Two Page Shorts, Nick Venom [best novels in english TXT] 📗

color; a blood-red. Belle shouted her lungs out, getting up and going past the corner. She looked over her shoulder with frightful eyes as the tornado followed her closely. She yelped and pushed herself, noticing a door at the end of the hallway. She ran, with all of her might, and neared her only escape route. However, she soon felt something burning her neck, which was slowly pulling her away from the door. She grabbed at her neck, hoping to identify the burning’s cause, meeting with a rough texture. She glanced down at her neck, noticing that a rope was clawing into her neck.

She stopped running, mere inches from the door, and tugged at the paper-thin rope. The rope, no matter her efforts, couldn’t be torn off her neck. Instead, it was dragging her closer to the tornado. 

Fearing for her life, she made a last-ditch effort to reach the door. She flailed her limbs around as she struggled to make ground towards the door. The rope was choking her while dragging her away from the door, taking her away from her escape route. 

After several attempts to reach the door, she finally made it, grabbing the door handle. She quickly turned the door handle, but the door wasn’t opening. 

“What is happening now?” She shouted, tears streaming down her cheek.

“Handle…” The voice muttered from behind her. 

Belle took the voice’s advice, glancing down at the door handle. Another paper-thin rope was stopping the door from opening, ruining her only escape route. She was finished, now at the mercy of the voice within the tornado. The voice, which had been playing with her, retracted the rope around her neck. It brought her into the tornado followed by a series of cracks and grunts. The body of Belle was broken down and sliced into pieces, contained within the tornado. 

As the final piece was sliced, the tornado faded away, taking the evidence and voice along with it. The hallway became empty and evidenceless as the darkness retracted itself and dispersed into the air. Everything was gone.

 

 

***

 

 

“Two women disappeared from Lokin High School after hours and have not been seen in over seventy-two hours. Police have sketched an image of the women, but no calls have been collected.” A male anchor announced. He then turned to face his female colleague. 

“This is the seventh missing case that has popped up in the last two months. The police have issued a statement regarding the incident.” The female anchor motioned towards the green screen behind him. The green screen changed to show the police chief standing on a pedestal, facing a large crowd.

“Investigations on the string of disappearances that have plagued our town have started. The police force will work overtime to search for the missing people.” The police chief announced. His bigger figure limited his movement with the overhead sun adding to the sweat that collected on his eyebrows. 

After his words, a barrage of remarks was thrown at him, which he mostly ignored. “That is all I have to say,” he stated, walking off the stage to the astonishment of everybody in the audience.

“Where is she?” shouted one man.

“What will happen to our kids?” shouted a female.

“What happened to the kidnapped people!” Shouted another female. The police chief ignored these remarks and entered the backseat of a squad car. He motioned for the driver to drive away, heading towards the police station.

He entered the police station and headed into his office. Already waiting there for him was Detective J. Hankins, a broad-shoulder man reaching six feet in height. 

“May I ask you a question?” He asked, standing up from his chair.

The police chief started sweating profusely. “U-Uh, sure.”

The detective then walked up to the police chief. “Why did you lie to the public? Even though you know who committed these acts?”

“I-I-I-I-I-I” The police chief stammered. “... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The detective revealed a file from under his fleece jacket. “Codename Hangman, correct?”

“I-I u-uh, don’t-” His words were cut off by Hankins grabbing the chief and slamming him into the wall.

“Don’t lie to me or else I’ll leak this file!” Hankins shouted.

“No!” The chief shouted. Police officers at their desks raised their heads and stared at Hankins and the chief through the open door. “Don’t!”

“He used to be a simple man, but your wasteful toxic dumping changed him. You turned him into a monster!”Hankins shouted in his face.

The chief broke down, tears filling his vision. Hankins released his grip, allowing the chief to slump down to the ground. “I know, I know, I know.” He muttered, his voice slowly turning into a whisper.

“William Ben Ericson was his real name. Now he goes by Hangman. All because of you.” The detective spat on the chief. He then turned towards the door and walked out of the police station and away from the curious and frightened eyes of the police officers. 

He walked outside and headed towards a black mustang that was parked in front of the station. He got into the car’s passenger seat and the driver slammed on the gas, swerving into traffic.

“What did you get?” The driver asked.

“Our target, codename Hangman, whose real name is William Ben Ericson, is a victim of toxic waste that was dumped into his village’s water source. The entire village was wiped out except for him. He then dropped off the radar for a decade before reemerging as Hangman. Ericson must have developed some kind of supernatural power from the toxic waste.” Hankins remarked.

“Revenge, I’m assuming.” The driver, who was Hankin’s wife Grace Strong and fellow detective, pointed out. “Didn’t the president sign the bill that allowed the toxic waste to be dumped?” Strong asked. Hankins nodded, a lightbulb going off in his head.

“He’ll be a target.” Hankins laid his back on the seat. “If it’s for revenge then how do these missing cases connect to it? His latest was a couple of  teachers who did nothing to him.”

“That’s the weird part, those teachers did nothing to deserve their fates, whatever it was.”

“He’s killed mostly police officers and related people like mayors and the people who dumped the toxic waste as well as anybody else who controls the situation from behind the shadows,” Hankins said. “Most of his administration has been killed off by him. That police chief supported the bill’s pass.”

“If only we could find out how to stop him,” Strong whispered. “If only we could stop this mess.” She repeated, the second time sounding more confident than the first.

 

 

***

 

 

A man wearing a tattered cloak and ripped jeans looked down at a convoy of cars passing below him from a three-story building. The man smirked as the convoy---comprised of three limousines, five squad cars, and four motorcycles--- passed by him and neared the end of the street. The formation was two motorcycles at the front and back of the convoy with three squad cars behind the motorcycles in the front. The other two squad cars were in front of the back motorcycles. The three limousines, meanwhile, stayed in the middle of the convoy. 

The front two motorcyclists stopped at the end of the street, waiting for the light to change. As they waited, they kept an eye on their surroundings but didn’t notice a noose made out of thin string, near-invisible, or the tripwires that were on the side of the nooses. The motorcyclists moved up to the crosswalk, watching as cars went by them. By moving up, they placed their heads under the nooses’ grip. 

The nooses were big enough for their heads to fit through and thin enough for the targets to not feel their death looming around their necks. The man smirked as he wriggled his fingers, which controlled the nooses. He curled his fingers, bringing the string closer to him. The string tightened around the motorcyclists' heads and ripped them out of their bikes. Their bikes dropped to the ground and laid flat, the engines continuing to run. 

Meanwhile, the motorcyclists were held in the air, gasping for oxygen as they struggled to escape the nooses. The man brought his hand against his chest, balling his fingers and breaking the necks of both motorcyclists. The squad cards behind the now-dead motorcyclists attempted to gas past the nooses but managed to find themselves caught in the tripwires. The tripwires ignited and an explosion tore through them. 

The squad cars from behind the limousines broke out of formation and headed towards the front of the pack followed by the back motorcyclists. They didn’t notice a tripwire in front of them, leading to the squad cars and the first limousine to be destroyed in the second explosion. The remainder of the convoy---two limousines and two motorcyclists---attempted to reverse and escape through the other side of the street. The motorcyclists turned around and tried to swerve around oncoming traffic, but invisible nooses caught them by their necks. The man spared no time and brought his hands to his chest, breaking the motorcyclist's necks. 

The remaining vehicles, two limousines, stopped dead in their tracks. The doors opened as people from the limousines attempted to scatter and escape through nearby alleyways. 

The man dropped off the building and landed on the fire escape. He summoned a tornado of darkness to assist him in descending to the ground. Once on the ground, however, the darkness dissipated, allowing the man to move quickly towards his targets. 

A total of nine men ditched the limousines and headed through the alleyways. Three men stayed behind to cover the man’s main target’s escape.

The man smirked as he stared down at the three guards. He extended his arms for a hug while grabbing at the loose string he left in the area before ambushing the convoy. He grabbed the string, which extended to the gutters of nearby buildings, and extended them downward to wrap around the guards. The string tightened around the guards and started to squeeze them, forcing them to drop the guns. The man tightened the strings, slicing the guards’ bodies into two pieces. The guards dropped to the ground, chopped in half. The man smirked as he ran past the bodies of the guards.

The remaining six people appeared on the other side of the alleyway and looked for a new vehicle to transfer the VIP to. The VIP, being the president of the nation, Alan Brooks, looked around for the assassin. Behind him stood three of his guards and one guard in front and one guard on his left. He glanced over his shoulder, intimidated by the assassin’s cruel killing methods. 

The guard in front of him stopped a hummer and talked to the driver. As the guard was talking, Brooks heard gagging coming from behind him. He turned around and noticed that the three guards, who were behind him, were corpses hanging on a gutter. A man dressed in a torn cloak appeared from the alleyway, shooting him a twisted grin from faint darkness. 

Brook glanced at his right and watched with frightened eyes as the guard was lifted into the air by the thin string. 

Meanwhile, the remaining guard noticed the chaos, firing off bullets into the man, but a swirl of darkness prevented the bullets from making contact. The man raised his hand and pointed at the guard. A small swirl of darkness appeared at his fingertip and shot out towards the guard. The darkness quickly made contact with the guard, beginning to consume it completely. The blood was drained with ease while the guard’s soul was torn away from him, leaving a lifeless corpse behind. The driver of the Hummer, who had watched everything unfold in front of him, drove off and left the president on his own. 

Brooks trembled as the man neared him. The man raised his hand and pointed his finger at Brooks. No swirls of darkness appeared at his fingertips but, instead, a thin string appeared, dangling in front of him before wrapping across his torso. The man walked up to Brooks and laughed in his face, spitting on him in the process. 

He then pulled the string connected