The room still smelled of his cologne. His black t-shirt and jeans still lay on the left side of the bed as he had left it; it was like he had never left. But he was gone, gone for now, gone forever. Scattered red puddles stained the brown floors; that was the only thing that reminded me that Cameron was never coming back; or so I thought. My mother was calling me down for dinner, but I had no appetite. Now my life had no purpose. I didn't want to go to school, especially because my family moved from New York a little shy of a year ago. I knew no one at my new school, and to make it worse I now had a few girls that disliked me. I was smoking down the hallway, when Natasha and her friends came towards me yelling, "No smoking allowed in this school!" I believe her uncle had died of lung cancer, so she was really sensitive dealing with that topic. I apologized, that just wasn't enough for her because she started pushing me and we started to get into a violent argument. I just wanted to be left alone, but that obviously wasn't happening. When I came home, my mother saw my black eye. She questioned me very worried, believing I had not made any new friends. I had to think of something on the spot, so I just lied and told her I had fallen on the concrete steps. She oddly believed me, and we walked downstairs to join my father for dinner.
My father was a psychologist, and since the new house we bought had an office, all of his patients came here. That's when I met Cameron. I was in my room listening to music ready to do something foolish, when he came in quietly and said "You shouldn't hurt yourself. You will regret it later." "What?" I exclaimed. "Sorry, the door was open. I'm Cameron, one of your father's patients. Listen, I have t...
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...est thing that ever happened to me. Whenever I tried to leave, something just brought me back inside through a different door. It was no tricks, my feet and everything else were the absolute same. I thought I was dreaming, but that is when Cameron told me something about our house I never knew. Whoever dies inside of that house, never gets to leave. It becomes your home forever, no matter if other humans buy or live there as well. Then a rush of panic came through my body. I wanted to ask so many questions. My parents lied to me, Cameron hadn't died last night. He had died much earlier, or else how would he have known about the house's secret? My eye caught a glimpse of a newspaper that was on the old, worn out living room table. The headline was "Teenager Cameron Michaels dead after killing family in his house." The same house that I was living in with my parents.
Construction of Holmes’s World’s Fair Hotel, or better known as “The Murder Castle” in modern times, began in 1890. The building consisted of over 60 rooms and 51 oddly cut doors. By Holmes’s request, new construction workers were brought in each week so no one would know the exact layout besides him, and he refused to pay for any of the labor or materials used. Holmes used his intelligence and carefully contemplated every action to make sure it would be virtually impossible for anyone to catch him. In the top two floors of the 162 by 50 foot three story hotel there were trap doors, asphyxiation chambers, and blowtorches in the walls to torture and kill the people working in and staying at the hotel and a dissection table, crematory, and
I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.
October 2, 2001 started like a normal Tuesday morning at Hotchkiss High School. As I lazily wandered past Mr. Schelle into his advisory class, I noticed that he seemed quite upset about something. I dared not ask what had happened, for it was really none of my business. Soon after the bell rang, Mr. Schelle, whose eyes were welling up with tears, struggled to compose himself enough to say, "Guys, I've got some bad news for you." I sensed a bit of hesitation as he proceeded to read a letter as clearly as possible. The letter explained that Derek Grillos, a sophomore at our school and a good friend of mine, had died the night before. At first, my mind failed to register his name. I sat wondering who Derek Grillos was. As everyone questioned Mr. Schelle to find out who Derek was, I sat quiet. Finally, the fact that Derek, my "soccer buddy", had died hit me and hit me hard. I could feel my eyes darting back and forth in confusion and my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my toes. I stared aimlessly at everything yet nothing. I su...
Before that night, I didn’t believe in the paranormal. Now I sure as heck do. I had been chased out of my house after a fight with my step-parents because I wasn’t doing well in school (I had dyslexia), and I had taken shelter in what seemed like a normal house. I realized what I had gotten into after the sun set. The doors were locked without a sign of anyone going near them.
Everybody has heard the old saying that crime does not pay. Eventually crime and breaking the law will catch up with you. This theme is one commonly found in literature, TV and cinema. And, it is one of the messages Law & Order: Special Victims Unit represents. In this NBC television series, the SVU specializes in sexual offense crimes. This is told to viewers in narrative form in the opening sequence of each episode. Through the representation of the vicious and heinous crimes being investigated in each episode, the ideology of this show is that while the criminal justice system may be hard and flawed at times, as a whole it works and is best for American society.
I shook my head, ashamed for invading my friends’ tragedies with memories I conjured up by their descriptions of them. I was still staring at Alice’s relaxed posture. The frown on her face was evident even while she rested unconscious with wrinkles near her seventeen year old eyes. I could still see the scar from stitches. Vesper shifted under the blankets on Alice’s couch. He was missing a father while Sebastian and I were missing a mother. But Alice was missing the two people that had given her life and left while she was living it. A trust fund was left in their
Life in the middle school and high school was not easy for me. I had become an introvert, I still didn’t know how to be social, and I had very few friends. I was teased for being very quiet, and some people insinuated that I’m scared of fellow people. On the other hand life at home was difficult. My mother had become so bitter and pleased her was next to impossible. She became very harsh with my brother and me, and we were always scolded for even the smallest mistakes. Once in a while, my father would come for us and take us to the city he lived. I would look out of the windows as we drove out of town and would imagine how life in another city would feel like. I looked at the skies, and all I saw were promises of a better future. All my life I had lived in San
It was a Monday night; I remember it like it was yesterday. I had just completed my review of Office Administration in preparation for my final exams. As part of my leisure time, I decided to watch my favorite reality television show, “I love New York,” when the telephone rang. I immediately felt my stomach dropped. The feeling was similar to watching a horror movie reaching its climax. The intensity was swirling in my stomach as if it were the home for the butterflies. My hands began to sweat and I got very nervous. I could not figure out for the life of me why these feelings came around. I lay there on the couch, confused and still, while the rings continued. My dearest mother decided to answer this eerie phone call. As she picked up, I sat straight up. I muted the television in hopes of hearing what the conversation. At approximately three minutes later, the telephone fell from my mother’s hands with her faced drowned in the waves of water coming from her eyes. She cried “Why?” My Grandmother had just died.
Well would you ever expect to find out that the lady who has kept a roof over your head for just $253.99 would be a serial killer out to get you? Well in the “The Landlady” by Roald Dahl, this was just the case for 17 year old Billy Weaver. Billy was killed by a sweet old Landlady just because he wanted to stay at her “Hotel”. But she must've done this for years because after reading “Serial Murder” by Robert W. Dolan he states that there is more to what happened after the story. Like the seven stages, from when the killer practices the kill, to when the killer dismantles the body (I won’t get too much into that.) So is this sweet old Landlady just a sweet old woman or a menace to the society of Bath, England?
As I walked out of Cazares Driving school, I looked at my mom in disappointment and embarrassment. I never wanted to return to that awful place. All I wanted to do was curl up in a little ball and I didn't want anyone else to know what I had done. I didn't even want to hear what my mom had to say. As I entered the car I could feel my face burning like hell surely enough it was red like an apple. I was trying to hide my face in the palms of my hands as I imagined all the remarks my mom and brothers had to make. "Darling how could we have miscalculated six months?"
For the next 3 weeks all I can think about its what went on that and what will be the next thing we do when I am let off the hook. As I start to plan the return to “ The Mansion” I start to hear weird noises coming from the woods outside of the house. As I peek out of the window of my small upstairs room, I see 4 people in black outfits slowly walking up to the garage door of my house. As I go to get my parents I realize that they had left to go to the grocery store about an hour ago. I then proceed to call my friends and tell them all to meet at my house asap so we can head back to “The Mansion” sometime tonight as we have all been curious for the last 3 weeks. As they begin to arrive, I begin to think that the people I saw walking through the woods may have been my neighbor Dave and his 3 kids heading back home from the river they were fishing at earlier that
In a short story, the Boarding House, a main character, Mrs. Mooney, began a wonderful relationship with her husband, Mr. Mooney, however she did not realize that the relationship would turn around after the death of her father. Mrs. Mooney’s experience in marriage was not what a female imagines, after the death of her father that was when Mr. Mooney “began to go to the devil”(Joyce, 61). Mr. Mooney’s actions were all over the place: he began to drink, gamble, and the worst of all, one night he ran after Mrs. Mooney with a cleaver. At this point Mrs. Mooney knew that she had to separate herself and her family from Mr. Mooney. So, Mrs. Mooney had taken all of the money from the butcher’s shop and built a Boarding House. However, she did not divorce, but only separated from her husband. From the beginning, moving away from the butcher’s shop to the Boarding House, Mrs. Mooney’s intentions were to get her daughter married to the right ideal man, by doing so, she selects handsome young men in the boarding house, her own experience with men, and by observing Mr. Doran and Polly’s affair.
A long day, as Sunday always seemed, was coming to an end. BA and Liz were preparing for bed, when a call came. A glance at his watch, which read 10:30 brought disgust. "Who could it be at this hour? Couldn’t I pretend we aren't home and let the answering machine pick up?"
a dull grey colour as if it had lost the will to live and stopped
The moment we stepped foot into the hospital, I could hear my aunt telling my mother that “he is in a better place now”. At that moment, something had already told me that my dad was deceased; it was like I could feel it or something. I felt the chills that all of a sudden came on my arms. As my mother and grandmother were both holding my hand, they took me into this small room. The walls were white, and it had a table with four tissue boxes sitting on the top. My other grandmother was there, and so were my two aunts, my uncles, and