adi
get out of my house
Well I'm gonna copy what Ketil (hear he got banned lol) did and present my own intermatly longish story, with many words. for criticism. I'm open to all comments but I really won't care as its my GCSE coursework and I got FULL MARKS. THATS RIGHT 50 OUT OF 50, 100%, 'A BEATIFULLY CONSTRUCTED STORY' AS MY TEACHER PUT IT, PROBABLY THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER DONE IN MY LIFE!!!!! So be honest. The story's called confession.
He woke up only to fall into nothingness a few seconds later. What he saw in those few seconds unnerved him, but it didn’t appear to be anything of major importance. He saw he was in a back of a car with a dark figure driving but when he fell back into sleep, nothing could touch him.
The man in the back of the car dreamt strange dreams. He dreamt why a man like Troy Dresmond would be in such a peculiar position. After all, that very day he had gone to work at his insurance firm (major profits this year, maybe even a chance of a bonus.) But that was all he could remember. He then saw himself in the back of the machine being driven by a psychopath hurtling down the freeway to his children’s school with the intention of
(killing)
picking them up and driving them to his $700,000 Victorian-style timber frame house made out of the highest quality woods. However there was something wrong. The stranger wasn’t really driving; he was controlling the vehicle with his mind or something unknown. Something, which a mere human like Troy couldn’t possibly comprehend. From somewhere at the back of his brain, his conscience was telling him to remember this dream, not too wake up too soon because he would need this memory, not only would he come to depend on it, he would come to place his life on it.
He awoke. His ears were throbbing with pain and his eyes took a long time to adjust to what was going on around him. It hurt to open them and a piercing white light was all he could see for the next few minutes. He was in the back of a car all right, but it wasn’t his. A strong leather smell filtered through his nostrils and he saw that he was in an old automobile, probably from around the 1960’s. The space he was lying in suggested it was fairly big, maybe even Cadillac-sized.
The machine was moving in extreme darkness along fairly bumpy ground. Stanford INC.’s recent ‘Insurance salesman of the month’ then realised he couldn’t move. He strained his head to see his legs and arms coupled together with two pieces of coarse rope. The flesh on his wrists was turning raw and he was still in his beige suit, which was surprisingly clean. Suddenly, all these details seemed superficial to what he was witnessing in front of him. If it had been any other time or place he would have been bemused, maybe even let out a small chuckle. But now was not the place. He was on edge and concerned for his life.
What he saw reminded him of an old drawing, perhaps one from the era the car was made. A large figure, which resembled a male cartoon detective was hunched in front of him. He was complete with a detective hat and a detective cloak only missing a detective briefcase. The stranger wore black gloves, which Troy thought were leather as a result of the minimal light in the car. In fact, everything the man wore was black. The detective was enshrouded in darkness, much like the world outside the car. He seemed almost like a silhouette. Troy watched him carefully for the next minute, examining every move.
The detective’s actions seemed intentionally exaggerated; something that Troy found both unsettling and amusing at the same time. Every time the detective turned the wheel of the car, he would shift his whole body to the side, contort his arms in the most awkward way and seem to use maximum effort for a seemingly simple task. But why? There were no streetlights and the endless jolting of the car suggested they were not on a road of any sort. Troy had a vision of a car travelling in an endless circle somewhere in the desert. This vision was quite interesting to Troy, it reminded him of the time he was at college with his best friends and…
“Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane”
Troy let out a faint smile of recognition. The radio had been turned on and a Doors song was being played. ‘The End’ was the first thought that came to mind. He tried to block out all the negative implications that a song detailing pain and death would give to his present situation and tried to focus on something else. Talking to his captor would be a good starting point. It would distract him while Troy tried to free himself from the rope.
He had been struggling with words before, but the song presented the perfect opening. It gave him the chance to say something which wouldn’t offend and wouldn’t inquire (he remembered a scene from some B-list movie where a captured woman had been shot in the head because her first sentence was a question.) Yes, the song would be the perfect opportunity for Troy to talk, an icebreaker so to speak.
‘You’ve got good taste.’
There was no reply. Troy privately reproached himself for talking in such a low voice. His mother had always criticised him for that. He would try again, a bit louder this time.
‘I really like this song. I own the album. You’ve got good taste.’
Still no reply. For some reason Troy would have preferred a ‘Quiet’ or even a ‘Shut up’ but he got nothing.
“There's danger on the edge of town
Ride the King's highway, baby”
The volume was slightly louder this time. The throbbing in his head increased. Troy soon realised why. The volume of the radio was being raised at a steady rate.
‘He must like the song,’ thought Troy.
The volume increased progressively until it broke past the point of what would be considered acceptable listening inside a car. The pain in Troy’s ears was intensifying into something far more than the minor annoyance it had started out as.
‘Please put the volume down,’ said Troy in a tone of voice which he intended to make sound as indifferent as possible. He watched, the feeling of panic in his body mounting every second as he saw the leather glove continue to turn the volume up, oblivious to the drama going on behind it.
“The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall”
The throbbing now seemed to be coming from inside his skull. He had not felt pain like this in a long time. The speakers had begun to break down, discharging distortion and all sorts of sonic amalgamations alongside the music. Troy tried to free himself from the rope in a vain attempt to try to place his hands over his ears. But it wasn’t working.
‘Put the volume down. Just stop it, stop it now!’
There was no response. The throbbing was escalating and the volume was still being increased.
“He went into the room where his sister lived, and then he
Paid a visit to his brother, and then he,
He walked on down the hall, and he came to a door.”
Troy Dresmond, his head about to rupture, did the only thing he could possibly do. Inhuman screams spewed forth from his mouth and he started shaking violently, doing anything to get his kidnapper’s attention. But the music continued.
“And he came to a door...and he looked inside
Father,
Yes son?
I want to kill you.”
Then it ended. Troy knew the sharp ringing in his ears was going to continue for a long time, but he was thankful that the main ordeal was over. The man in the detective suit chuckled in a laidback manner as though he was watching an old Charlie Chaplin movie. This action pushed Troy over the edge. All rational thought escaped from his mind and he began to yell furiously.
‘What the hell are you doing? Oh, I see it now, you’re laughing. Laughing at me. I nearly go deaf and you laugh? That’s great, that’s just unbelievable. You kidnap me wearing a detective suit for some sort of perverse satisfaction on your part and now you refuse to talk. Well, I hope you die, I hope you…’
The kidnapper talked.
‘No need to shout Mr Dresmond. I am a detective and you’re the one who’s gonna die.’
His accent was drawling, maybe south Kentuckian, but this was of no importance to Troy. Everything he had wanted to achieve in the morning now seemed extremely superficial and unimportant, even his wife and children became vague blimps in his memory. He had just been threatened with death and he didn’t want to die. The detective chuckled once more.
‘Only joking Sir, I ain’t gonna kill nobody. In fact, y’all could be my best friends.’
Troy didn’t speak for the next few seconds as he tried to comprehend the sudden rush of emotions which had just befell his brain. He held back the urge to scream once more and decided to try to have a normal conversation.
‘Y’all? But there’s only one of me.’
‘Your wife and kids are in the trunk,’ whispered the detective. He started wheezing after he spoke those words, a sound which suggested he was a heavy smoker.
Troy turned pale and felt paralysed. Fear and anguish were the only sensations he could feel at this moment in time. He couldn’t stop thinking of the possibility that they were all dead, rotting in the back trunk while this maniac chuckled and played music loud to intimidate his passengers. He wanted to die; he wanted to leave this vehicle.
‘Only joking Mr Dresmond, there’s no way I could fit three people in the trunk,’ drawled the detective.
‘Are you lying? Please say you’re lying. Please.’
His voice was now a trembling whisper. Snot trickled down his face and his eyes watered.
‘OK, Mr Dresmond, I’m lying. There ain’t no way three of y’all could fit in the back of lil’ Suzy here. It’s a damned near impossibility that’s what it is!’
‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ said Troy, colour returning to his face.
‘I only took your kids. One ain’t breathin’ so good, I think. If you want them alive you’d better do what I say.’
Troy started shouting frenziedly.
‘Simon, Matt, if you can hear me shout back, tap, do anything please, please be alive. Say something!’
‘Talking won’t do you good Mr Dresmond, I got them all sleeping a long time ago. Now I’m gonna stop the car and you’re gonna get out. You’re gonna see a white light, that’s my house. Go in and kill everyone you see. You phone me from inside, you hear? And don’t try no tricks, I see you everywhere, I’m a detective you see. When you’re done you get your kids back, understand?’
‘My children are dead. I’m not doing anything you tell me. Kill me or let me go.’
‘Mr Dresmond, you don’t do what I say, you’re gonna wish I had killed your children. Understand?’
Troy stayed silent. There was nothing left to say.
‘Now Sir, here’s your chance to shine. The gun you need will be found near the river. It has twelve shots. Now leave.’
That was the last thing Troy Dresmond could remember. He stood up, free from his ropes, still confused on how he could be in the back of a car one second and standing in a barren desert the next. The only light was a thin sliver of moon making everything he saw look like a black and white movie. The ground was perfectly flat and the only imperfections beyond the smooth sand were what appeared to be a forest and a river some two miles ahead. He saw the white light; it was along the bank of the river. He started walking.
Troy Dresmond continues to stagger for at least another four miles until he realises that the white light is moving away faster than he can progress. After collapsing from exhaustion, he falls into a coma. He remembers his previous life and realises that he is being punished for causing the death of ten people by failing to pay out the health insurance money they were owed. His own ‘personal detective’ is supervising this ordeal with his own special cocktail of ‘tough justice,’ as he likes to call it. After he regains consciousness, Troy manages to reach the white light and is told to kill the ten people he deceived in cold blood. He narrowly escapes death on about five occasions as some of the betrayed fight back. He completes the task and returns to his normal life with his children, but spends the rest of it in misery eventually dying in a car crash.
He woke up only to fall into nothingness a few seconds later. What he saw in those few seconds unnerved him, but it didn’t appear to be anything of major importance. He saw he was in a back of a car with a dark figure driving but when he fell back into sleep, nothing could touch him.
The man in the back of the car dreamt strange dreams. He dreamt why a man like Troy Dresmond would be in such a peculiar position. After all, that very day he had gone to work at his insurance firm (major profits this year, maybe even a chance of a bonus.) But that was all he could remember. He then saw himself in the back of the machine being driven by a psychopath hurtling down the freeway to his children’s school with the intention of
(killing)
picking them up and driving them to his $700,000 Victorian-style timber frame house made out of the highest quality woods. However there was something wrong. The stranger wasn’t really driving; he was controlling the vehicle with his mind or something unknown. Something, which a mere human like Troy couldn’t possibly comprehend. From somewhere at the back of his brain, his conscience was telling him to remember this dream, not too wake up too soon because he would need this memory, not only would he come to depend on it, he would come to place his life on it.
He awoke. His ears were throbbing with pain and his eyes took a long time to adjust to what was going on around him. It hurt to open them and a piercing white light was all he could see for the next few minutes. He was in the back of a car all right, but it wasn’t his. A strong leather smell filtered through his nostrils and he saw that he was in an old automobile, probably from around the 1960’s. The space he was lying in suggested it was fairly big, maybe even Cadillac-sized.
The machine was moving in extreme darkness along fairly bumpy ground. Stanford INC.’s recent ‘Insurance salesman of the month’ then realised he couldn’t move. He strained his head to see his legs and arms coupled together with two pieces of coarse rope. The flesh on his wrists was turning raw and he was still in his beige suit, which was surprisingly clean. Suddenly, all these details seemed superficial to what he was witnessing in front of him. If it had been any other time or place he would have been bemused, maybe even let out a small chuckle. But now was not the place. He was on edge and concerned for his life.
What he saw reminded him of an old drawing, perhaps one from the era the car was made. A large figure, which resembled a male cartoon detective was hunched in front of him. He was complete with a detective hat and a detective cloak only missing a detective briefcase. The stranger wore black gloves, which Troy thought were leather as a result of the minimal light in the car. In fact, everything the man wore was black. The detective was enshrouded in darkness, much like the world outside the car. He seemed almost like a silhouette. Troy watched him carefully for the next minute, examining every move.
The detective’s actions seemed intentionally exaggerated; something that Troy found both unsettling and amusing at the same time. Every time the detective turned the wheel of the car, he would shift his whole body to the side, contort his arms in the most awkward way and seem to use maximum effort for a seemingly simple task. But why? There were no streetlights and the endless jolting of the car suggested they were not on a road of any sort. Troy had a vision of a car travelling in an endless circle somewhere in the desert. This vision was quite interesting to Troy, it reminded him of the time he was at college with his best friends and…
“Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane”
Troy let out a faint smile of recognition. The radio had been turned on and a Doors song was being played. ‘The End’ was the first thought that came to mind. He tried to block out all the negative implications that a song detailing pain and death would give to his present situation and tried to focus on something else. Talking to his captor would be a good starting point. It would distract him while Troy tried to free himself from the rope.
He had been struggling with words before, but the song presented the perfect opening. It gave him the chance to say something which wouldn’t offend and wouldn’t inquire (he remembered a scene from some B-list movie where a captured woman had been shot in the head because her first sentence was a question.) Yes, the song would be the perfect opportunity for Troy to talk, an icebreaker so to speak.
‘You’ve got good taste.’
There was no reply. Troy privately reproached himself for talking in such a low voice. His mother had always criticised him for that. He would try again, a bit louder this time.
‘I really like this song. I own the album. You’ve got good taste.’
Still no reply. For some reason Troy would have preferred a ‘Quiet’ or even a ‘Shut up’ but he got nothing.
“There's danger on the edge of town
Ride the King's highway, baby”
The volume was slightly louder this time. The throbbing in his head increased. Troy soon realised why. The volume of the radio was being raised at a steady rate.
‘He must like the song,’ thought Troy.
The volume increased progressively until it broke past the point of what would be considered acceptable listening inside a car. The pain in Troy’s ears was intensifying into something far more than the minor annoyance it had started out as.
‘Please put the volume down,’ said Troy in a tone of voice which he intended to make sound as indifferent as possible. He watched, the feeling of panic in his body mounting every second as he saw the leather glove continue to turn the volume up, oblivious to the drama going on behind it.
“The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall”
The throbbing now seemed to be coming from inside his skull. He had not felt pain like this in a long time. The speakers had begun to break down, discharging distortion and all sorts of sonic amalgamations alongside the music. Troy tried to free himself from the rope in a vain attempt to try to place his hands over his ears. But it wasn’t working.
‘Put the volume down. Just stop it, stop it now!’
There was no response. The throbbing was escalating and the volume was still being increased.
“He went into the room where his sister lived, and then he
Paid a visit to his brother, and then he,
He walked on down the hall, and he came to a door.”
Troy Dresmond, his head about to rupture, did the only thing he could possibly do. Inhuman screams spewed forth from his mouth and he started shaking violently, doing anything to get his kidnapper’s attention. But the music continued.
“And he came to a door...and he looked inside
Father,
Yes son?
I want to kill you.”
Then it ended. Troy knew the sharp ringing in his ears was going to continue for a long time, but he was thankful that the main ordeal was over. The man in the detective suit chuckled in a laidback manner as though he was watching an old Charlie Chaplin movie. This action pushed Troy over the edge. All rational thought escaped from his mind and he began to yell furiously.
‘What the hell are you doing? Oh, I see it now, you’re laughing. Laughing at me. I nearly go deaf and you laugh? That’s great, that’s just unbelievable. You kidnap me wearing a detective suit for some sort of perverse satisfaction on your part and now you refuse to talk. Well, I hope you die, I hope you…’
The kidnapper talked.
‘No need to shout Mr Dresmond. I am a detective and you’re the one who’s gonna die.’
His accent was drawling, maybe south Kentuckian, but this was of no importance to Troy. Everything he had wanted to achieve in the morning now seemed extremely superficial and unimportant, even his wife and children became vague blimps in his memory. He had just been threatened with death and he didn’t want to die. The detective chuckled once more.
‘Only joking Sir, I ain’t gonna kill nobody. In fact, y’all could be my best friends.’
Troy didn’t speak for the next few seconds as he tried to comprehend the sudden rush of emotions which had just befell his brain. He held back the urge to scream once more and decided to try to have a normal conversation.
‘Y’all? But there’s only one of me.’
‘Your wife and kids are in the trunk,’ whispered the detective. He started wheezing after he spoke those words, a sound which suggested he was a heavy smoker.
Troy turned pale and felt paralysed. Fear and anguish were the only sensations he could feel at this moment in time. He couldn’t stop thinking of the possibility that they were all dead, rotting in the back trunk while this maniac chuckled and played music loud to intimidate his passengers. He wanted to die; he wanted to leave this vehicle.
‘Only joking Mr Dresmond, there’s no way I could fit three people in the trunk,’ drawled the detective.
‘Are you lying? Please say you’re lying. Please.’
His voice was now a trembling whisper. Snot trickled down his face and his eyes watered.
‘OK, Mr Dresmond, I’m lying. There ain’t no way three of y’all could fit in the back of lil’ Suzy here. It’s a damned near impossibility that’s what it is!’
‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ said Troy, colour returning to his face.
‘I only took your kids. One ain’t breathin’ so good, I think. If you want them alive you’d better do what I say.’
Troy started shouting frenziedly.
‘Simon, Matt, if you can hear me shout back, tap, do anything please, please be alive. Say something!’
‘Talking won’t do you good Mr Dresmond, I got them all sleeping a long time ago. Now I’m gonna stop the car and you’re gonna get out. You’re gonna see a white light, that’s my house. Go in and kill everyone you see. You phone me from inside, you hear? And don’t try no tricks, I see you everywhere, I’m a detective you see. When you’re done you get your kids back, understand?’
‘My children are dead. I’m not doing anything you tell me. Kill me or let me go.’
‘Mr Dresmond, you don’t do what I say, you’re gonna wish I had killed your children. Understand?’
Troy stayed silent. There was nothing left to say.
‘Now Sir, here’s your chance to shine. The gun you need will be found near the river. It has twelve shots. Now leave.’
That was the last thing Troy Dresmond could remember. He stood up, free from his ropes, still confused on how he could be in the back of a car one second and standing in a barren desert the next. The only light was a thin sliver of moon making everything he saw look like a black and white movie. The ground was perfectly flat and the only imperfections beyond the smooth sand were what appeared to be a forest and a river some two miles ahead. He saw the white light; it was along the bank of the river. He started walking.
Troy Dresmond continues to stagger for at least another four miles until he realises that the white light is moving away faster than he can progress. After collapsing from exhaustion, he falls into a coma. He remembers his previous life and realises that he is being punished for causing the death of ten people by failing to pay out the health insurance money they were owed. His own ‘personal detective’ is supervising this ordeal with his own special cocktail of ‘tough justice,’ as he likes to call it. After he regains consciousness, Troy manages to reach the white light and is told to kill the ten people he deceived in cold blood. He narrowly escapes death on about five occasions as some of the betrayed fight back. He completes the task and returns to his normal life with his children, but spends the rest of it in misery eventually dying in a car crash.
Last edited:
The beginning was good but its too early to read anything more than two paragraphs 
