This is a book that I began in the fourth grade, so it is not my best work. It is could be considered Horror or Adventure but there is a bit of Fantasy attached so here it goes:
Don't be afraid to tell me what you think of it:
One: Legends of Old
Have you ever stopped to wonder why things are the way they are? For instance, why is the sky blue, why is life life? And what would happen if one day, the past life connected with the present. Who would be effected? How would life be different? These are the questions that have haunted me for quite some time now. And so, as the last living person to have known this story, or rather lived this story I pass it on to you. As it lives on in my mind, and lives on in the minds of all people who lived it. It all began on a dark and slightly thunderous night. A man in a black sweat suit is running and screaming at the top of his lungs.
" PLEASE SOMEBODY HELP ME. MY SON IS TRYING TO KILL ME!" he screamed throughout the streets of Little Whispington. But everyone ignored him. He was after all the town psychotic, always claiming that his son that had moved to South Beach about thirty years ago was trying to kill him. In fact this was not the first time that week he had made this claim. And every time it was his imagination. But not this time, this time, it was real, for his son had not really moved to South Beach, in fact the son had moved to Kingston, a place three miles from Little Whispington. But still everyone believed him to be in South Beach. At any rate, the old man ran and ran, until he came upon a well lit up house which he ran up to and banged on the door. But no one answered. He banged several more times before a rather tall man in a gray sweat suit came up caring the well coveted, and yet very illegal AK-47. He walked exceptionally slow as the man was in his slippers and clearly had no way of running fast.
There was absolutely no where for the old man to hide, so he rounded the corner and ran into the old Kingston mansion, where he ran into the first bedroom on the third floor and hid in the closet. Where he sat breathlessly still. Barely breathing, and not even blinking. But something very heavy was sitting next to him. Something oddly shaped and heavy. But the old man couldn?t see it, so he lit a match to see the body of a man right next to him, completely covered in blood. The old man, blew out the match, and wanted to let out a yell, but held in this scream, though he was deathly scared. Just then he heard the footsteps of his soon on the old hardwood floor and he quickly covered his mouth and nose so his breathing would not be heard. It was so quiet, accept for the thunder, and the sound of his heart beating at a thousand miles per minute. Bump bump, bump bump, bump bump, his heart beat, louder and louder until he was sure it was going to burst right out of his chest when a pain went up his left arm and his heart began to beat out of control. He was having a severe heart attack. But this only began a chain of events, for when one thunder clapped in the sky, the closet door burst open and the old man was shot twelve times in the chest. Blood dripped to the floor as the man died instantly. The younger man, pulled the old man out of the closet and dragged him to his, black van which he had set in place not far from there, got into his car and drove to the local river. Known to the residents as Whispering River, so named because it was in the town of Little Whispington. He took the body to the dirty river and put it in. Then as the rain began to fall, he placed a rock on the body, so even if Whispering River flooded as it often did, the body would not float away.
He then walked calmly to his car which he dumped into the lake just east of the river and picked up his red corvette and drove back to Little Whispington where he saw the red police lights and the C.S.I. and stopped his car, as he was flagged down.
" Sir, this is a crime scene, you cannot cross." said Amanda, the head C.S.I.
" But I..." the man began, but his face became suddenly shocked, ", " Crime scene? What happened?"
" A man was murdered." Amanda replied.
" That's too bad.?" said the man.
" Sir, what is your name?" asked Amanda.
" Jonathan. Jonathan LeMarx." he said.
" Well Mr. LeMarx, where do you live?" Amanda asked.
" On 334.?" Jonathan said pointing to a blue house on the corner.
" Ok sir, you may cross." Amanda said, lifting up the yellow crime scene tape to let him go through.
" I hope you find the killer." Jonathan said with a smile before he left.
" Thank you sir." Amanda said.
" Though I doubt you will." he said, once out of earshot.
CHAPTER 2 THE RULES OF THE GAME
Jonathan was a criminal mastermind. He was known to all of his fans if you could call them that as the Disposer. Anyone that he felt needed to be killed would be. He had even written a book entitled, " To Kill Death" a story that should have been his autobiography for all the people he had killed. He had even created a website. www.m.u.r.d.e.r.com. It was of course, his personal life, including a journal and record of all his killings. Including his very first death, dated June 15, 1999.
Name: D.O.B: D.O.D: Time:
Malcolm LeMarx 06/15/65 06/15/99 12:01 am
From there he continued with
Mary LeMarx 07/22/63 07/22/99 1:01 am
Kyle LeMarx 03/07/91 03/07/00 3:03 am
James Helton 04/04/88 04/04/00 9:02 pm
Amanda Child 10/09/66 10/09/00 6:06 am
June Child 11/11/61 11/11/00 7:07 pm
John Child 12/24/00 12/24/00 1:11 am
And so it continued for thirty three pages continuing with people from age eighty one to one day old. Jonathan was a caring person despite everything, that is to say he didn?t care what age you were as long as you weren?t born between the years of 1960 on up. For then, in his eyes, you must be killed.
