The Forgotten Book by Angel.of.Death (read dune txt) 📕

The Forgotten Book

Isis was rooting around in the new apartment she had just bought when she came across a leather book that must have fallen down the back of the desk from the previous owner. She had just moved to the town and didn’t know why she had gotten the apartment so dirt cheap. She sat down with the book that had dust gathering on it and blew it off. Just inside the cover it said ‘Maria Tate, Please Read’. It was dated some five years earlier. Isis shrugged Might as well. I have nothing else to be doing until tonight. She turned to the first page and began reading.
*****
Now I can understand if you read this and believe it to be a load of rubbish but I beseech you to read it anyway in the hopes that it will at least place the notion into your head you will cause a small amount of suspicion and you will not make the same mistake I did. I write this in the hope of preventing anything happening to another girl. Please read this and remember. It all started a month ago...
‘Ring Ring’ I grabbed my phone as it went off and answered it.

“Hello Maria Tate speaking may I ask who is calling?” The man on the other end replied with a deep, gravelly voice.

“Hello this is Keith Peters speaking. I phoned to ask if you are available to babysit my daughter Elsie tomorrow night?” I told him of course I could and that my rates were £3.50 an hour. I asked what time should I arrive and where did he live. Of course at this point I didn’t know what I had agreed to
Mr Peters told me he lived at 189 Dunneross Avenue and that he and his wife were going out at a quarter to six so to arrive at half five and they would be back at half eleven. I smiled because there was another twenty pounds towards the fifty pounds I needed to get my new apartment. Then he told me that if Elsie was bathed and in bed when they returned he would give me thirty pounds. Of course at this time I thought he was just being generous. I guess he didn’t think I’d last the night to be paid. He must have thought I would be dead. He was very nearly right.
The next night I went round to the house and thought wow! His house was huge and also obvious in its oldness. I walked up the winding path bordered with blue, yellow and red roses as well as purple posies mixed in here and there. The path itself was made of the old uneven cobbles from Victorian streets. The house itself was also early Victorian. I found this out when I enquired its age from Mr Peters. The interior was as magnificent and beautiful as its exterior. It was incredibly expensive and elegant and everything seemed so very delicate as if a stiff breeze would send it all smashing to the ground. I started when I remembered that a toddler. I couldn’t believe they would leave all these expensive items within reach of a small child. I asked Mrs Peters and she shrugged and told me in a voice that spoke of high class that Elsie never went near anything of great expense. When she spoke to me there was a small look of pity in her eyes but I didn’t register until later.
At a quarter to six I said goodbye to the Peters and went to collect Elsie from her friend’s house next door which had been renovated and looked incredibly modern compared to its neighbours. I brought Elsie back to the Peters and asked her what she wanted. In an incredibly childish, sweet, soprano like voice that couldn’t form the words properly yet she replied.

“ ‘Petty ‘Oops.” Which I took to mean Spaghetti Hoops and I was right! So after we had both finished eating I sat her down with me in the main living room in front of the television. I heard the phone ring so I picked it up from its cradle in the hall and carried it into the room with me to continue watching Elsie.

“Hello Peters’ residence. Mr and Mrs Peters are out at the minute could I take a message?” Then I heard the voice that would change my life. It gave me shivers down my spine, Goosebumps on my arms and raised the hairs on the back of my neck. No matter how hard I try I will never forget it. The voice was male, deep, and creepy and it sounded like he was sneering at me.

“Hello little girly, I know you are alone in there. I’m the man with the bloody hand. I’m at the bottom off the street and I am coming to get you.” Beeeeeep. The line was dead. I lifted the phone away from my ear in a daze. Elsie was watching a cartoon and turned to face me when I sat down beside her again.

“ ‘E call ‘gain didn’t ‘e?” I looked at her in shock. He called again didn’t he?

“What do you mean he called again? Has he called here before?” I asked.

“Yep ev’ry ‘onth.” She said happily before turning back to her cartoon. I was scared but didn’t want to frighten Elsie. As she watched her programme I thought about it. By the time her show had finished I came to the conclusion that it was a prank caller. At half eight I brought Elsie upstairs, washed her, dressed her and put her to bed. When I was half way through her story the phone rang again so I ran downstairs to grab it. I answered slightly out of breath from running down two flights of stairs.

“I’m sorry Mr and Mrs Peters are out at the moment can I take a message?”

“I’m the man with the bloody hand and I’m at the gate.” Beeeeeep. The line went dead and at that moment I heard the gate creak open like it was only being opened for the first time in years.
I went upstairs and finished Elsie’s story before heading back downstairs and watching television. It was during the first break the phone rang.

“Hello Mr and Mrs Peters...” I didn’t get to finish because the voice on the other end cut over me.

“I’m the man with the bloody hand and I’m at the front door.” Beeeeeep. The line went dead and I ran to look at the front door. The letter box opened and a bloody hand covered in bandages appeared. A scream caught in my throat and when I blinked it was gone. I took a few deep breaths. Don’t be silly Maria I berated myself you are tired from college and freaked because of the phone calls. I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. I turned on the tap and gave a scream of horror as I recoiled away from the tap hat was spewing not clear but shocking red blood. I turned off the tap and found some orange juice in the fridge and poured myself a glass of it. As I went to return to the living room I caught sight of the clock on the cooker which read half ten. I sighed in relief only a hour to go. I was still pretty scared so I grabbed a butcher knife and bought it with me into the living room where I placed it under the cushion beside me. Fifteen minutes later the phone rang.

“Hello?” I said in a small, terrified voice.

“I’m the man with the bloody hand and I am in the house.”Beeeeeep. The line went dead. I suddenly felt braver and furious at the same time as I knew there was no one in the house except Elsie and I. I hit redial.
It started ringing and I froze in terror. There was a phone ringing. Right. Behind. My. Head. My fingers slid under the cushion and tightened around the handle of the knife. I ever so slowly turned my head to look behind me and exhaled a breath of relief when I saw nothing. Then a flash of red caught my eye and I jumped off the sofa. There was a red handprint on the cream leather sofa. The phone rang. It was him. He told me he was upstairs and asked if I had checked on Elsie. I dropped the phone and ran upstairs as I felt my face drain colour and my heart froze in terror. There he was. Standing over Elsie. There was blood on her head but I could see it had come from the blood dripping from the knife in his hand. He stalked towards me, like a lion that had caught sight of its prey, dripping blood all the way. I felt as if I had turned to stone and had been glued to the floor. I was frozen in terror and panic. He drove the knife into me and yanked it out again. I looked down to see my blood gush out. I blacked out.
Next thing I knew I was in a hospital bed after being asleep for three days. I had serious internal injuries and they said if the paramedics hadn’t gotten there so fast I would be dead. Due to this I had to stay for almost a month. I was let out this morning but told to rest. So here I am in my living room writing my story in hopes of saving another life. The police thoroughly checked the house but couldn’t find a drop of blood not even cleaning products that could have removed it. It was almost as if there had never been any blood there at all including my own. They did find a small amount on the answering machine. There was a new message it said, oh wait I can hear someone at the door. Oh no it’s him! HELP ME!!! OH PLEASE SOMEONE HELP M___

I am the man with the bloody hand. I told you Maria Tate I would get you and now ....
Your Story Has Been Finished In Your Own Blood. A fitting end I think.
All who read this beware for you will be my next victim.

*****
Isis set the book down with a shaky hand. She gave a nervous laugh. I guess who ever lived here before me was a fiction writer. No way was that true. It was just a scary story. Now she laughed at herself and shook her head at her silliness. The phone rang and she gave a small shriek. She placed a hand on her chest over her racing heart. She shook her head firmly. I am being ridiculous! She thought and picked up the phone.

“Hi Isis Elliot may I ask who is calling?” She froze at the voice she heard.

“Hello Isis I believe you read my story. I am the man with the bloody hand and I’m at the door.” Isis dropped the phone and let loose a bloodcurdling scream as her front door burst open.