The Voice Within

Thriller Stories | Sep 21, 2011 | 20 min read
180 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Late, on the evening of his second week in St Augustine's hospital, Sam Bennett sat in silence on the edge of his bed gazing out of the tall barred window into the night sky. He stared pathetically at the skeletal shadow the trees cast on the face of the moon.  His mind was awash with images he longed to forget but for reasons unknown to him, he could not. He felt a deep psychological pain from within remembering the horror of the atrocities he had beheld. Nothing could distract him from these images.

A wound, just under his ribs wept as he sat staring into the night sky and the moans and squalls from other patients far down the corridor just faded into a persistent hum.

Sam now had no-one; everyone close to him was gone. He was alone and time had no meaning. To Sam what seemed like five minutes was in fact an hour or even more.

From outside Sam's room two men peered in threw the viewing window. Observing Sam were Doctor Llewellyn, the head psychiatrist at the hospital and Detective John Stevens. Llewellyn was discussing Sam's case with Detective Stevens.

"Four hours he's sat there, just staring out of the window."

"Doctor, you know why I'm here. Will he be ready to talk?"

Llewellyn shrugged, "Let's see shall we Detective?"

Llewellyn unlocked the door and the two men entered. Doctor Llewellyn, a tall and mild mannered man in his late forties approached Sam.

"Sam," he said standing at the foot of the bed "Detective Stevens is here to talk to you again."

Sam sat silently, still looking out of the window. Llewellyn moved to squat in front of Sam.

"Sam," Still no response, "Samuel, Detective Stevens wishes to speak to you."

Sam slowly turned towards Llewellyn. Non sense of reality shone in his deep, dark eyes. He just stared blankly at both men, his eyes passing nervously from one to the next.

Llewellyn smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Stevens, not known for tact or diplomacy, spoke to Sam.

"Sam, we need to talk to you at some point," Stevens said sternly "this is a very serious matter."

He moved closer to Llewellyn "He is aware that his parents and sister are dead isn't he?"

Llewellyn nodded, "He has been told repeatedly ever since his admission, but how much he understands is hard to say."

Sam returned his gaze towards the window. Llewellyn stepped forward, "You need to start answering Sam. The police have some important questions for you and you need to answer them."

Sam just sat and continued to stare out of the window.

Stevens took Llewellyn by the arm and dragged him to the corner of the room. "Is he ever going to talk Doctor? It's like he's been struck dumb?"

"It's hard to say Detective. I'm still not sure what happened or how much he remembers and I'm not entirely sure what it is you wish to find out."

The pair made their way to the door. Llewellyn paused and turned to face Stevens.  "You
still think he did it don't you?"

"I don't think Doctor; I know. He's admitted it," said Stevens sharply "Well, sort of. Perhaps we could go to your office and I'll explain."

Llewellyn called for a nurse to help him get Sam back into bed and then the two men left.

There was a strange tension surrounding the pair which became more evident once in Llewellyn's office. Llewellyn did not like Stevens' direct approach to his patient, especially while Sam was in such a psychological state. Llewellyn poured some coffee, took a seat and
motioned for Stevens to be seated also.

"You were saying Detective?" said Llewellyn.

"We have in our possession a diary kept by Sam," explained Stevens "I think you should take a look at it, if you're willing?"

"Of course if you think it can help" replied Llewellyn slightly confused.

Stevens revealed a small A5 size black diary from his pocket.

"This was retrieved from the Bennett house on the night of the murders." He opened the diary and quickly breezed through the pages.

"Now the first few months are of no great importance but if you read from May 18th to June 8th it's quite an interesting read, and Sam's guilt will become clear."

"That takes us up to the murders yes?" asked Llewellyn.

"Exactly," said Stevens. He saw that Llewellyn was about to speak and interrupted. "What I would like Doctor is your opinion on Sam's state of mind. After reading this he's clearly a troubled kid and I won't kid you. This diary makes for shocking reading." Stevens got up to leave, "It'll take you a few hours to read so I'll leave you with this and come back in the morning. With a bit of luck Sam will then be in a position to answer my questions."

Stevens left leaving Llewellyn staring at the book. He flicked through the pages occasionally glancing at earlier entries that Sam had written. He sighed to himself; he had no interest in the post-pubescent ramblings of a troubled eighteen year old. He poured himself another coffee and notified the nurses present in the staff room he was not to be disturbed and knowing this was going to be a long night made a quick phone call to his wife to say that he would be late. He returned to his seat, picked up the diary and turned to the pages marked out by Stevens.

#

May 18th. – I am really not looking forward to today, due to tiredness mainly. Mum and Dad spent all night arguing, again! This kept me awake until at least four but hey, it's nice to know they care about my job interview tomorrow going well. Hayley spent most of the night crying as well which just adds to the fun. Four months old and in this time it seems I haven't existed, well that's at least as far as my parents are concerned. Aren't siblings great?

I had a strange dream again last night. The voice I have often heard seemed closer and I can hear it clearly whispering my name and calling out to me, but before I can focus on the source I wake up.   For three months now I have had the same recurring dream and each time the voice has become more prominent. I could be wrong but I am almost sure that last night I heard it whisper ‘Let me in'. Something about the voice seems very real and comforting. It's as though I am being reassured. My strange ‘dream companion' seems to know how I feel at present and understands.

May 18th. Late afternoon -- Job interview now over and it seems to have gone well, apparently they'll let me know in the next few days if I have been successful or not. Going out with Megan later, she mentioned something about bowling. This should be a laugh if nothing else.

May 18th. Continued -- Well bowling was fun. I lost my game and fell out with Megan. She told me to stop moaning about my parents and give them a break. What does she know? She doesn't know what I have to put up with all the time. Everything I do is wrong; nothing is ever good enough for people. What does a man have to do to be made to feel a part of something? That somebody gives a damn!

May 19th. -- Another night of crying and shouting, and now feeling beyond tired again. I'm going to look at cars today with dad; I think he just wants to get out of the way so he doesn't have to put up with mum all day. I heard him and mum shouting at each other, mum said dad didn't do enough around the home and dad said he shouldn't have to as she was in all day while he was at work. I tried to calm the situation down slightly but all that did was get me into trouble so I went to bed.

Nothing I say in this house seems to have any meaning, I just get brushed aside and I'm sick of it. I wish I could leave or at least have someone to turn to and to talk to about my problems and my feelings. I'm beginning to long for more dreams as they seem to be the only place I can be myself and forget this shitty existence. I also wish I could make something more solid out of the voice I hear, something to at least try and help me make sense of it.

May 20th. – The dream came again last night and I felt like I was a part of it. I shivered and felt extremely cold, and my breathing was getting shallow. I looked around and I appeared to be in a room with only one door. I heard knocking and a voice, neither male nor female but ancient whisper ‘let me in'. I ignored it at first and began to look around. There was no other way in or out that I could see other than the one door. I was entirely surrounded by walls and on the walls were strange drawings, carved into the plaster. Alongside were words, but I could not make out what they said. On examination it was apparent that they were not written on but clawed on. It was as if someone had cut into the plaster with talons or long sharp nails and used them to rip words out of the wall. I moved closer to the walls to examine them and as i ran my fingers down the walls the words and pictures began to ooze blood.

The voice whispered again "let me in" as the blood began to pour from the walls. I began to walk towards the door as the room filled with dark red blood, and then the frame around the door lit up like a bright beacon. Once more I heard the voice and as I reached up to turn the handle I woke up.

I was dripping from head to toe with sweat but felt cold and shivered uncontrollably; just as I had in the dream. I sat bewildered almost trancelike and wondered if any significant meaning could be found within my experience.

May 20th.Late afternoon. – Dad decided that his mates were a better option than me; his son, so he cancelled our plans to look at cars. Yet again I get passed over.

After careful consideration I decided to tell someone about my dreams and my apparent fever this morning. Mum was the obvious candidate but that did not go well. Straight away she phoned for a doctor.

"I'm not sick!" I screamed at her. Granted I didn't feel brilliant but I put that down to lack of sleep.

May 21st. -- The Doctor came late last night and said i was suffering from a fever and my temperature was high. I just wish people would leave me alone and stop telling me how I feel! I know how I feel. Anyway, mum and dad are going away tomorrow with Hayley for the weekend, a sort of ‘rekindle the flame' weekend which means I get the place to myself and I cannot wait!

May 24th. -- What a weekend and not in the good sense. Firstly my fever started to get worse right before my party Friday night. I had friends arriving and I was burning up. Still, the party started off well. A few friends, a few drinks, and all appeared to be going well until Mrs Howarth came around. I fucking hate neighbours!

She complained that the music was too loud and this was knocking pictures off her walls. The houses are not even joined! We live in a detached house! Anyway, she phoned my parents and then they phoned me, and they told me to end the party straight away. Everyone had to leave after this, including Megan which by the way was a fucking joke!

This was then topped off by yet another strange dream. It began the same as usual, just hearing my name being called. Then I ended up in that strange room with the door again, but instead of being tempted to open the door I stood my ground. After a few minutes the blood began pouring again from the walls, and pretty soon it was around my shins. Suddenly another door appeared behind me and opened. Without any thought at all I walked through it.

I found myself in a dark corridor. The door behind me disappeared and I heard the voice tell me to enter. I began to walk down the corridor but could see nothing in front of me. I heard my name in the air around me accompanied with ‘let me in'. Another door appeared to my left and opened.

I entered another room and saw a tall dark shape in the corner. There were no features to the shape, none that I could distinguish but it looked to be of human form. I stood still and tried to focus.

"Hello Sam," said the shape "look." It pointed to the other corner of the room and an apparition of my parents appeared. They glared at me and frowned.

"Sam," they shouted, "what are you doing here?"

I couldn't speak, I found myself wanting to shout at them but no words came out.

"You stupid boy, you never listen do you?" they shouted. "We hope your sister grows up to be better than you!"

I couldn't stand it, I ran at them but on impact they evaporated into the dark. Then more apparitions of my parents appeared. They were all around me and shouting abuse at me.

"You're a pathetic boy; you want to grow up and fast. You're a disgrace!"

I cowered, shut my eyes and covered my ears. I couldn't bear to listen any longer and I wept.

When I dared to look up again I wiped away my tears and found myself in my own house, in my own room. Was I awake? No. Something wasn't right.

I looked around to get a clearer perspective of my surroundings. The atmosphere was thin and cold. Dark shadows moved all around me and I walked among them.

As I made my way to the living room the sound of the voice returned and I saw the shadowy figure reappear.

"They don't care for you like I can Sam" it said, obviously talking about my parents.

"I need someone who cares!" I shouted, "Someone who will listen."

"Talk to me Sam," said the ancient voice, "trust me and things will get better."

The figure pointed again and I followed its gaze. My parent's reappeared in the room accompanied by Hayley. Their appearance resembled a rotting corpse; low sunken eyes and regressing skin that appeared torn in places. They looked so badly decomposed in places that flesh no longer adorned their bones. I remember smiling at the sight, it pleased me.

As I stood there watching they slowly disappeared and the voice returned.

"Sam, I can help you," it whispered, "if you'd only trust me and let me in."

The room grew dark except for the outline of the front door which became more apparent. A knocking sound came from the door. I began to walk to the door as the knocking continued.

"Sam, I know you're angry and I can feel your pain. Let me in."

I reached out to the door handle; it was so cold to the touch but slowly I turned the handle.

"Who are you?" I asked as I stopped short of opening the door.

"A friend," was the simple reply "just a friend."

I opened the door and a huge gust of wind blew through the house as the door flew open. I was hit in the chest by an enormous force and at the point of impact I woke up. I was once again sweating profusely and struggling to catch my breath.

That was the last dream I have had but my friend and I often speak now. We appear to have a lot in common. We discuss my problems with my parents and my feelings of hatred towards them. My friend said I could learn a lot from my feelings if I could learn to channel them in the right direction.

We joke about what it would be like to not have them around. If only I was strong enough to do something about it.

"Stand up to them," he tells me, "make them all realise that you will not be ignored."

"I don't know how," I tell him.

"I'll teach you," he replied.

#

Llewellyn stopped reading and put down the diary. His skin was cold and clammy and he shuddered. He had read many thoughts a patient had written down, but nothing had made his skin crawl as much as this. The vivid accounts of the dreams made it seem all so real. They were so detailed. He could picture clearly every word that poured out of Sam onto the pages in front of him. He sat back in his chair and breathed deeply. He wanted to know more but to learn more he needed to speak to Sam directly.

Walking down the corridor Llewellyn pondered his questions for Sam. After all he wanted information but did not wish to upset the boy, he was clearly very distressed already.

Upon entering Sam's room Llewellyn pulled up a chair next to the bed. Sam was still staring out of the window with his blank expression.

"Sam, we need to talk about your diary," said Llewellyn softly. No answer as usual. "Your dreams Sam, what can you tell me about them?" No answer. "Well what about the voice you hear? What about your friend?"

Sam's eyes widened at the question. His lips quivered trying to speak. He shook his head frantically. "No!" said Sam, his first word in days, "No!" He sat up quickly and flew at Llewellyn, still repeating over and over ‘No'. He knocked Llewellyn clear out of his chair then ran to the door and began to pound it with his fists. Security was quick to hear the commotion and came to Llewellyn's aid.

"Please Sam, remain calm. Its ok," said Llewellyn, trying to be reassuring. The boy kicked and shouted at the security guards but they managed to restrain him. Llewellyn called the nurse in to administer a sedative and then backed away, back to his office.

‘Why did he react so violently?' he thought as he walked the corridors. Something about that voice now clearly terrified Sam instead of comforted, which was the appearance Sam had given in his diary. He saw real fear in those sorrowful brown eyes and began to pity Sam. Llewellyn knew that the police, namely Stevens, wanted to charge him for the murder of his parents. It seemed clear cut from the evidence. A neighbour found Sam sitting in a chair in the living room brandishing a large kitchen knife, his parents and sister lying brutally murdered upstairs, and of course there was also Mrs Howarth. Sam had already described Mrs Howarth in his diary. She was also found at the same time as the Bennetts. Llewellyn remembered Stevens stating that the same neighbour had seen Sam leave Mrs Howarth's in the early hours.

Upon returning Llewellyn poured himself a whiskey from a bottle he kept hidden in his desk. He drank it quickly and neat. He shuddered at the taste. He sat and made a few notes ready for Stevens in the morning then sat back and relaxed. He picked up the diary and continued to read. Nothing could have prepared him for the horror that lay ahead in those pages.

 

#

June 2nd. -- Not written for a while. This house and everyone in it is driving me mad. Mum and dad appear to have sorted their differences out but there's still an atmosphere, more with me than each other.

I fell out with Megan after I discussed the dreams with her. She decided I had too many issues to deal with and shouldn't be in a relationship. Fucking bitch she can do what she wants.

Of course the one person I can rely on was there to talk to. He made me laugh about the whole situation. I find things more bearable when I listen to him. I must admit, he has some very imaginative ways of dealing with things. For example I had a picture of Megan   on my computer desk. It was taken at the end of year party last year and was one of my favourite pictures of her. I went over our conversation in my head. Over and over I heard her tell me it was over between us. I grabbed the picture and I used my compass needle to rip out her eyes.  I scraped and ripped the picture to shreds. It made me think how it would feel to be doing it for real. I envisioned ramming the point deep into Megan's eyelid and scratching the surface of her eye. I wanted to hear her scream and beg me to stop.

He came up with the compass idea; he said it would help me grow stronger. He said that all things that bother me could be dealt with if I only had the courage to do it.

"Remember Sam, I am here for you."

June 7th. -- He was right. All I have to do is believe in myself. Enough is enough and they need to be punished. They all need to know that I won't take this shit lying down. Who the fuck do they think they are?

I can feel my eyes stinging as I have not slept now for five days, but not to worry. Everything is ready. We have discussed what needs to be done, but first a practice. Yes, a practice is as good a word as any and the ideal candidate; Mrs Howarth. That stupid old bitch can be first. We agreed she deserved it for embarrassing me in front of my friends. I want to see that old crone suffer. I want to see her beg for me to kill her, but I won't. Not until I decide it's time!

June 8th. -- I'm back and it's done. I managed to sneak out around two after everyone had gone to bed. Luckily for me I know Mrs Howarth leaves the kitchen window open.

"It lets air in for Samson" she always says to my dad when he warns of the dangers of sleeping with windows open.

"It's a ‘free for all' for intruders" he'd tell her, and how right he is.

After climbing through the open window I had to deal with Samson. Samson is Mrs Howarth's terrier. Luckily that didn't take much. Because he knows me he didn't make any fuss, he just came over to me, playfully licking my ankles and wanting to be stroked. He didn't even make a noise when I trapped him between my legs and spun his little head round. The feeling of snapping that little rat's neck and feeling the bones crack at my
fingertips sent a euphoric ripple coursing through my body. We both laughed out loud and I could tell he was pleased so far. He remained in my head, talking me through each little step of our proposed plan. The next step was Mrs Howarth.

After stealing one of her kitchen knives I made my way towards the stairs. I light suddenly came on upstairs and I heard Mrs Howarth shout "Is someone there?" I remained silent and slowly crept towards the direction of her voice. I then stood back, waiting in the shadows, as I saw her creeping down the stairs. I felt dizzy as the blood rushed to my head and he kept telling me to wait and be patient.

Mrs Howarth stepped off the bottom step and turned into the hallway. I stepped out of the shadows and faced her.

"Samuel?" she asked, "How on earth did you get in here? What do you want?"

I didn't answer, I just walked towards her. I could see her breathing was becoming more intense with every advance I made. She turned quickly to go back upstairs but I managed to get my hand in-between the bars on the stairs, I grabbed her ankle and she fell. I pulled her down the stairs and she tried to push me away. I thrust the blade deep into her shoulder and she cried out. I repeated again and again, "Shut your fucking mouth" I
yelled back at her.

"Please," she begged, "leave me alone." She cried profusely and blood gurgled in her mouth. She coughed and sprayed blood onto my face. I smiled and smeared the blood around and licked it's residue from my fingers.

He was talking to me throughout. "Remember Sam, she deserves this" he whispered. Yes she did the bitch. She made me feel stupid and inferior around my friends.

"You deserve this!" I screamed as the knife tore through her flesh, stab after stab. She began to choke on her own blood. "Don't you dare die until I allow you?" I said. I lifted her head and whispered in her ear, "How do you feel? Do you want to die? I hope you'll remember this moment. Even when you're dead I hope it's imprinted on your soul."

I tilted her head back and drove the knife up through her chin into her head. She fitted slightly, her body twitching as the last of her breath ebbed away. Within a few seconds, she was dead. I stoodup and stared for a while at her lifeless corpse then slowly turned and looked out of the window at my own house.

"Well done Sam" we said in unison.

Jun 8th continued. – It is all finished now. The time is now four fifteen and they are all dead. I feel no remorse in fact, I feel nothing; my body is completely numb.

After returning to my house it was obvious my parents were asleep. Hayley was awake; she was talking to herself in that strange baby garble. Everywhere was quiet. I made my way upstairs and into my parents' bedroom, then I stood over them watching them sleep.

My Friend made it clear what I had to do. He reminded me of all the times I had felt alone because of my parents' lack of attention. All the times I had felt that they didn't care and that Hayley was more important.

‘I hate them' I thought as I held a pillow over my mother's face and pushed down hard. She began to struggle slightly which alerted my father and he began to stir.

"What the hell!" he shouted, still not fully awake.

Before he had time to stop I swung the knife at him and cut him across his abdomen. It wasn't particularly deep, but it bled violently.  He rolled to the floor and lay there, holding his stomach. I turned my attention back to my mother. I pushed down harder and harder over her face as she tried to move me. Bit by bit I could feel her getting weaker and weaker until eventually she stopped moving. I removed the pillow and looked down on her. Her eyes were rolled back in her head and the remnants of tears stained her cheeks.

My father now crawled along the floor towards me. "What have you done Sam?" he said through the pain, "Why?"

"Why! Why do you think? You're nothing to me, either of you." I shouted.

I walked towards my father and he managed to pull himself to his feet. With just a foot between us he lunged at me with his penknife and caught me, just under the ribs. I kicked out and sent him sprawling onto the bed.

"Ignore the pain," my friend said, "finish what you started, I am here for you."  I felt more comfortable and full of energy when I heard his voice.

I walked to my father's side slowly, savouring every second as he writhed in agony. His t-shirt now stained red as the blood seeped through.

"Sam, please don't do this," he cried "we love you."

‘We love you' was the last thing I heard from his lips. My mind grew hazy and I plunged the knife into his abdomen and with my new found strength I dragged the blade from his navel to his chest. His body convulsed and then lay still.

The lifeless corpses' of my parent's lay on the bed, it was a hellish sight to behold, but I felt renewed.

"Two down, one to go Sam," whispered my friend and I smiled at the thought. I didn't need these people as long as I had him.

Hayley was stood up in her cot crying; she had been a witness to everything. She put out her arms to me wanting comfort but I could offer none.

I heard what sounded like a thousand voices in my head all talking at once. I could not understand any of them; they were all talking over each other. As I approached she seemed to calm down and I became fixated on her.

Her small frame looked so innocent and so blissfully unaware of what lay ahead.

"Do it" I could hear coursing around my head as the voices became clearer. I stared down at her, it was all her fault my parents lost interest in me. I hated her most of all. I had to finish this and now.

Hayley looked up at me, arms outstretched and smiling. I slapped her hands away and placed the knife long ways inside her mouth. Very, very slowly I pushed inward, my other hand pushing on the back of her head to get grip. She wriggled her head from side to side trying to move the blade away but this only helped me. With each turn the blade embedded further into her mouth and blood began to appear in the corners of her mouth.

She continued to fidget and squirm as the blade ripped open her mouth. I threw the knife down and wrapped my hands around her throat. I squeezed hard crushing her windpipe. In a last attempt to breath and fight for life she spat blood out across the cot. Her face turned a grotesque blue colour as the air in her lungs drained away. Surely enough it was not long before the squirming stopped and I threw her lifeless body back into the cot.

As I surveyed what I had done I began to hear the voices congratulate me and snigger almost sarcastically but intensely sinister.  They seemed pleased and I felt numb. My body felt drained so I left the room and headed back downstairs to where I sit now writing this. I have been sitting here now and an hour has since past. I…

#

The diary entry finished abruptly.

"What happened next?" Llewellyn shouted out loud.

Llewellyn composed himself and placed the book down and wiped away tears as he tried to take in all that he had just read. He felt emotionally violated. He had never, in all his experience read an account so brutal and wicked. He now felt Sam was not only disturbed but evil.

"The boy needs a priest not a doctor" Llewellyn said out loud and he shivered as he recalled the detail of the killings, especially poor little Hayley.

He added more notes to his short report for Detective Stevens detailing that Sam was very mentally ill. He knew Sam would be charged with the murders but based on the evidence would most likely spend the rest of his life either here or in some other mental institute. He would be a liability if given a custodial sentence in a prison.

He glanced up at the clock and saw that it was half past three. Time to go home he thought, not that he would sleep. He felt as though he would never sleep again with those horrific images floating around in his head. He packed away his things, notified the staff room he was leaving then took one last look into Sam's room. Sam was positioned in his usual place; on the edge of his bed and staring out of the window. Llewellyn shook his head and continued on down the corridor towards the car park.

On the drive home Llewellyn pondered the obvious question; who or what was the voice Sam referred to as ‘his friend'? Was this an overactive imagination or something more sinister? He had no answer.

Thinking back on the vivid accounts of the murders made his skin crawl. They were written with such hate and malleus towards such a normal family. There seemed no link to anything underlying from Sam's past such as abuse or the like. He could think of no link to a root cause of why Sam had turned so violent with his family. The boy had just given up.

Llewellyn knew he needed rest to be able to think clearly. Once home he poured himself a glass of water and retreated to bed. His wife was asleep in bed so he crept silently across the bedroom floor. He washed down two painkillers and climbed into bed. Lying there in the dark he rubbed his temples as his head ached from the tension of the day. His eyes widened as the bedroom door creaked open.

Standing in her nightgown and rubbing her tired eyes stood Amy, Llewellyn's eight year old daughter.

"Daddy," she whispered.

"Amy what's wrong?"

The child climbed up onto the bed to her father and buried her head in his chest.

"Oh Amy, whatever's the matter?" he said sympathetically, "have you had a bad dream?"

He wiped away some small tears and blew her nose with his handkerchief.

"There was a man in my room and he stood by the window watching me."

He stroked her hair, "It's nothing sweetheart, just a dream." He picked her up in his arms and carried her back to bed. Once back in bed he gave her a doll to cuddle and covered them both up.

"What should I tell him if he speaks to me again daddy?" Amy asked softly.

"Tell him your daddy's next door and bigger than him and if he continues daddy will beat him," replied Llewellyn smiling. Amy smiled back at him then closed her eyes and got comfortable in bed. Llewellyn turned off the light and left. He stopped just outside the room and something in his mind triggered an unhappy thought. He turned back and opened the door. "Amy," he whispered and she turned to look at him.

"Yes daddy,"

"You said the man spoke to you,"

"Yes"

"What did he say to you?" he asked nervously.

Amy sat up and stared at her father with bright shining blue eyes and very innocently whispered, "Let me in."

 

© Steven Kevin Beattie, All rights reserved.

 

 

 

 

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Reviews

Nikki Jul 27, 2012

Wow im breathless... Really good story

Soniya Sep 25, 2011

very nice story...

Anikhet Sep 25, 2011

good one...

Geeta Sep 25, 2011

wow!! really a nice read.. some of the stories in here are much better than published books..

Jagrit Sep 25, 2011

very creative style of writing... it was worth reading every bit of your story...

Alice badler Sep 23, 2011

Love your writing style - really really good!!

Ruhaani Sep 21, 2011

Good story...

Amit Sep 21, 2011

such a nice story... I like it.. :)

Steven kevin beattie Sep 21, 2011

very kind, thank you all :-)

Chanchal Sep 21, 2011

This story was great, it grabs you and doesn?t want to let you go until it is finished......

Akshay Sep 21, 2011

Impressed. this story is amazing. Best story i have read. Great job :)

Pending deletion. Sep 21, 2011

Well done.

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