombian news. Margaret's pale glazed over eyes met with his. “I know you’ll enjoy this one, Margaret.” George said as he dropped Harold’s body in front of Margaret. “...Enjoy.” George said as he sat down in his chair and watched Margaret devour Harold’s body. George looked up at Harold’s arm still pinned to the wall with a knife. “...I’ll get that later...it’s ok, you never cared for hands that much anyway.” George said. George took a whiff of the air. “...Oh I’m terribly sorry for this terrible stench Margaret.” George said as opened a drawer in his desk. George liked to pretend that he didn’t know what the smell was coming from, but deep down inside, he knew it was from his rotting wife. George pulled out a candle and lit it. He wafted the scent of lemons toward his nose. “...Sweet sample number thirty-two.” George whispered to himself as he closed his eyes, clasped his hands, and let the soothing noise of Margaret put him into a trance.