The Critique

Suspense Stories | Aug 17, 2013 | 16 min read
240 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Andy sat in front of his computer, growing more angry by the moment. How could they be so blind! How could they not see his genius!

He sighed with disgust and moved the mouse to close the web page. They must all be crazy, be wacko's, they obviously didn't understand the pressure he was under.

OK, maybe there were a few typos here and there, but the stories, the stories he submitted were pure genius! Horror like the world has never known! It wasn't that he just wasn't appreciated, they dared to criticize him! Question his grammar and spelling!, Like those things stood in the way of the power of his story!

"That Veronica!" he thought.

Fuck her! What did that bitch know. She was always so smart mouthed on his posts. "It's their, not there!"

God she made his blood boil!

He HATED her!

Others were just as bad. No one "Liked" his stories, or wrote glowing reviews. Hardly anyone commented at all, even though the view counter on the web page showed it was being read.

How dare they!!

Fuck them!

He sighed again, and opening his history he reopened the web page. 408 views in three days and only one comment. One smart ass comment.

Jesus! Even if his missed their and there, she should have understood what he meant if she had half a brain!

"Stupid bitch!" he thought.

They didn't know. They just didn't know the dark thoughts that were always in his brain. The visions! They couldn't see the horror that played over and over in his brain.

And when he tried to put it to paper.

Well, it was hard. It was hard to describe these things, these monsters, and the acts of violence they preformed. He could see it so clear in his head, but it lost something on it's way to the page.

"Fuck them" he thought again. "Fucking critiques, cant do anything useful so they have to tear down others work, makes them feel important!"

He read her review again, though he knew it would just make him angrier, it was like he couldn't help himself, he had to read it.

Veronica Sterling says....

"I'm sorry, but the story did not make any sense to me. The end confused me, where did the brother come from all of the sudden?"

"You also have a few grammar errors and tend to use "there" when you mean "their"!"

"Keep at it though, you'll get there!!

He seethed as he read it over and over.

"Keep at it?"

"Fucking keep at it?"

In a blind rage he hit the reply button. His fingers moved on their own as he told this Veronica Sterling bitch she was crazy and maybe a bit stupid.

Most of all though, she just did not understand how tough he had it! How hard he tried! He wrote what he saw in his head, little mistakes didn't matter, that was just nit picking!

What mattered was his story, the vision in his head he was trying to share, but no one appreciated it.

He slammed the submit button and made sure his reply showed before shutting the web page and shutting the computer down for the night. "That would fix her wagon." He thought as he made his way up to bed, smiling at how he told her off, and wishing he could see her face when she read it.

The next morning he was up early. Coffee on, the paper fetched from the porch, and two pieces of bread in the toaster.

He flipped absently through the paper as he waited on the toaster, keeping half an eye on the bread to make sure it didn't burn. He hated burnt. Burnt anything, toast, meat, name it. The charcoal taste sickened him.

Toast buttered and coffee poured, he sat in front of the computer, hit the power button and munched his simple breakfast and read the paper while he waited for it to boot up.

The top story was about home robberies being up in the area. Kid's, they thought at first, but some of the techniques the crooks had used where a bit more sophisticated than the average teen punk would know.

They listed some of the ways the thieves were breaking in as well as some steps you could take to prevent it.

He read half interested, finishing his toast and turning his attention to the computer. A quick check of his email showed nothing exciting, so he when to his bookmarks and pulled up the nifty horror story site.

He saw the notification there had been a response to his diatribe last night and he eagerly clicked the icon so he could read what she had said.

Only it was from bitch Veronica. It was from some asshole named Ricky. "Ricky Davis says..." the line at the top of his reply said, and Andy's eyes quickly scanned what this Ricky had written.

His face grew redder and his heart beat harder as he read. His hands shook slightly as he sipped at his coffee, the liquid splashing around the cup and threatening to spill the rim from his jerky movements.

Ricky's profile pic was evil looking clown. It appeared right before the words "Ricky Davis says..." on his post. "He has nerve this Ricky" Andy thought. He read it again, slower this time. Letting his anger build slowly with each word.

"Hey dark writer,

Why don't you back off man? The girls just giving her opinion!
Her post wasn't mean, she was just trying to help.
You want criticism? I read the story, It's shit!
Not scary at all!
Its dull and convoluted, poorly written, and riddled with mistakes.
She was being kind when she said you'd get it, lol, you could write for 100 years and you'd still suck!
Give it up and stop being a bully!
If you don't like peoples comments, stop posting!"

Dark Writer was Andy's pen name.

The site offered two ways to sign up. You could join right through your Facebook account, in which case your real name showed on the sight, or you could sigh up with an email and choose an anonymous screen name.

That's what Andy had done, and Dark Writer was the name he chose.

Ricky Davis had used his Facebook account to join though, so Andy clicked on his name and went to his page to see what this asshole looked like.

Ricky's whole page was set to public, so Andy had no problems finding photos and other information on Ricky Davis. He was surprised to see he lived close by, only a few miles away.

He knew the area, and the pictures narrowed down where about he was located. He could see the train tracks behind his house and the old water tower.

"Wouldn't old Ricky be surprised if I paid him a visit" He thought, laughing to himself at the idea. "I bet his mouth wouldn't be so smart then."

"Get him up real close... and show him what horror was.. show him whats in my mind."

He laughed out loud in his small living room. The sound was cold and humorless and perhaps verging on insane. He exited the site without replying. He would dignify that Ricky with a response.. At least not yet.

The idea to "pay him a visit" started out as a joke really. He hadn't been serious when he first thought about it, just something to say, blowing off steam. As the day progressed though, and his anger boiled steadily along, the thought became less a joke and something he was considering.

It wasn't a conscious decision, it was something that took root deep in his mind, where the dark things roamed.

By the afternoon, it was a gnawing feeling in the back of his mind. The monsters were restless, they wanted to meet Ricky Davis, and play with him.

After dinner he went out to his car, still not sure what he meant to do. He grabbed his fathers hunting knife, thinking it might come in handy, but handy for what he didn't pause to think of. He was running mostly on instinct.

It was during the drive when his conscious mind caught up to where he was going. The details of what he planned to do still escaped him though.

They knew, He was sure, they knew what the plan was. They just weren't sharing yet.

He turned up the radio to drown out his thoughts and goosed the gas a bit, opening the window and letting the fresh cool air wash over him. He did love to drive, he dared to go another five miles and hour faster and sang loudly with the music.

He drove around the streets that bordered the train tracks and kept his eye on the water tower as a land mark. Ricky had kindly provided pictures of his car, a Lexus, and the photo was taken in his driveway.

In under a half hour, Andy had found the house and drove by it slowly, eyeballing it but not stopping yet. He wanted to get a feel for the place. "Do a little surveillance, get the lay of the land, get my ducks in a row" He thought, smiling to himself.

He circled the block twice more. It looked like Ricky was home, The Lexus he was so proud of sat in the driveway, he could see lights on in the house.

No other cars were parked in or near the driveway. He checked for the little blue Nissan his girlfriend drove and didn't see it.

Very good.

He knew Ricky lived alone and not seeing her car made him pretty sure Rick was alone.

Perfect.

He parked down the block in front of a house with a sale sign in front of it. From the looks of the yard, no one was currently occupying the place. He glanced at the yard, no fence, that fates really were smiling on him, he didn't need to add climbing to his nights activities.

He got out of the car, closing the door but not locking it. He didn't want to be fumbling with keys if he had to make a hasty retreat. He pulled up the hood on his sweat shirt jacket and noticed for the first time he had dressed for this. All dark clothing.

"They thought of everything"

He cut through the yard of the abandoned house, moving quickly but not fast enough to draw suspicion if anyone was watching. He went through the back yard, the along the embankment that ran next to the tracks towards Ricky's.

When he came to Ricky's backyard, he crouched low near the bushes Rick had used to hedge his yard in, giving it a bit of privacy. Andy saw the pale blue flick of light across the windows of the downstairs and knew the TV was on.

He sat back, closed his eyes, and listened as it was explained to him what was to happen. He nodded as they talked, smiling by the end.

He found the length of pipe where they told him it would be, leaning against Ricky's shed, it felt good in his hand and his mind was set to what he was going to do.

He surveyed the yard, seeing the small glass lantern he was looking for. Several of the hung on little cast iron stands along the back of Rick's yard in front of the hedge, Andy only needed one, he slipped it off of its holder and moved carefully to the back of the house.

Pressing his body back into the shadows he took the lantern and tossed it high, aiming for where he had taken it from. He watched it arch and he was smiling when it crashed on the cement and shattered loudly.

He held his breath now. He heard movement from the house and then the light came on near the back door. He heard the door unlock, and watched as Rick first peeked out in the yard, then cursed. He came out the door and across the yard towards the broken glass.

Andy moved quickly, slipping behind Ricky and raising the pipe. He brought it down with a dull thud on Rick's skull, watching as the man crumbled to the ground.

Andy discarded the pipe and flipped Rick over onto his back. He quickly straddled him, pinning the half conscious man to the ground, trapping Ricky's arms to the ground with his legs.

With his hands, Andy grasped both sides of Ricks head, letting his finger wrap tightly into his hair.

"So, my stories are shit huh?"

"Convoluted you say?"

He shook Ricky's head back and forth and he swore at him, waiting till his eyes were open and staring into his own before his face broke into a cold smile, he leaned closer to Rick's face opening his eyes wider.

"Let me show you"
"Let me show you something scary... let me show you my muse!"

Ricky screamed. The man above him, his eyes were glowing, glowing a thick green light that seem to be extending from his eyes. Rick could not look away, could not close his eyes, his breath hitched in his chest as the light grew close to his face.

The light moved slowly, and perhaps light wasn't the right word. It looked thick, black and green tones undulated together and seemed to drip into itself. It looked like mucus, or slime, in the way it feel.

It continued to extend from Andy's eyes, until it connected with Ricks, like a twisted throbbing umbilical cord between the two men's eyes.

Ricky Davis screamed and screamed as he saw.

Andy was back in his own neighborhood before he came back to his mind. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and his car swerved across the yellow line before he pulled it jerkily back onto his own lane.

He pulled the car into his driveway, trying to connect the dots with what had happened. His memory was hazy shortly after he had gotten out of his car at Rick's.

He checked his hands and clothes for blood as soon as he was in his house. He saw nothing and breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't calm completely though, because he knew something happened. He just couldn't remember what exactly.

He forced himself to go up and take a shower, taking a trash bag upstairs with him and placing his clothes in it as he stripped. The water felt good on his skin, refreshing, and he felt his worries about not remembering fade away.

He dressed in his robe and grabbing the trash bag that contained his clothes, taking it down with him and putting it near the front door. He would dispose of them later today. He didn't think it was necessary to do it now, and more importantly, neither did they.

Still, he would do it first thing, better safe than sorry.

He laid back in his recliner and slept a dreamless sleep for a few hours till the sun came up. He awoke with a start, at first unsure why he was in his chair rather than his bed.

His heart jump started into a quick beat as he remembered the events of last night. He went into the kitchen, turning on the morning news as he started coffee. There was a quick blurb about it by the time his breakfast was finished.

"Thanks Dave."

"A man was apparently attacked late last evening in this small and quiet suburban town."

"Ricky Davis, a local contractor was found semi conscious and babbling after he was allegedly attacked and struck with a piece of pipe last night in his own backyard."

"Police have no suspects at the moment and ask anyone who might have any information to please step forward."

"The victim was transported to Midtown Hospital and it is reported he is incoherent and possibly suffered a major brain injury."

"More on this story as it develops. Back to you Dave."

Andy watched in fascination. So he wasn't dead, he hadn't killed him.

Then what had he done?

He pushed in out of his mind and turned on his computer and sat down. Maybe he would write this more. He felt inspiration. His muse was eager.

He wrote for an hour or so, then took a break and signed onto the nifty horror site. He clicked on his own story, checking the views first, (525 now) and then the comments.

Nothing new. Nothing since Ricky's reply.

That annoyed him more than criticism in a way. They were ignoring him! Those assholes!

He backed out his browser and went to look on the sites wall, which showed all the activity on the web page. Others had comments on their stories. Lots of them. A few guys seemed to post on everyone's stories.

Just not his.

He did the Facebook trick again and found out of the six people who normally commented, only three were in this country, ("Fucking foreigners!" he thought) and only one was on his side of the country.

Paul Curry. He was about four hours from where Andy lived, but like Ricky, he had plenty of photos posted that Andy was pretty sure he could track him down if he wanted.

He wrote again that night, his muse still energetic since the visit to Ricky's. He was so excited when he finished he posted it right away onto the Nifty Horror site.

He was sure this one would get them, grab their attention, get a reaction, get at least a fucking comment!

It was that good.

He went to bed that night and had a dreamless sleep, he was content, he couldn't wait for people to read, to see his genius.

Nothing.

Not one comment. Not one like, not one vote, nothing. He looked at the view counter. It read forty five. He went to the wall, and saw the site had been active.

Paul Curry had been posting. Who in the fuck did he think he was, ignoring his story, not bothering to leave a comment or click the fucking like button. How fucking hard was that. How much frigging energy does it take to click and icon?

He poured his blood, sweat, and tears, into his work. And fucking Paul Curry couldn't be bothered to click an icon. He needed to be shown. He needed to see.

Andy's brain first went red in rage, then black as his dark thoughts took over and they awoke.

He came back to his mind a little over eight hours later. He was shocked at first, he was driving and the snap back to reality nearly made him take the car right off the road.

"What the fuck!" He thought. He pulled the car off to the shoulder of the highway, his heart beating heavily, surveying the road trying to figure out where he was.

It took him a moment but he realized he was on the highway, just about two miles short of the exit for his house. He was coming in from the north, which was a bit odd.

There was blood on his clothes he realized in shock, and a puddle of blood pooled on the passenger side floor mat. There was something sitting in the middle of the puddle of blood, the source, a lump of meat.

He reached up and turned on the dome light, staring at the object. He opened his car door and vomited forcefully onto the asphalt when he realized it was a human tongue.

"Now you really have nothing to say!"

He had a vague memory of saying that, little pieces of what happened where returning to him. It seems he wasn't a part of their plans this time. They hadn't needed his help, just his body, his mind was just along for the ride.

"Now you really have nothing to say!"

He remembered screaming that at the man. Even though the man was past understanding. He had seen. He had gotten an eyeful alright. Now he would spend eternity reliving those things he been shown. Most likely in a psychiatric hospital.

Still, they had taken his tongue, this Paul Curry, who thought he could ignore Andy's work. He would never do so again. He had been silenced for good.

Andy pulled the car back on the highway and headed home, his worry about not being there slowly fading, they knew best. And besides, he didn't do well with blood.

He got home and stripped at the door, again bagging his clothes for later disposal, and placing them in the garage. He smiled thinking to himself he would need to do some clothes shopping soon.

His energy was high, he was a little unnerved still that they had taken him or so long, it had never happened like that before. He paced in the kitchen for a while, his brain working overtime, trying to decided what if anything it all meant.

He logged into the computer and went to check the site. He knew he should write some, a good writer writes everyday, but he felt drained. He saw the number two next to the words comment on the heading of his story and clicked right away, interested to see what had been posted.

He took a deep breath as soon as he saw who had posted the comment and read it quickly, feeling his fuse light and his anger burn slowly.

Veronica Sterling says....
"You are getting better!"
"The best one you've written so far."
"Your writing is still a bit predictable, but grammar and story is much better! :)"

"Pre-fucking-dictable." He said out loud to himself in his small kitchen, "Pre-fucking-dictable!" he repeated, louder, almost screaming it. His whole body trembled and he pushed away from the table, standing up and pushing his monitor off of the table and sent it crashing to the floor.

He raged, he hurled profanities and cursed that bitch Veronica Sterling over and over again. Then he did something he had never done before. He called to them. He demanded that they speak to him, to come to him, to do his bidding.

And they answered.

Veronica was not as forthcoming on her Facebook page about where she lived as the others had been. No real photos of her house or car. No matter though, he had the name of the place she worked, that would narrow things down a bit.

It would be a full days drive for him to get to the area, but the distance didn't deter him in the slightest, it would give him time to plan. He had convinced them to let him handle this one, to let him be on point, take the lead. This was his baby.

They would come in at the end, to help her see, but he wanted it to be him who captured her, he who caused the fear he would see in her eyes, then she would know what horror was.

So he took his time and he planned.

Veronica Sterling jumped when she heard the crash from her backyard.

She had been up late, trying to finish grading papers for her class tomorrow and watching TV. The endless boredom of reading her student essays on their trip to the museum was numbing her mind and the lousy sitcom she was watching wasn't much better.

"Who writes this crap?" She thought to herself just before the noise from her backyard got her attention.

"What the fuck?" She said out loud to the empty room, rising quickly and moving to the backdoor. She flipped the switch for the back porch light and was a bit more unnerved when the bulbs comforting glow failed to appear.

She backed into the kitchen, her eyes glued to the backdoor, every hair on her neck was standing at attention as she reached into the closest cabinet drawer and removed the small handgun that had been an inheritance from her father.

James Sterling had been a bastard and a drunk, but he did two thing for her in death, he left her this house, and he left her his gun. When she thought about it, it was two more things than he ever did for her when he was alive.

She crept towards the backdoor slowly, and reached for the latch of the deadbolt, thumbing it open and slowly opening the door. She stepped out, staying close to the safety of the doorway.

"Who's there?" She called out into the inky blackness of her yard. The only light was that which came through her windows and did little push back the dark.

She stood still, peering into the yard, had almost convinced herself that it was nothing when she saw him come through the bushes. Her scream caught in her throat and she froze in place, staring at this madman before her.

Andy felt amazing, his whole body was buzzing with power, he had never felt so alive and connected to everything. There she was, there was that bitch who had dared to criticize his work.

He could see the fear in her eyes, he heard the faint squeak of a scream as terror took her voice. It was all going exactly as he planned, he was going to get what he wanted.

Andy felt them as they joined him, joined him to witness Veronica Sterling's last moments. He rose up tall and began to speak, wanting her to know who he was and why she was paying for her arrogance in judging his work.

He felt them look through his eyes, his vision taking on an odd green cast as they wanted to show her..

Show her something...

"Look at you, you bitch." Andy screamed. Look at you tremble! Scared aren't you, not so smart mouth now are you bitch!

Andy shambled forward, his body feeling heavy to him as they took control. His voice booming now, deepening as their voices joined his.

"Veronica Sterling, I am The Dark Writer!"
"I have come to show you the error of your ways, to still your ignorant tongue, and to erase any thought that you have that you...you Veronica Sterling, know anything of horror!"

Andy walked forward.

"Tonight though... You shall learn!"
"You will be shown!

The thick green light extended further from his eyes as he moved towards his victim, his voice raising as he reached to take her in his arms and show her.

"How original is this babe? Not what you would have guessed would happen, huh bitch. Not what you expected!"

He advanced on her and started to take her into his grasp.

Veronica raised her gun and fired catching Andy right in the middle of his chest, the force throwing him backwards and knocking him off of his feet. He let out a surprised gasp as he fell, the green light from his eyes dancing wildly in front of him, then raking back and forth like the spotlights at old time movie premiers as he landed on his back.

Veronica was over him before he knew it.

"I saw it coming from a mile away motherfucker." She said, cocking the gun again and taking aim between his eyes, where the lights were receding and he could he them shriek.

"Like I told you before asshole."

She pulled the trigger...

"Predictable!"

************************************

I do hope you've read this with the sense of humor with which it was intended. :)
Don't worry, I wont be hunting anyone down!
Though I suppose if you want to feel truly safe... leave a nice comment :P

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