Guess Who
Marcus Ely
Marcus Ely’s Story
Now Marcus Ely was killed by his father… Sort of. See this boy had caused all sorts of trouble. Marcus’s father was an abusive drunk and had been since the death of Marcus’s mother who died in a tragic car accident when it should have been Marcus who had died. The night of his death Marcus had been out late with his friends and of course, his father had been drinking. As Marcus arrived home he hadn’t realized he was being followed by a man with the intention of killing him. Marcus cheated death once and this man’s job was to make up for the fact that he lived when he should have died. This man was Marcus’s Grim Reaper. The lock clicked on the front door and the door creaked open. The house was dark and Marcus hoped that his father was asleep as he crept into the house and down the hall to his bedroom. A small noise, like a knocking of a glass on the living room table made him freeze. His father was awake it seemed. Marcus picked up speed until he got to his room. Little did he know Death was standing on his front lawn, just waiting for the right moment to manipulate his father’s drunken mind.
Marcus opened his door and went to his bed were he lay down in hopes that his father wont realize that he had snuck out.
Thud, thud, thud.
The sound of his father’s heavy footsteps made their way to the bottom of the stairs. They paused and he heard his father mumbling something in a gruff, slurred voice. At first, Marcus thought he was talking to someone then realized he was talking to himself. He exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Then he heard the bottom step cry out in protest as his father stepped up onto it. Each step called out in a pained voice that made him breathe faster. His father was coming.
On the lawn stood the Grim Reaper and he was putting words into the old man’s head.
The brat took your wife away.
He is the reason she is dead and is so ungrateful for the life he has.
Kill him. Take him by the throat. Throw him down the stairs.
The man could hear the footsteps and the boy panting as he neared the house. He could hear the old man grumbling to himself when he pushed open the front door. The smell of fear and anger hung in the air so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Death followed the man up the stairs. There was something about this boy’s father, something that clicked with Mr. Death. Perhaps it was his older age. The old man was at the door of his son’s room. The Grim Reaper raised is hand and the old man raised his hand. It was like a puppet and the puppeteer. The father pushed open the door. Death heard Marcus breathing fast with fear as the old man stepped into the room. The man was moving slow but that just added to the fear growing inside of Marcus. It was something that The Grim Reaper loved about his job. He reached out his hand and the old man copied. The old man grabbed his son by his shirt collar ad drug him off of his bed onto the floor. Marcus tried to cry out but his voice was locked away in a box that fear had created to keep him quiet. The old man pulled his boy across the floor by his shirt. Marcus’s eyes met Death’s and they widened. His breathing came quicker. This had to be done fast. The boy had realized his father was being manipulated by this strange man standing behind his father. Death commanded the old man to drag his son to the stairs and sit him on his knees. The father did this without faltering. Death was good at controlling humans; their minds were so easy to break. The father grabbed his son by his hair roughly and spoke softly to him.
“You deserve this, my boy. It’s your time now.” He said before shoving his son down the stairs head first. There was a thud on the first step and a crack on the second. The boy lay still at the bottom of the stairs, not breathing. Death turned to the man.
Time for bed, old man. Off you go. Death whispered into the man’s mind. The dead boy’s father turned in an almost zombified motion and thudded his way to his bedroom. Death waited for the old man to start snoring then picked his way around the dead boy at the bottom of the steps. He left the house calmly, as though nothing had just happened. No one would know until the morning.
James: Shall I continue? You seem a bit pale, Mr. Officer. Have you an idea of who truly killed Marcus Ely?
Officer: Yes, continue. Bruce Leon killed Marcus… I’d ask how you know this but I know the answer to that already. So just… Please continue.
James: As you wish. Let’s skip to Devon Gallagher. His death must have been the most painful I assume.
Now Marcus Ely was killed by his father… Sort of. See this boy had caused all sorts of trouble. Marcus’s father was an abusive drunk and had been since the death of Marcus’s mother who died in a tragic car accident when it should have been Marcus who had died. The night of his death Marcus had been out late with his friends and of course, his father had been drinking. As Marcus arrived home he hadn’t realized he was being followed by a man with the intention of killing him. Marcus cheated death once and this man’s job was to make up for the fact that he lived when he should have died. This man was Marcus’s Grim Reaper. The lock clicked on the front door and the door creaked open. The house was dark and Marcus hoped that his father was asleep as he crept into the house and down the hall to his bedroom. A small noise, like a knocking of a glass on the living room table made him freeze. His father was awake it seemed. Marcus picked up speed until he got to his room. Little did he know Death was standing on his front lawn, just waiting for the right moment to manipulate his father’s drunken mind.
Marcus opened his door and went to his bed were he lay down in hopes that his father wont realize that he had snuck out.
Thud, thud, thud.
The sound of his father’s heavy footsteps made their way to the bottom of the stairs. They paused and he heard his father mumbling something in a gruff, slurred voice. At first, Marcus thought he was talking to someone then realized he was talking to himself. He exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Then he heard the bottom step cry out in protest as his father stepped up onto it. Each step called out in a pained voice that made him breathe faster. His father was coming.
On the lawn stood the Grim Reaper and he was putting words into the old man’s head.
The brat took your wife away.
He is the reason she is dead and is so ungrateful for the life he has.
Kill him. Take him by the throat. Throw him down the stairs.
The man could hear the footsteps and the boy panting as he neared the house. He could hear the old man grumbling to himself when he pushed open the front door. The smell of fear and anger hung in the air so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Death followed the man up the stairs. There was something about this boy’s father, something that clicked with Mr. Death. Perhaps it was his older age. The old man was at the door of his son’s room. The Grim Reaper raised is hand and the old man raised his hand. It was like a puppet and the puppeteer. The father pushed open the door. Death heard Marcus breathing fast with fear as the old man stepped into the room. The man was moving slow but that just added to the fear growing inside of Marcus. It was something that The Grim Reaper loved about his job. He reached out his hand and the old man copied. The old man grabbed his son by his shirt collar ad drug him off of his bed onto the floor. Marcus tried to cry out but his voice was locked away in a box that fear had created to keep him quiet. The old man pulled his boy across the floor by his shirt. Marcus’s eyes met Death’s and they widened. His breathing came quicker. This had to be done fast. The boy had realized his father was being manipulated by this strange man standing behind his father. Death commanded the old man to drag his son to the stairs and sit him on his knees. The father did this without faltering. Death was good at controlling humans; their minds were so easy to break. The father grabbed his son by his hair roughly and spoke softly to him.
“You deserve this, my boy. It’s your time now.” He said before shoving his son down the stairs head first. There was a thud on the first step and a crack on the second. The boy lay still at the bottom of the stairs, not breathing. Death turned to the man.
Time for bed, old man. Off you go. Death whispered into the man’s mind. The dead boy’s father turned in an almost zombified motion and thudded his way to his bedroom. Death waited for the old man to start snoring then picked his way around the dead boy at the bottom of the steps. He left the house calmly, as though nothing had just happened. No one would know until the morning.
James: Shall I continue? You seem a bit pale, Mr. Officer. Have you an idea of who truly killed Marcus Ely?
Officer: Yes, continue. Bruce Leon killed Marcus… I’d ask how you know this but I know the answer to that already. So just… Please continue.
James: As you wish. Let’s skip to Devon Gallagher. His death must have been the most painful I assume.