Monday, June 17, 2013
The 400-Word Story: The Beach Man #8
I catch a glimpse of the stone before it trips me. And pain explodes in my cheeks as I hit the ground. Mildly dazed, I pull myself up and continue towards the beach, gasping for air, ignoring the people calling after me.
I cannot let my parents die.
I am near the sands when I feel my body working against me – my heart pounds fiercely, my whole mouth is dried out, and my ankles scream with pain. With the last of my strength, I push forward, but slowly. Finally, I hear the sound of water splashing against rocks.
In the moonlight, the beach looks deserted, and the cold wind blowing with eerie sounds sends a shiver down my spine. Hugging myself, I scan the area with itchy eyes. My heart almost drops when I see the killer a few yards away, ambling towards me with a smile.
He opens his arms for a hug when he reaches me. “Hallo, sweetheart.”
“My parents,” I say under my breath.
“You’re a minute and twenty-three seconds early, so don’t worry. They’re fine.”
“I need proof.”
“Okay, my dear.” He reaches into his pocket, takes out a cell phone, and passes it to me.
I dial my brother’s number at once. “Uchenna, how are papa and mama?” I say when he takes my call.
“They’re fine now. A fireman pulled them out.” His voice drops. “But, sista…”
“Our house is gone. Everything.”
I want to say something to cheer Uchenna up, but the killer snatches the phone and ends the call. Staring at him, I notice that his scars are gone.
“Wondering about my scars?” He closes the gap between us, his eyes peering deep into mine. “I didn’t want to scare you since we were meeting each other for the first time in reality, so I borrowed someone else’s body. Do you like my new look?”
I take few steps back, eyeing him warily. “Why do want me here?’
“For this.” He opens his palms and a small gourd materializes upon it. “The remnant of your wonderful potion. Just drink it and become like me. Now is the perfect time to avenge your death.”
“No, she won’t drink it! Not tonight. Not ever!”
I turn towards the voice on my right.
The spiritualist stands there, clutching a small knife in one hand. In the other hand, she holds a small, rounded mirror.
Footnote: This is the eight episode of The Beach Man, a 400-Word Blog Series.
Click HERE for the next episode.
Thanks for reading!