untitled (standard:drama, 1278 words) [1/2] show all parts
Author: Lawless	Updated: Apr 09 2001	Views/Reads: 3711/2217	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The first segment of a suspenseful short. Part two is on its way.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

danger or struggle.  I grabbed one of the large "Dudas-styled" kitchen 
knives, (comparable to Ginsu knives) in case their was anyone in the 
apartment, the knife might scare them. I stealthily moved into the 
adjoining rooms, and continued my examination of the place I had once 
called home.  I still knew the place inside and out.  I could have 
walked the entire floor plan blindfolded, I knew it so well. The 
bathroom, the bedrooms, the living room, I checked everywhere and found 
nothing.  No sign of trouble, but what continued to worry me was that 
there was no sign of my brother as well. 

Before I left the apartment, I grabbed the pitcher of beer inside the
fridge.  I poured myself a tall pint from a large pitcher of Drew's own 
homemade brew. Drew's Brew, he called it.  He manufactured all the 
normal types.  (i.e. a light, a stout, a pilsner, etc.)  I preferred 
his Pale Ale above everything else that he created. I hadn't sat down 
for a minute with my pint galss, and the latest copy of ESPN the 
magazine, before a knock struck the front door.  I jumped up from the 
soft leather couch, as if I had been sitting on a spring.  I replaced 
the magazine with the knife I had not yet returned to the kitchen.  I 
clutched the knife firmly in my right hand.  I finished my beer 
quickly.  I quietly moved towards the door of the apartment.  I made my 
way silently to the peep hole in the door, and attempted to see who my 
visitor was.  I was temporarily thwarted as my guest had already 
thought to block my vision with a chewed piece of gum placed over the 
outside portion of the watchglass. 

Then a second knock struck the strong oak door.  The sound more
specifically of a ring making contact with the door, a loud acoustic 
clicking rather than an actual knuckle or closed fist which normally 
makes more of a pounding sound. I was startled that this culprit 
continued to wait.  I grew nervous that this was a cold blooded killer 
on the other side of the door.  I held fast to my hidden position, 
prepared, knife in hand; for if this person were able to get through 
this front door they would have the surprise of their life waiting for 
them. 


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