The Fatal Robbery of Hell House

User Rating: / 1
PoorBest 

Jesse slowly walked into his living room, a bowl of tomato soup in hand. It’s not that he was sick - no, in fact, he was pretty happy. But it was tradition.

Jesse was a thief. He made a living off of other people’s money. He had been doing this for over a year now. He considered himself a pro; he had gotten very good. He stood at about 6”1’ with jet black hair. He was generally athletic; he was fast enough to get to his car, and that was as fast as he figured he needed to be.

But back to the point.

Jesse generally robbed gas stations and small places. He didn’t just do it in the night, after closing. He sometimes would do a broad daylight robbery. He did a bank once; he almost got caught, but, luckily, it wasn’t a very advanced bank. He got out in time to lose the cops before he got back to his apartment. He had killed a guy, but he didn’t care. Other than that time, he always made an easy getaway. And after every broad daylight robbery - such as today’s - he had a celebratory bowl of soup.

But all of that was getting old. Sure he got some money cumulated, between robbing places and writing for his local newspaper. (He found it funny to write about a robbery he had just committed.) But he wanted something more, something different. He thought about it, but couldn’t think of anything. He put down his empty bowl, turned off the T.V. and went to bed. His cat J.J. jumped up with him and laid at his feet. He found J.J. near a ditch next to the gas station down the street. Soon, they were both asleep.

The next morning, Jesse woke to a nice breeze. He sat up, welcoming the breeze, but then remembered something; he closed and locked the windows. He looked to where the breeze was coming from, and saw that his window was opened.

He had been robbed.

He jumped up and checked the drawer where he stashed his money. It was gone. Instead, he saw a sticky note. He picked it up, and tried to focus on the letters. They read, “Want it back? Come to l83 Santa Viles St. We’ll talk.” He threw it on the ground. “Shit!” He got dressed, picked up his duffel bag full of supplies, put on his coat, and ran out the door.

When he got to his car, he remembered that he didn’t know where Santa Viles St. was. He had never heard of it. He drove up to a man standing by the road, smoking a cigarette. As Jesse pulled up, the man just looked with cold eyes at him. Jesse blinked.

“Hey, do you know where ‘Santa Viles St.’ is?”

The man pointed down the road. There stood a sign that read: “Santa Viles St.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The man just let out a puff of smoke.

Jesse rolled up the window. “Weird old fuck.” he said to himself. He drove down the street and turned left on Santa Viles.

171...173...175...177...179...181...183. There it was. It stood 3 stories tall, and very old. He parked in front of it. He grabbed his duffel bag and got out of the car. “This asshole is going down.” he went up to the door and banged as hard as he could. “Open the fucking door, asshole!” He yelled. The door creaked open. Jess stomped in, and was surprised to see that the inside was cleaned up. It had a nice hardwood floor, furniture, and everything. It even had a computer.

There was no one home, so he decided after he got his money back, he’d take some stuff, hack into the computer and take some more stuff. He was about to walk into the next room, when behind him he heard someone say “Hey.”

Jesse whipped around and said “Are you the asshole that stole the money?”

“No,” said the shadowed figure before him. “I believe you are.” He stepped out of the shadows. It was the man from the gas station. He started laughing maniacally.

“Hah, hah. Very funny. Now give me my money back!”

“’Gimme, gimme, gimme.’ Is that all you know how to say? I’m willing to give it back. Are you willing to go through hell for it?” He started laughing again, and before Jesse could say anything, the man disappeared in a wisp of red smoke.

Instead of getting scared, he just mumbled “How cliché.”

He spun around and found himself standing at a teller’s counter in a bank. He looked around, wondering what was going on, when suddenly a man busted in to the bank with a shotgun. He ran up to Jesse, pointed the gun to him and yelled, “Give me the money! All the money that you have! Give it to me!”

Jesse just stared, shocked, mulling over everything, wondering how it got to this point.

“Do you want to spend the last seconds of your life in two pieces? Move!”

Jesse looked down at where his bag used to be. It was gone.

“3!” yelled the man. “2!” Jesse looked around. No one else was there. “1!” He heard the gunshot. Everything went into slow motion. He could see the shells fly at him. He could see them fly into his stomach. He felt the pain. Though none of it seemed real, the pain was. He screamed. On the floor, in his last minutes of life, he saw who it as that shot him. It was… him. He was looking at himself, holding a shotgun.

Jesse finally understood. He was experiencing the robbery at the bank he committed, but from the teller’s point of view. He saw what the teller saw, felt what he felt, thought what he thought. He closed his eyes and died.

Or so he thought. He opened his eyes and was staring at a coffin. It was resting on a table, closed. The wood reflected the light from the chandelier overhead. He suddenly felt a feeling of overwhelming sadness. He started to cry and just couldn’t stop; tears ran down his face like a waterfall. He hated it. He was in what felt like a pool of infinite despair. He knew the feeling. He knew that it was the feeling of someone who had lost someone very important to them.

That sick old man had sent him to the teller’s funeral. From the thoughts he was thinking, he gathered he was the father of the teller. He just couldn’t get past all the grief he was feeling. A woman came up to him and hugged him.

“I’m sorry.” she said.

Jesse closed his eyes tight.

When he opened them again, he was looking down a hallway. It was dim. He was carrying groceries. He realized he was walking. He couldn’t stop; he felt a strong need to walk. Some unseen force guided him to room, where, when he looked, he felt the pain he felt at the funeral, but doubled. He saw what he recognized as this person’s husband, hanging buy a neuce attached to the ceiling fan. Jesse dropped his… her groceries. He was the mother of the teller, and he was looking at the father. He fell to the ground, sobbing profusely.

“It’s not worth it! It’s just not worth it…” he screamed. He didn’t know why, but he just had to scream. He felt terrible. He felt like dying. He got up and stumbled into the kitchen, and found a nice, long steak knife. He didn’t hesitate as he shoved it through his chest, into his heart. He dropped to the floor, dead.”

When he woke up, he was standing in the house again. He was back! He ran to the door. Then heard that old, rusty voice again. “Hey.”

Jesse slowly turned to face the old man. He fell to the floor. He was sitting against the door, and found himself screaming “No more! No more! Please, no more…”

“So, you enjoyed the ride, I take it? You just experienced the pain and hurt you put that family through. Do you want me to show you what happened to the brother of the teller when he came to comfort his parents and found them both dead?”

“No! Please! Take the money. Take it all!” he screamed. He was shaking violently. He was terrified; sweat was pouring down his face. “I’ve learned my mistakes. I’ve learned! Please, let me go. Don’t torture me anymore. Please!”

The man just shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go. Scum like you deserve to be cast from the face of the Earth!”

Jesse’s heart sank. “No, please! I’ll… I’ll do anything! “

“No. You can’t beg, run, or shoot your way out of this one!”

Jesse leapt up, turned around and ran through the door. He stepped into a gas station and ended up right behind a counter. Suddenly, he saw himself walk slowly through the door. He wasn’t that scared… yet. He knew he would be here a while. He pulled a box of cigarettes from under the counter and lit it. He inhaled deeply on it, then let out a big puff of smoke. He might as well make the best of it.

Now that that punk was stuck in his purgatory of robberies, John walked to the punk’s car and got inside. He drove to the gas station, and returned to his chair. Suddenly, J.J. jumped up on his lap from the side. “Well, hey there!” he said. “Thanks for leading me to that punk. Go ahead back to your post; the next punk that comes along will pick you up soon enough!”

The cat nodded and leapt down. He went back to the ditch where Jesse found him, and laid down, pretending to be hurt.

Anthony had just come back from selling another poor sap some drugs. He heard a sound from by the gas station. He ran over to the ditch next to the station, and saw a hurt cat. He picked it up.

“Hm. You could be useful.” He went back to the side walk, and headed home. He passed an old man smoking in a chair in front of the gas station. Anthony paid no mind to the old man, but the man just stared at Anthony with icy cold ices. When Anthony was out of earshot, he said “Weird old fuck.”

THE END

Copyright 2007 John Kole

Comments (1)

Posted by tarhead 11-27-2007 02:30,   That was slick good job!   » Report this comment to administrator » Reply to this comment...

Only registered users can comment. Please login or register.