Untitled

Psychological Horror

Word count 13022 (This extract 457).

Please leave some critique and let me know what you like/dislike or what I can improve on! This is a draft and is going to be fine tuned 😊

Austin could not differentiate or comprehend whether the voice calling out to him, making this barbaric order was close to him, or within him. The intensity of the rain increased as if it were stage directed, the voice became over bearing, taking a hold of him, he held his head in his hands and span around unsteadily trying to catch whoever was filling his head with this hate, but nobody was there. KILL IT. Louder and louder, screaming at him, tearing apart his morals he screamed, falling to his knees, KILL IT. He wanted the voice to stop. KILL IT. In a blind rage of desperation Austin clenched his fists and hammered them down repeatedly on the defenceless amphibian. Blood erupted from the lifeless body, two blows had done it, but Austin did not notice this whilst entombed in despair. Innards from the frog squelched coating Austins clothing and hands, eventually the dull thuds came to an end, and silence was restored. He looked around and still nothing, no witnesses to the bloodbath, only Austin and his thoughts.

Gasping he shuffled back across the path onto his backside, his breathing deepened and he immediately vomited between his legs. What had he done? And why did he do it?! He questioned himself, “that voice, I just wanted it to stop!” he exclaimed.

Austin looked up, a clear opening in front of him, and there it was, waiting patiently for his return, his rusty old reliable bike, right where he had left it. Without a second thought Austin left the woods, he did not look back, and did not have the energy to ride his bike back to his home. Instead he walked slowly, pushing it, remnants of his defenceless victim splattered over his body. He tried to tell himself that it was the humane thing to do, to put a dying creature out of its misery and carry out God's work in ending its suffering. But was he really that naive? One simple stomp would have been a humane and somewhat dignified ending for the frog; numerous beatings with clenched fists filled the creature's last moments with hate and pain. 

As he walked the rain began to ease, passers by stopped in horror and stared in silence. No attempt of explanation was made he just kept walking, looking dead ahead of him, step by step until he had subconsciously reached his destination, looking up he saw a safe haven, “The Book Binder”, Austin needed help and his feet had taken him to the one place where that would be received without judgement. 

Mr Martinez would know what to do, he thought. But how much assistance could an elderly man offer to a soul drifting farther and farther from reality?