Two Page Shorts by Nick Venom (top reads .txt) 📕

A figure slumped into view, crashing headfirst into the gravel path they were approaching. The person quickly jumped to their feet, scanning the surroundings for officers or passersby, before turning back to the bushes they came out of. The person grabbed a limp body that was hidden in the bushes, dragging it out and over the gravel path. The rattling wind and loud sirens of birds freaked out the figure, glancing around sporadically. 

The figure dragged the corpse until reaching a log cabin. The cabin was shrouded in light from the sky, which was distraught and unruly. Almost as it saw a murder, but couldn’t speak to reveal the truth. 

The deteriorating cabin sat lonely in the middle of the woods, its windows calling out to passersby for a clean. They were encased in mud and other substances that the figure didn't want to think about.  

The figure laid the corpse against the cabin’s wall before trying the door. The hinges had grown rusty, unable to be opened. Even so, the person continued to try the door again and again before deciding to shove all of their weight at the door. 

After a few attempts of being a battering ram, the door burst open and watched, snickering with malicious intent, as the figure stumbled inside and nearly fell to the ground. However, they recovered quickly, being hit by a foul and disgusting scent. It smelled like somebody had died a century ago and all of the scents were confined to the cabin, now being released in doves.

The inside of the cabin only had a couple of items of furniture; a large table and a couple of chairs surrounding the table. There was a large mat glued onto the floor with the same color as the peeling wall paint - which gave off a feel similar to that of an abandoned house.

The figure grabbed the corpse and boosted it onto the table. The dim moonlight shined in from a nearby window and illuminated Max’s face. He had been unconscious due to blood loss but was saved by the figure who, at this time, was looking under the table for something. The person quickly found it, pulling out a first-aid kit. The person began to work on Max’s gunshot wounds. There was blood still leaking out of the wounds, but not as much. Some of it had dried over his wound, blocking the new blood from spilling out.

The person began stitching up Max, their fingers trembling. Their medical inexperience was on full display as they missed their targets, poking at Max’s skin. It hurt Max like hell. 

The pain was enough for Max to open his eyes. They did their best to adjust to the sudden darkness, taking him a few seconds before he could completely see. What he saw was a figure messing with his body.

His arm shot out and grabbed the figure’s throat, choking the person. He tightened his grip, hoping to kill the person.

“Stop,” whispered the figure. It resembled a woman’s voice. Nevertheless, Max didn’t release his grip on her. He held tighter, imagining it was Allison’s throat or the neighbor that shot him. He pressed tighter.

“I-I-I’m h-here...t-to help.” She whispered. Max’s grip was loosening as his strength started to dissipate - pain was shooting through his body, forcing his body stiff. His hand collapsed and laid on top of him. Max, believing that his life was nearing its end, simply gave up and allowed himself to face the music. The female, who Max couldn’t see because of the dim lighting, started breathing normally and kept her silence for a few seconds before she spoke up. “I’m here to help you,” She declared. The female inspected Max’s gunshot wound and bandaged him up. She inspected his body and found blood covering parts that weren’t injured. “Blood?”

Max kept silent. He knew what was going to happen. He tried to muster his strength, but he wasn’t in a condition fit enough to attack her.

“You’re the infamous serial killer Max Riser!” She shouted. Max closed his eyes as he awaited a scream and her running away from him; it always happened.

However, instead of attacking or distancing herself from him, she shouted in glee. The moon shined through the only window in the cabin brighter and allowed Max to see his savior. A thin tall pale girl with short black hair that reached her shoulders, hovering over him. She had big wide eyes with purple eyes that noticed every detail around her. “I’ve been looking for you this entire time.” Max showed her no emotions as he watched the girl freak out about him like he was a pop idol.

“Who… are… you?” Max asked between breaths.

“I’m Joyce Janet. I like to go by the name, Joyce the Ripper. Well, I haven’t used that name before, but I want to start today. Oh, I hear the sirens and I see blood, so you must’ve killed another person.”

Max was confused, unsure of the girl’s mental stability. She said the words “must’ve killed another person” as easily as saying “my favorite color is blue.”

“Oh, did you kill somebody? Did they scream or cry? Was it a family or a single person? A guy or girl. Oh, girl’s screams are the best.” She ranted. Max went into a short coughing fit, interrupting the insane teen. She took his coughs as a signal to talk more. Max couldn’t move and, more importantly, couldn’t escape from her rants.

“My friends used to call me creepy or a freak. I killed chickens and dogs here and there, and they would yell at me. I was being attacked, yet nobody understood me. They treated me as some monster, but nobody ever mentioned my father. He…” She continued to smile as teardrops hit the ground like mortar strikes. Her voice was quivering, about to break.

Max couldn’t stare at her as he had no strength to raise his head. He had to endure her tears and silent sobs before she recovered from the sudden and short breakdown. 

“Sorry, you didn’t like my rant right?” She wiped her tears away with her short sleeve. “I want to... help you.”

“M-Me?” He croaked. His eyes widened, surprised that his mouth released a word.

“Yes, you’re my idol. I would do anything for you.” She looked out the window for a moment before focusing on Max. “Do you need me to do something? Kill somebody for you, since-” She motioned to his current condition, but Max couldn’t see her. His vision was angled elsewhere. “-this happened to you. Tell me a target and I’ll get them for you.”

“M-M-Marie.” His voice trembled, pushing out his older sister’s name. He had no real problems with his older sister, but she wasn’t there for when he needed it. She was away at college while problems persisted at home. She left Max and their siblings to the same fate she escaped from.

“Okay, then if I kill this Marie girl, will you take me as your apprentice? We'll be like Batman and Robin. 

What can I lose? Max thought in his mind. He didn’t know when his body would collapse on him or when the police would find him. If he were to be killed or imprisoned again, he would rather do it with two dead. Though, he planned for many more than two deaths.

“M-Marie?” Joyce questioned. “She’s your older sister, right? I saw her in the documentary about you.”

Max didn’t respond, lacking the ability to do so. Instead, he watched the reflection of Joyce jumping around in glee. He watched as her eyes widened and she pranced around.

“Okay, I’ll make quick work of here and return to be your apprentice. Just tell me where she lives and she’ll be dead.”

What an insane girl, Max thought. “9… 3… 5… 8… West… Westhill s-s-street.” He croaked, struggling to speak. Joyce nodded, grabbing a half-drunk alcohol bottle, before running off in search of a car to find Marie. She left the wounded Max in the cabin, recovering by his lonesome.

Joyce walked by the road towards the city Max escaped from. She walked for three minutes on the dark gravelly road before a dark blue Cadillac appeared. The Cadillac slowed to a stop next to Joyce, pulling up to her. The driver noticed a bottle of alcohol in Joyce’s left hand, smirking.

“Here’s another score.” He said in a strange tone that seemed rapey. He ogled at her body but didn’t notice the knife she held in her other hand, hidden behind her back.

The driver, acting sly and smooth, called out to Joyce and invited her inside his car. She took the invite, easier than the guy expected, and got in his car. She smiled as the driver smoothly talked to her. She rolled up the windows, preventing any air from escaping. She found her car with a body to add to her kill count.

An hour later, Joyce arrived at Marie’s house and got out of the Cadillac. The inside was stained in blood, the driver’s body was dumped in the back, his head sliced open by Joyce’s knife. She stabbed him multiple other times, shown clearly by the cuts and limbs that were no longer attached to his body.

She took a swig of the alcohol bottle and loudly laughed. She walked up to Marie’s doorbell and laughed again. She waited for a response and got none, resulting in her kicking at the door and pounding on it. 

The sound woke Marie and alerted her to the trouble on her doorstep, a psycho teenage girl armed with a knife and alcohol confidence.

She shot out of bed, looking out of her bedside window. She opened the window and looked down towards the door, seeing Joyce pounding on it. Joyce began stabbing the door, not close to breaking it down but damaging it.

“Hey, what are you doing? Leave before I call the police, you drunk!” Marie shouted. Joyce looked up at her and gave her a toothy smile. She took another swig of her drink before kicking the door down with a single powerful kick. She charged into the house, disappearing from Marie’s sight.

The now-frightened Marie shrieked as she ran to her phone. She dialed 9-1-1 into the phone, her hand trembling. She pressed the call button, waiting for her call to be answered.

Meanwhile, Joyce entered the house, slowing her pace. She intended on rushing upstairs and attacking Marie, but something on the first floor caught her attention. A picture enlarged and framed; a family photo of the Risers. In the photo were the parents, Harry and Mary Riser, then the siblings: Marie, Max, Toby, and a couple of others that Joyce didn’t recognize. She only recognized the few that appeared on the mini-documentary that she watched about Max and his family.

Soon, her eyes tore off the painting and lingered towards the stairs. She made her way up the stairs, walking up as silently as a drunk girl could. Her heavy feet slammed on the ground, waking up people fifty miles away. A loud cry came out of the steps as she climbed them. Ten steps, nine, eight, seven, six… one.

***

“This is 911, what is your emergency?” The operator asked.

“Somebody’s inside my house!” Marie exclaimed. “It’s a drunk teen-”

Joyce heard the call from outside of Marie’s bedroom. Joyce, now fully intoxicated, took another sip before kicking the door in. Marie shrieked, dropping the phone. She wasn’t able to tell the operator about Joyce or provide a description. 

Joyce sprinted towards Marie’s phone, hoping to cut off her only escape. Fortunately for her, Marie backed away from her, afraid of her knife. This allowed Joyce to stab the phone, tearing it apart. 

“You’re insane!” Marie shouted.

“Ha!” She snorted. She took another sip, at the point of being over-hammered. “Maybe I am,”

“Get out!” She shouted. Marie glanced past Joyce’s shoulder and at the door, the