The Black Lake: Tales of Melancholic Horror Read Online Free Page A

deceased body's dome. He glanced down at Dorothy and shook his head. The wrists on his deceased body were brutally slit, sawed down to the bone. Suicide was clearly the goal – suicide was inevitable.
    Dorothy whimpered as she said, “I'm sorry about everything, Arthur. This is my fault. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have come here. This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for me.” She woefully sniveled, then said, “I can't live without you. I won't live without you. I'll join you. I'll do better next time, I promise. I love you.”
    Dorothy stood, then marched past Arthur without a single glance. She strode towards the log cabin in the woods, staggering as she traversed the snowy terrain. Arthur shook his head as he struggled to speak. He could only croak and moan as he watched Dorothy sauntering towards her melancholic fate.
    Arthur murmured, “Don't... Don't do it. Don't kill yourself, Dorothy. Please, don't do it.” He glanced back at his deceased body and said, “This can't be real...”
    Suddenly, his eyes widened. Arthur noticed the sheets of paper he tightly clenched in his hand had vanished into thin air. The ominous messages were abruptly erased, swept into nothingness. Baffled by the revelation, Arthur reached towards the back of his head. He grimaced as he felt the bloody crater on his dome.
    Arthur's bottom lip trembled uncontrollably as he whispered, “I didn't kill Dorothy, I killed myself... I really did it... I really did it.”
     

The Unrepentant
     
    Troy Walker sat on the flimsy mattress in his puny 6' by 9' cell with a ceiling ten feet high. He absently gazed at the murky brick wall directly across his bed, his feet firmly planted on the mucky concrete flooring. His eyes glided across the modest chamber as his mind wandered through a misty field of uncertainty.
    To his left, there was a sturdy door with an impenetrable window. To his right, there was a filthy toilet anchored to the wall. The wall parallel to the shaky bed was vacant. Only a small tube television was hooked up at the top-left corner of the barrier – its working condition was doubtful. Luminous moonlight seeped through the tiny rectangular window on the wall to his right. The lucent stars and radiant moon washed the dreary cell with a pearly glow.
    Troy sighed, then whispered, “Let's hurry up and get this over with...”
    Shattering his hazy contemplation, loud thudding reverberated through the room. Stony-faced, Troy slowly turned towards the only blockade keeping him imprisoned – the door. His perpetual deadpan expression remained as he spotted the correctional officer at his chamber's entrance.
    Correctional Officer Howard Cain asked, “You've got not visitors today?” Troy sat in silence. Cain sniffled, then continued, “Don't you want a... a priest or something? Visitations are welcome today, Troy. You still have some time before the... before the event. Would you like me to call someone for you?”
    Troy did not respond. The hushed cell was drenched with an unwavering silence. Cain bit his bottom lip as he examined Troy from head-to-toe. He couldn't pierce into his enigmatic demeanor, but he could inspect his appearance – it was something from nothing.
    Troy stood five-eleven with a slim physique – prison dieting had blatantly taken a toll. His dome was completely shaved, not a single hair protruded from his head. His brown eyes were dull and hollow, like a dead man's eyes. A thick scar contrasted on his left cheek from his lip to his earlobe – a savage battle scar from a prison shank. Troy donned an orange jumpsuit with the sleeves rolled up to his rugged elbows.
    Cain sighed, then asked, “Troy, you ever think about that night? You ever regret what you did?” Troy did not respond. Cain leaned on the door and said, “I just don't understand it. You've never been any trouble for us. I know some inmates treated you like trash cause of what you did, but you never tried to fight back. You just... you just