Yeah guys, I told you I was working hard on something special!!!
So, remember how I got a halfway decent microphone a few days/weeks ago??? Well, I finally put it to use!
Not with an entire novel audiobook yet, but still. I recorded a little something!
A little something… called Red.
A short (horror) story I wrote back in the day… okay, actually, it wasn’t that long ago, but it’s pretty terrifying. Or so I’d like to think.
Now, I recorded just audio for this, and I decided to upload some videos in, like, podcast format. I also decided, though, to post the “transcription”, I guess, below each part on this here blog. Feel free to read along as you listen to me reading Red, or listen and read separately or neither at all!
So, let’s get right into it, hm?
Red, Pt. 1:
“It won’t be long, now.”
I took a quiet, deep breath.
“I think she’s ready.”
And then I held it in.
I could hear footsteps begin to approach the area where I lay in the complete darkness.
I shut my eyes.
Suddenly, a rumbling noise erupted in front of my face, and then I saw a bright light flash over my body from behind my eyelids.
I felt two sets of fingers grab the skin of each of my ankles and jerk my legs out from underneath the rest of me.
He dragged my body closer to the light.
After a short moment, he released me from his grip.
I kept my eyes closed.
“And here she is.”
I remained still, sprawled out on the floor.
Then, abruptly, a loud, snap-like sound broke out, directly beside one ear.
And my eyes shot open.
He let out a laugh.
“Are you ready?” he asked, hovering over me.
I stayed silent.
He smirked, and then stepped away.
I kept still.
Slowly, I turned my head towards the right, where he stood.
“It’s time for round one,” he stated, looking directly into the lens of a small black camera, which was set up on the tallest step of a wooden ladder, right next to his overcrowded countertop.
He then stepped over to the side of the long desk and grabbed something off of it, which was sitting beside a large computer monitor, where the picture of the entire room was displayed on its screen.
And I was laying in the center of it.
He turned back around to face me, a tiny, closed pocket knife in his right hand.
I slowly slid my hands up to my sides, near my upper back, and carefully pushed myself into a sitting position.
He began to approach me.
I stared at the smile forming between his cheeks, my eyes wide.
He took another steady step into my direction as he flipped the silver blade out from the knife handle.
“Ready?” he questioned, his voice quiet.
My muscles tensed up as I looked him over.
Then, suddenly, he lunged towards me.
“SH!” he yelled back as I shot myself up to a stand.
I whipped around and screamed, again.
He grabbed the back of my left arm.
“No!” I screeched as he pulled me backwards.
He then spun me back around and tugged at my arm more, forcing my body inwards and towards his.
I took a shaky breath and looked up, noticing that his eyes were mere inches away from mine.
“Awe,” he mumbled, almost pushing his voice into a whine. “Don’t play dumb games.”
He smiled again and, after a second or two, I began to feel a cold sensation touch my upper arm, the one he was holding onto.
I looked down at the area of the feeling at the same moment that he swiped the sharp knife blade across my skin.
I screamed out in pain and leaned back from his grip.
Immediately after that, though, he let go, making me tumble back a bit. Then, he treaded back over to his workbench area and skidded a rusted metal folding chair into the center of the room.
I placed a hand over my deep, bleeding cut as he turned back to me.
“Sit,” he commanded.
I searched his face for a second, and then obeyed by stepping forwards and sitting down in the cold, hard chair.
“Now,” he began, turning around and stepping up to the side of the black camera set up directly in front of where I currently rested. “Your fans would like to know your name.”
I took a deep breath and re-covered my wound.
“What… fans?” I quietly questioned.
He spun back around and searched my expression for a second.
“Tell them your name,” he snapped.
I looked between him and the camera lens.
“Anna,” I answered.
“Thank you,” he shot back, clasping his hands together in front of himself. “Now, Anna, tell us a little bit about yourself.”
I stared at him.
“Like… um… what?” I inquired.
He bit his lip before replying.
“I don’t want to repeat myself, Anna.”
A cold sensation swept over my chest.
“W-Well, I…” I paused for a moment to think. “I… I like to cook.”
“Oh, really? Me, too,” he followed up, now shoving his hands into the side pockets of his baggy, ripped blue jeans. “What else?”
I took another moment to answer.
“I… Sometimes, I volunteer at the animal shelter.”
“Oh,” he groaned. “You see, Anna, that’s where we differ. You like animals, don’t you?”
“Mm, yeah,” he continued. “That’s what I thought.”
He started to pace towards me.
“You see,” he went on. “I don’t really care much for… those… disgusting things.”
He began to step around my backside, out of my sight.
And then his footsteps ceased.
A cold silence fell around me.
“Say, Anna,” he eventually spoke up. “Why don’t we play a game?”
His steps resumed their soft patters and he soon appeared around my other side.
“I love games…” he commented, now making his way to his desk at the front of the room.
I watched him quietly as he rummaged through the mess of various items on the countertop.
“How about… Russian Roulette?” he suggested.
I didn’t respond.
He kept his back turned towards me.
“Nah, that’s too easy…” he mumbled.
His right hand froze atop one particular object.
“I know…” he commented, beginning to turn back to me.
He smiled and held up a pack of red and black playing cards.
He took a step towards me.
“Only, we’re going to play my version,” he explained. “So, for each time you win a hand…”
He whipped out his pocket knife, once more, from his pocket in his free hand. “You get to punish me.”
He took another step into my direction.
“But, each time I win a hand…” he paused to flip the knife’s blade into place. “I get to do the same to you.”
He took one final step, now standing nearly on top of me.
“Fair enough?” he asked.
I slowly looked from the knife in his hand up to the expression on his face.
I carefully nodded.
“Good,” he cheered, closing the pocket knife up and shoving it back into his pocket.
He stepped around my backside and disappeared for a moment.
I looked up at the computer monitor from where I sat, first observing my own figure, and then his, which was hunched over in the corner of the screen.
Suddenly, a loud thud erupted, making me physically jump in my seat. My eyes darted downwards at the same moment but, soon after the sound had subsided, they glanced back up to see him clutching the edges of a small, round tabletop, and walking back into my direction, while keeping the four leg stands of it from dragging on the ground.
Another bang rang out when he dropped the small stand onto the floor by my right side.
“Dealer or player?” he asked, hovering above the tabletop.
I gazed over and up at him.
“I’ll let you choose,” he added.
I paused for a moment, and then quietly responded.
“Alright,” he accepted, now stepping towards his desk, once again.
He picked up a similar metal, collapsed folding chair that both resembled mine and leaned against the counter by its top edge, swiftly carried it to the opposite side of the table beside me, and then decided to drop it onto the floor and fling it open simultaneously.
He threw the pack of playing cards that he still held onto the tabletop as he sat. Then, silently, he reached forward, removed the cards from their captivity, and began to shuffle them slowly.
After a few seconds, he slammed the stack onto the table, face-down.
He removed the top two.
He took a deep breath as he overturned just one of them in front of himself.
The king of clubs quickly became revealed.
I looked up at his expression as he gave the card a look of satisfaction. After that, he set them both down on the tabletop and glanced back at me.
I promptly looked away.
“Your turn, Anna,” he muttered, reaching out to grab the next two cards from the pile.
He carefully flipped them over and slid them towards my side of the table.
I glanced downwards.
A red nine and a black ace was shown.
“Oo,” he cooed. “Hit or stand?”
I stared at the cards for a second.
“Stand,” I answered.
He retracted his arm across the table, and then flipped over his remaining card.
The seven of hearts.
“Well,” he began. “Looks like you win.”
He reached into his pocket, underneath the table, and then threw his silver, collapsed pocket knife onto the countertop in front of my cards.
I studied it for a moment, and then gazed up at him.
“Well, go on,” he encouraged.
I looked from him back down to the knife.
I carefully reached out in its direction, and then slowly wrapped my fingers around its cold handle.
I began to pull it inwards.
At the same time, he threw both of his arms onto the table top, wrists up.
“We can start out small,” he said.
I pushed a tiny, circular button on the side of the knife, forcing the blade to pop out.
I flickered my eyes back up to him.
“What… do you want me to do?” I abruptly asked.
“Whatever you want,” he answered. “Anna.”
I glanced gradually down at his palms and inhaled deeply.
I moved the hovering knife closer to his left arm and lowered it a bit.
Then, slowly, I pressed the silver blade tightly against the skin of his wrist.
I watched a tiny dot of bright red start to appear, and then swiped the entire blade downwards and to the side.
I bit my lip and dropped the knife onto the table.
I thin line of burgundy was beginning to show where my quick incision was made.
“Nice job,” he complimented.
I pulled back my hand as he reached out to gather the cards left face up on the tabletop. He organized them all into a pile, next to the other, and then took two fresh cards from the taller stack of the two.
Just as before, he placed them in front of himself and flipped over just one.
It was the five of clubs.
I gazed up at him as he proceeded to pick up two more cards.
He both turned them over and set them down in front of me in the same second.
They were the ace of hearts and queen of diamonds.
“Well, well,” he observed.
He leaned back a bit, making his seat squeak underneath him.
“You’ve won, again.”
I stared at the cards a moment, and then gazed up.
He lifted one corner of his mouth, brought his arms back onto the tabletop, and glanced down to the knife that was left in the same place I had dropped it.
I followed his gaze, and then fell still for a moment.
“You won, Anna,” he reiterated.
I slowly reached out to pick up the knife by its hard, metal end.
“You won,” he whispered as I suspended the weapon over his left arm, once again.
I took a breath, and then compressed the sharp edge of the knife into his skin, right above the previous cut I had given him.
He made no sound as I pushed the blade deeper and farther across his wrist more than before. Then, just as last time, I stroked the knife to the side and let it fall harshly onto the table under my hand.
I recollected my hands into my lap as I watched the spots of blood begin to drip from his wound and smear into the already dried patches of the same substance next to it.
He took a noticeably deep inhalation and removed his left arm completely from the table. After that, he reached out to discard the cards that were set out and gathered two new sets from the tall pile. Again, he flipped over one card on his side of the counter and both on my side.
He had the king of hearts.
I had a black seven and a red eight.
“Hit or stand?” he posed.
I paused before answering.
I looked up at him as he collected another card from the unused stack.
He flipped it over and slid it to the side of my other cards.
The seven of clubs.
“Oo,” he winced. “Not so lucky this time, huh?”
I studied the cards in front of me as he reached out to snatch the knife from the table.
“Let’s make this a little more interesting,” he said.
Let me know what you think/thought so far!