The killers hunt By:Tia Manning
Vince sat, blood trickling down towards his elbow, with his recently decease wife lying in his arms; her face pale and soulless. As tears cascaded down his cheeks, he turned to see his two young children who were bound in ropes beside him. Vince’s young daughter, her blonde hair tangled and knotted with congealed blood, was contorted with a gash across her neck; her eyes glassy and motionless. His son was lying on his front, a pool of blood forming around his head and deep rope abrasions looking sore around his neck and wrists; his eyes empty and lifeless.
‘Who did this to you?’ Vince whimpered, ‘No! Why couldn’t you have killed me, you bastards?’ Vince began to raise his voice, forcing his trembling words through gritted teeth.
The room where he was knelt was dark and eerie, everything was still.
The only detectable movement was a wired, blood covered phone swinging from side to side, knocking against the wall as it did so. The dial tone continuously sounded and broke the deathly silence of the room. Vince was cradling his wife’s cold body, using his hand to pressure on the deep wound on her head, the injury inflicted by some kind of heavy, blunt object.
Moments later, sirens could be heard and dull red lights flashed through the tussled blinds. With a sickening bang, the door flew open revealing a sea of uniformed policemen who barreled through the splintered doorway.
‘Sir,’ a burley officer pronounced, ‘stay calm.’
‘Calm!’ Vince shrieked, ‘My family has been bludgeoned…’ he trailed off and began to cry again.
One week later…
Vince was sat at a dining table with his head hung wearing a black suit. Looking up, he saw an array of flowers covering the blood stained carpet where the bodies of his murdered wife and children once lay. The multitude of colours blurred as his eyes filled with tears and his mind flooded with the thoughts of his now broken home.
Dragging himself off the chair, he trudged over towards the make shift memorial grounds that had been created in his foyer and began to admire the heart felt messages left in the memory of the decease. Smiling slightly at the messages but with tears still rolling down his cheeks, a family photo on the mantel piece behind caught his eye.
Inspecting the photograph, he reveled in the unforgettable memory frozen in time. Vince felt something sticky and dried over behind the frame and so turned it around to discover bloody fingerprints on the hooks keeping the backing closed. Intrigued, Vince made his way back to the table and began to open the back of the frame; his eyebrows frowning and eyes squinted. Slowly, he unpinned the fastened back and pulled off the backboard of the frame, which was covered in four smeared fingerprints.
Inside, he was surprised to find a ripped, stained piece of paper with messy writing scrawled across it; drops of blood and splatters of ink covering the paper. Vince couldn’t believe his luck, thinking the message may have been from his wife. This was until he began to read –
‘Vince,
I must congratulate you on finding this note – an imbecilic buffoon
such as yourself being so unintelligible I can’t believe you have a family to call your own…oh, wait, now you don’t.’
Anger built up inside of Vince and his stomach began to knot as he read the note, yet, he carried on reading –
‘Regardless of the fact you’re not the brainiest, I will leave you one
last message…try and decipher it.
I will give you your final dose of reality and hope that it will be the key to what you are looking for. Try and use this message to your advantage and ensure you digest the information I am dishing out and you will find the meaning of everything.
