November 12, 2001Edit
This happened about four years ago, so please forgive me if my memory's a little faded or off. I'm a 20 year-old girl and I had a 'run-in' with the thing people are calling the 'psycho-noire'. It was a bit of a traumatic experience, so I try to forget as much as I can.
I was 16 years old at the time, and still going to high school. I was just the typical 16-year old, except I guess that wasn't completely true. I was a bit of an outcast from everyone else. In other words, I guess you could say I had disagreements with the other kids. I played guitar and sang songs.
You know, what the hell else am I supposed to sing? I had no mother, because she had died when I was younger. Car accident. It was just me, my father, and occasionally, my brother in college. We had been through a lot together, namely our mothers death. But even it couldn't hope to prepare us for what happened that day.
I came home to hear a scratching and scrapping of a violin, or maybe a harp. Inquisitive, I asked my father about it. He simply stated that he had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. My guitar. I ran to my room, thinking my brother in college had come home to surprise me. He wasn't there.
I began to change to get ready for dinner when I noticed my guitar wasn't there. But the amp for the guitar was, giving off a red, blood-like discharge as though it was injured. As if it was a living creature. The cord went out the window, but I didn't look out to see what was connected to it.
I panicked and hurried towards the bathroom, feeling as though I was going to vomit. As I opened the toilet bowl, there was something resembling a mutilated pulp. I puked in the bathtub. The smell was horrific. I left the bedroom, about to hurry and tell my dad about what I saw, only to find something even worse. My brother did come home.
Walking through the hallway in nothing but my bra and jeans, I saw him. Lying almost dead in the guest bedroom was my older brother, silently shuddering in the closet. I assumed he had his tongue ripped out, and tried to calm him down. To my surprise, as well as my horror, he spoke one word: "END". Followed by him passing out, or, rather, just passing. He fell to the floor in a bloody, torn mess, as I saw and realized what the bloody pulp was in the bathroom: his penis. No human being, man or woman could possibly do this. Maybe he was attacked by a wild animal? I though, but then, how was his body brought into the room without anyone hearing or noticing? How did my dad not hear anything?
I ran down the stairs in tears, desperately shouting for my father to come and help me. After what I saw next, I knew he could never help me. There he was, in the fridge, impaled on my guitar. Written on my guitar in blood was the word "END".
I tried to scream, or sing, or shout, or whatever I could possibly do to alert whoever could help me, but no sound came from my mouth. I felt a trickle of wetness drip down my neck. Slowly reaching to my neck, I felt a cut. How could something, anything do this? I saw a reflection flash in the window as I ran to the back door.
There she lay, in the backyard. Her body just as mangled as it probably was when that truck hit her at full speed. Standing over her body was a creature, I guess it's what's call the 'psycho-noire' now. It had a long, black coat, just like the one my friend whore at school.
Messy, black hair, and an indescribably terrifying face. Long claws for hands and a guitar on its back. But, not my guitar. A different one. It had "END: written all over it, in blood. It dipped it's guitar down and played a terrible chord, pulled down the amp from the window above me. The cord was connected to it's guitar.
When I was conscious again, there were police at my house, carrying out my family in body bags. I looked down and noticed my bra was gone, but I was wearing the shirt I had removed earlier. It was soaked in blood except for three clean spots that formed the word "END".