𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

p.

WARNING!

THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC IMAGERY, MURDER, VIOLENCE, SUICIDE, DEATH, & SMUT.

(If you are under the age of 15 and do not like any of these things PLEASE click away NOW!)

Thank you!

prelude

The Year of 1869

Somewhere in North Carolina...

Omniscient
***

The house was so quiet. Too quiet. The birds were no longer chirping but the crickets were wide awake underneath the window seal. Sounded as if they were calling for their lost loved ones that were far from home. But around these hours it was the worse hours. It was exactly two-fifty nine in the morning but within the next sixty seconds, five lives would change history forever. John Menace was going to shake history so badly, it would make Abraham Lincoln's murder look like a scripted murder from a movie scene.

*shuck*

There it was, that sound. The old school clock striking three a.m. It was like time had gradually slowed down, so sluggishly. Then, there were the words, those dark, chilling, sinful, wicked, and conjuring words. "Grab them, stab them." The verbalism was so sweet, sweet of a female voice. So sexy to the ears, it would make a dog howl.

John's eyes flew open like blinds in a window. His eyes reverted to the pale skin of a beautiful woman. The hair that covered her head was a strawberry blonde but the color looked washed-out. Her baby blue eyes now held the look of a gruesome, deplorable sadness. As if her happiness was interrupted by something sinister.

John smiled. He was ecstatic that she was here. When did she get out of that psychiatric facility? How did she make it out? Did she run away? "O-Olive? Is th-that you?" John was so appalled all he could do was stare at her.

"Yes, my love. It is me. But I see you have moved on." She said regressing her eyes at the sleeping beauty that laid beside John. John turned his head as if he was caught cheating. As if he didn't know that was his wife laying on the other side of him.

"My sweet Olive-" Olive raised her fragile hand in front of her to silence John at once. He halted his speech, looking at her.

"I am no longer your sweet Olive, John. She- that is your sweet Olive." She hung her head. Her voice laced with hurt and weakness. Olive felt defeated that John had done such a thing.

"Yes you are." John raised himself from the bed. The sleep leaving his eyes more and more he still couldn't believe she was standing right in front of him. But when he turned all the way facing her completely he saw in the moonlight that shown from the sliding door in the bedroom, her neck looked afflicted.

Olive looked down at him as he looked up at her with furrowed eyebrows. "Why do you look at me in such a disgrace?" She questioned concerned. Honestly, she was uncomfortable with his lingering stare.

"W-What happened, to your neck my love?" Olive's eyes dilated with so much fear and astonishment she backed away. "What's wrong?" John stood up from his bed. Feeling the bed shuffle his wife released a relaxed breath as she turned over repositioning herself to lay on her stomach.

"Nothing. I s-should go." She stammered backing up. John took a few steps forward. He didn't want her to leave.

"You just got here. Why is there a red ring around your neck?" He asked. Olive had to do something quickly. Or he'd find out why she was really here. He'd find out why she really came back. Suddenly Olive's blue eyes had rolled into a charcoal black covering the white spaces completely. Her breathing became faster as her body began to shake slightly.

John watched intently at the disturbing action that developed in front of him. "Grab them, stab them." She repeated moments before. Then at that very moment John's eyes had mocked the same action just like Olive's. His mood changed from happy to extremely livid. He was so mad he wanted to rip his wife's head off.

John had walked over to Sasha's side of the bed. Standing over her body he couldn't wait to turn their beautiful white sheets into a red blood bath. Olive stood behind him her adrenaline at a race. Olive had grabbed the sharpest cooking knife she could find, sliding it into John's sweaty palms. He gripped it tightly in his right hand.

"Do it John," Olive whispered into his ears. The hairs in his ear standing at attention. Olive then grabbed a pillow from his side of the bed to prepare to muffle the screams. Raising the long cooking knife above his head, his mouth fell agape as his next action was so quick he didn't even realize he had stabbed his wife. He pulled the knife back out then jabbed it again the same exact spot. His wife's screams were muffled tightly careful that the children upstairs and down the hall couldn't hear.

Sasha screamed and squirmed wanting the sneak attack to stop. The sharp, agonizing pain that was shooting through her head was so unbearable she began to shake. The raging scream filled the pillows, they couldn't do anything but keep her screams a secret. John had the strength like Samson. He was so livid he was committing a heinous overkill.

As for Olive she was so satisfied with the art displayed before her, she didn't even realize that his wife's screams had stopped. But John was still stabbing. His breathing was so heavy she could smell the late-night snack from hours before he'd fallen asleep earlier.

She grabbed him by the arm to stop him. "She's dead John." Olive smiled satisfactorily. John huffed dropping the blood-covered knife.

"Let's go upstairs," Olive suggested. But John already knew there weren't that many people upstairs except his three children. Mallory, Mason, and Max. Olive had another task for him quite similar to the one he had just completed. John looked at her and bit his lip.

"What is it my love?" John asked.

"Grab them, stab them." She smiled.

𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

•𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚜? 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗?
•𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢 "𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖"?
•𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎'𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚔?
•𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚓𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚜 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔?
•𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚞𝚙𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚜?

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