Role Play Board: These Twelve Knots Fin

These Twelve Knots Fin

Posted by Sin Eater on 6/29/2009, 10:01 am
71.226.186.23

12:09 Connie Willbanks' Estate

A myriad of images dance, twist, and contort before my minds eye. I know this is a dream, but I can't help getting swept away when I see Roy Oswald. My high school sweet heart. Always hated that last name, but with a butt like his, it made the thought of one day sharing that terrible name bearable. In the blink of an eye, I'm in my prom dress, him in his rental tux. The scenery switches to that of our prom some 14 years prior. We chit-chat and the memory of the prom plays out in dream form, of course with a little bit of fantasy mixed in. All of a sudden I hear a noise like hydraulics in action, similar to how the doors sounded on the Enterprise in those old episodes of Star Trek. From the back entrance walks my twin baby girls, Emily and Amanda, hand in hand wearing their Easter Sunday dresses. I'm overcome with sadness even from deep inside my sleep, I know my babies are dead and gone. Then my sadness is washed away in a sea of guilt as they, in unison ask "Why'd you kill us mommy?".

I sit up with a start, somehow even though I have just awoken, I know someone's in my home. Instead of running I spin around to the window behind me. I see the rope, only a millisecond after I feel it against my skin. I know this knotting, my mother used to always torture me by making me sit through her boring old westerns, this is a nose... but something tells me there's something significant about the knotting... something about these twelve knots.

I tear my eyes away from the noose as a figure in the window shifts, taking the rope in both hands. One hand at his side, holding the rope to take up slack, the other closer to myself, palm down, the pad of his hand stabbing downward as his right hand pulls the slack back through. The result being his hands collision with the coiled knots, forcing them toward my exposed neck. I start to cry out, but am cut short as the noose presses tight against my windpipes, like an over tightened bow tie. But unlike a tie, I know there is no loosening to be done here.

I manage to whisper in a kind of croak, "what do you want from me?"

The man does not respond, only pulls tighter on the rope. The terror saturates every fiber of my being, I know I will die tonight, thin I look up, and the man has vanished. Hope starts to mount inside me, and i tear myself from my bed, realizing for the first time that I've been totally nude this whole time confronted with a freak. I dismiss any thoughts of what this guy might want to do with my body as I spot my home phone upon the chest of drawers. I scramble as fast as I can for the cordless. Bare feet plodding heavily across the hardwood flooring. My hand springs out for the phone as I near. But I come up short. The Bastard! The length of rope about my neck is just the right length to keep my fingertips just shy of the phone. Without a second though, I flail my left leg out, I'm not the most disciplined when it comes to exercise, so I'm a bit surprised when my foot reaches the solid oak platform. I slide my foot forward in attempt to scoop/scoot the hand set closer. The effect is not what I had intended, the hand set crashes to the floor and clatters along the floor, coming to a stop at my grounded foot.

In a blur, I have the phone swept up, battery pack placed back inside after having been jarred out, 9-1-1 dialed and have the hand set pressed firmly to the right side of my face. You know in movies where the damsel's being chased by the freak with the machete, and she picks up the phone, hits 911, and in 1 - maybe 2- rings there's an answer? That's such a load of crap. It rang, and rang and rang, I thought I would get an answering service before I got an actual person. But as the 8th ring started its dull mechanical roar, a young man answered "911, what's your emergency?"

I told him, who I was, where I was located, what had happened in as calm a tone as I could muster.

"I'm sorry ma 'am, I can barely make out a word you said. Can you give me at least an address?"

What the...? I think to myself. I just told this guy all of my info... Then I remember the painfully tightened rope about my throat. My words were probably mangled like I had my jaws wired shut. A thought enters my head, and I give it a shot. I begin to press the keys that are my home address numbers 3-1-3 is all that I get.

"Is this some sort of prank? Cause if it is, you can get in serious trouble here."

I hit the end button. Hoping that the operator will think the call a prank and send police. But that could take longer than if he felt it was a real emergency. So I press in the three numbers again, and as the lines connect, I start sweeping the room for a a nail file, curling iron, scissors anything that might sever this rope from my neck. I scramble to my purse, in the side zip, I have a pair of clippers with a big file in it, if only... That's the closest I got to finishing my thought, my world suddenly went black, and I felt no more. No anger, no hate, no sadness, guilt, remorse, terror or grief, and I knew my life had came to a sudden halt.