Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24946232-20140524183427/@comment-24946232-20140601012527

what do you guys think of this:

Horatio Dussels wanted to get away. He had just lost his job because of that good-for-nothing yuppie nephew of his, who now (God knows how) had become his boss. He couldn’t understand how his nephew had taken the position; well actually he could… the kid was a poster child who had done more charity work then Mother Theresa: spending most of his early twenties traveling the world with the Red Cross and UNICEF.

Since his dismissal, the sight of the city was nauseating to him. He had to get away. So Horatio packed up his car with supplies (mainly beer) and left. He didn’t let friends or family know: he wanted some time alone; hermitical isolation. His uncle had passed away and had left a small cabin in the woods for the family to share. No one went there, it was pretty run down and the old man had only used it for hunting. Horatio was actually going to be the first family member to stay there.

As he drove through the forest a deep sense of foreboding coursed through his body, he didn’t know why. Moments earlier the sight of the trees and greenery looked so appealing, but now, as he drew closer to the old cabin his heart began to sink to the lowest part of his bowels. Soon Horatio realized just why he was feeling the way he was; what he had left the city to escape was even more intense here in the middle of nowhere. At the back of his neck the hairs were standing to attention, primordial instincts where informing him that he was being watched.

He drove faster when he saw the cabin in the distance, its chimney was poking up from behind the trees. He had to get inside. The trees in the twilight dusk where beginning to look nightmarishly sentient. The branches where moving and swaying in ways that seemed completely contrary to the influence of the air.

The car careened to a stop outside the log cabin and Horatio frantically got out and scrambled to the door and into the quite darkness of the house. He slumped down onto the single bed and hit the beer. The encroaching darkness forced him to attend to the fireplace and soon he was sitting in front of a blazing fire with a cigarette and a numb, inebriated brain.

Just as he was beginning to slip into a beer soaked coma, he was jolted awake by a load bang and the smash of breaking glass. Someone had shot one of the windows in. He staggered into the bathroom to see glass was all over the floor. Then another shot echoed and another window exploded. Cold air began to fill the room to challenge the warmth from the fire place. Horatio collapsed to the floor as the windows around him shattered in terrifying succession.

Horatio remained spread eagle on the floor, fear taking hold of every cell in his body. The fire had gone out from the bone chilling wind that now flowed through the newly ventilated cabin. Five minutes passed before a dull thumping began at the door. Dussels was too scared to make a sound, he just lay on the floor shaking. He looked up at the door and terror washed over him: he had not locked it…

The handle turned and the door slowly opened out to the darkness. A man walked in. He was dressed in a suit and was wearing a grotesque yellow smiley-face mask. In his hand was a menacing revolver.

He stood above Horatio and aimed the gun. The revolver fired with a crack and the bullet tore through Horatio’s hand. Blood sprayed the floor and a scream pierced the morbid silence. A muffled chuckle leaked from behind the mask. Horatio cradled his bloody hand and wept.

“Please don’t… please… no, oh God please.”

A hand reached up and slowly pulled the mask up; revealing a maniacal smile. A look of pained disbelief plastered Horatio’s face. Standing before him was his Nephew.

“What? Why? Roger…” he stammered,

“Surprise, I knew you’d come here and I thought I’d pay a visit to my favourite uncle” Roger whispered,

“I don’t understand, why are you doing this to me?” Horatio sobbed,

“Oh, for the same reason I went out to all those shithole countries; it wasn’t to feed selfless desires. No; I went out there to feed a different kind of hunger… I like seeing pain uncle. It feeds me, and I haven’t eaten in so long…”

The gun discharged and a bullet hit home in Horatio’s knee.

<p class="MsoNormal">The gun fired again and again. But the sounds in the forest that night belonged only to an Uncle and his Nephew.