Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by Angila, May 17, 2013.

  1. Angila

    Angila InkGirl. Staff Member

    *Title: Monster.

    *Rating: 18+

    *Main Characters: Frank Iero, Gerard Way, Mikey Way, Ray Toro, a few OC's

    *Summary: All evidence points to him, but he didn't do this. Did he?

    *Genre: horror/mystery

    *Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with My Chemical Romance or its previous members. This story is my own.

    *Chapter Index:

    Chapter One- Page One

    A/N: I haven't written a fic in a looooong time, so I'm a little rusty. I don't know where I'm going with this, it's just something I wrote when bored one night. Changed some names and voila! Something I can share. :) Also, I tried to correct some of the things I want to be swear words, but I might have missed some.
  2. Angila

    Angila InkGirl. Staff Member

    He clenched and unclenched his fist, watching in detached interest as the thickening blood found its way through his fingers. Opening his hand he turned his palm over. The blood ran slow trails down the back of his hand, pooling at his wrist. How had this blood found its way on his hands, his arms, and after glancing down he noticed, his clothes? Whose blood was it? Was he injured? No, he didn’t seem to be. Nothing hurt. Not enough for this type of injury, anyway. The muscles in his neck, right arm, and back were sore. His head throbbed intensely, but these were minor injuries.

    Slowly he forced himself to turn, to take in his surroundings. The living room was in complete disarray, his belongings strewn everywhere. Lamps, an end table, even the big screen lay face down on the floor, a strange buzzing sound emitting from it. Just in front of where he sat crouched on the floor was more blood. It had seeped into the cream-colored carpet fibers and began to darken. Perhaps it had been there awhile.

    Why did he feel so fuzzy, confused, so fucking stupid right now? Snap the hell out of it! After swiping a hand up his face and through his dark hair he wished he’d thought better of this. He’d forgotten how much blood was on his hands; now it surely covered his face as well. Forcing himself to a standing position he took one step forward before halting again. His legs shook violently; his knees nearly knocked.

    Get ahold of yourself, you fucking pansy. He was afraid, so goddamn scared of what he might find at the end of that bloody trail. Or who he might find there. If he didn’t see it, never laid eyes on it, it didn’t have to be real. He could simply stand there like a dumbass for the rest of his life and be perfectly ignorant to whatever happened here tonight.

    Put one foot in front of the other. There you go, you fucking baby. He’d always thought he’d be better in a situation such as this. He’d be a hero, do the right thing in the face of adversity. Ha, no. He now knew an alarming fact about himself: if something truly frightening presented itself he reverted to a scared little boy in need of mommy comfort. Okay, we’re getting somewhere. Good, keep moving. Almost there now. Fu-ck, he had to stop again. His stomach lurched; he nearly lost whatever it was he’d last eaten. What had occurred here must have started in this spot, or it was here that it had possibly come to a conclusion. Blood and some sort of…matter spread out in a wide arc here just in front of the bathroom door.

    Forcing the bile down once again he side-stepped the partially dried, crimson mass, but the spatter spread across the hallway between the living room and bathroom and was impossible to avoid. He grimaced when his shoe squished into an apparently not dry at all puddle. Sluuuck…the sound was not unlike pulling one’s foot from mud. Holy sh-it, he really was going to puke this time.

    The apartment was eerily quiet, aside from the death rattle of the TV. A thought occurred to him for the first time: what if the sadistic sonofabitch that’d done this was still here, lying in wait? He had no weapons, nothing to protect himself with. A newfound sense of urgency prodded him forward, and he scurried around the corner to the kitchen. Flipping on the light, he breathed a sigh of relief when he found himself alone. It really wasn’t the kitchen he was concerned with, if he were honest with himself. No, it was that goddamn bathroom he’d stood in front of moments ago. The door was shut but the light was on, he’d seen it shining from beneath the door. Someone was in there. A weapon, oh yes. That was why he’d come in here. Grabbing the biggest, baddest butcher knife he owned he swung it in a wide arc a few times to be sure he had a feel for it. This would have to do. Ok, go check the bathroom. Instead of making a left at the kitchen doorway to return the way he’d come, however, he made a right. Better check the bedrooms. Right, you giant douche. You’re scared of the bathroom. Scared, scared you’re fucking scared.

    “Fu-ck you,” he whispered, the receiving end of the curse being no one but his own inner voice. A quick flip of the light and cursory check of the three bedrooms down that hallway revealed no one and no blood, just as he’d suspected. No, his monster hid in the bathroom.

    The blood on his hands was making the knife handle slippery. Combined with the manic tremors it was nearly impossible to hold onto. Palming it with both hands to steady it he held it in front of him and made a sudden mad dash for thedoorhedidn’twanttoopen. The outside handle was covered in blood; he didn’t want to touch it. Hey jerk, guess what? You’re already covered in blood, what’s a little more? OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!

    Someone did. He guessed it was his own hand that reached out and turned the knob since he was the only dickhead out here, but it felt surreal, like someone else entirely was in control. The same hand slowly pushed the door inward, but his last defense stood between him and knowledge. Open your eyes. I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to. Cowardice finally took a surprising back burner and he saw. He saw what he never, ever wanted to, what his worst nightmares couldn’t begin to conjure. She was so dead. So, so fucking obviously dead. There was no hey, maybe she’s still breathing. Maybe there’s still hope. No. There was so much blood. Who knew the human body even contained this much? It was everywhere. All over the floor, the walls, the bathtub, the sink. Bloody fingertips left ominous trails down was left of the cracked floor-length mirror. Giant, bloodied shards lay at his feet.

    In the center of it all this disgusting, gory, slasher-flick scene lay Jennifer. What used to be a white t-shirt was no more, he could see the slashed wounds to her abdomen beneath. She wore no pants; her beautiful legs had been hacked and sliced as well. One arm was thrown defensively over her face, or what was left of it. Whoever had done this had meant to leave her unrecognizable. Success. Her pretty face was a bloody, meaty, mess. Eyes open, staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

    “Jesus Christ, no…fu-ck!” He stepped across the mirror shards and blood, matter, memories, and love to her. As he dropped to his knees next to the contorted frame that was his girlfriend his stomach decided now would be a good time to evict its contents. He felt vile, like he was desecrating her memory even more when the vomit splattered her legs. The knife finally fell from his grip and he turned to his left if only to keep the fluids from touching her. Splaying both hands palm down on the floor he let go until he could no more. Tears and vomit covered his face; he hardly noticed the long gash across the side of his hand he’d just sustained from pieces of the broken mirror.

    Loud footsteps sounded just outside the apartment. BOOMBOOMBOOM someone pounded on the door. Then they were inside, how they’d gotten in he had no idea. Badges flashed in his face, police officers identified themselves. He was being hauled out of the bathroom, thrown roughly to the ground. His face pressed into that spot on the carpeted floor outside the bathroom and his stomach lurched again.

    “Frank Iero, you are under arrest for the murder of Jennifer Tillman.” His arms were jerked painfully behind him and handcuffs forced into place. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right…”

    Jesus Christ, he was being mirandized? He didn’t do this, it wasn’t him! He didn’t want to remain silent, he wanted to scream it at them, but he couldn’t speak, could barely move. As the arresting officers forced him from his apartment one of them leaned forward and whispered gruffly in his ear, “got you, ass-hole.”
  3. Lokeriel

    Lokeriel Because Boomerangs Staff Member

  4. Angila

    Angila InkGirl. Staff Member

    Yayy thank-you! I was going to just do a one-shot but it'd be too long for that, plus this is all I have written so not exactly sufficient for that either lol.
  5. Lokeriel

    Lokeriel Because Boomerangs Staff Member

    WWOOOOAAAHHHH. Dude. That was fucking gripping. I can't wait to read more.
  6. Miz Erie

    Miz Erie Future Violent Staff Member

    I was holding my breath! I need more! This was really great!
  7. Angila

    Angila InkGirl. Staff Member

    Thanks ladies!!! <3
  8. kadoodle

    kadoodle crazy cat lady Staff Member

    Oh my goodness, that was awesome!
  9. Angila

    Angila InkGirl. Staff Member

    ^Thank-you! I'm going to update within the next couple of days. Have to write it first lol.

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