Creeptober Horror Spree: Volume One

Snap

"The smallest things can push a person over the edge. As they say, a man can only take so much. A woman can only take so much, too. Sex doesn't have a horse in the game of stress, though. It all depends on the individual's threshold. A guy I knew, Jake Harland, was happy enough. He never complained. Jake was always friendly. You could say he was boring, even. Even so, as far as the evidence had put together, Jake walked to his living room with a plate of spaghetti one night. He tripped on the rug, spaghetti went all over the carpet, and then he shot himself.

Dude must have been under intense stress.

It's my personal belief that most people are on a hair-trigger and don't know it. Imagine all of us are standing at the edge of a cliff admiring the view. Behind us, a pack of idiot kids are playing tag. At any moment, one of them could bowl into us, and off the cliff we'll go. That's how life is, I think. The tiniest little thing can just make you...snap. You see it every day, honestly. You'll read about a road rage incident that ended in a shooting and thing to yourself, Christ, who gets that mad about getting cut off? And the answer is, nobody. It's not that they got cut off in traffic. That was just the straw that broke their back. Understand?

Understanding this is important because you might just feel a little sorry for someone that snaps. Someone like me. Oh, don't look at me like that."

The man tied to the chair screamed against the tape around his head as he watched his kidnapper pace as he made his speech.

"Just nod if you get it."

He nodded.

"Awesome." The kidnapper poised an ice pick level with one of his eyeballs, and he unleashed another muffled scream. "Shhhhhhhhh, don't worry. You can't learn if you die."

Squish.

He shrieked, writhing in the chair, slamming his feet on the ground as blood dripped down his face.

"An ambulance is on the way," His captor shrugged, waving a hand at him. "You'll be fine. Your depth perception won't, though, but you weren't using it anyway, now were you?" His features hardened as he wiped the ice pick clean with a rag that he stuffed into his pocket. "Fuckin' serves you right, not watching where you're going. Got coffee all over my damn suit, and now I'll be late."