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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · LGBTQ+ · #2179047
A short story, please leave a review and any advice!

A garish bang fills the silence of the room.

"Uh," replies Jonathan a striking, dark skinned male with a curly jet black Mohawk, piercing brown eyes, and full chocolate lips.

"What happened to your husband, and his bandmates?" shouts Sargent Passerello, a tall fetching homicide detective, as his hands slam on the cold metal table again.

Jonathan looks around the room his eyes scrawl from wall to wall, "Where am I? How did I get here?"

The detective looks at his partner with a perplexed expression on his face. The husky pecan brown skinned officer rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his broad chest. Sgt. Passerello takes a seat and lowers his voice. "Mr. Winters, you don't know how you got here?"

"No, things are kind of speckled up to the point when you slammed your hands on the table," replies Jonathan gathering his comportment.

"Can you try for me," replies Sargent Passerello.

"Try what?" Jonathan asks looking Sargent Passerello in his stern eyes as tears well within his tear ducks.

"Try to remember," he continues as he reaches across the table and touches Jonathans left hand.

"I remember walking into the house with my briefcase. It was noiseless, quieter than it normally is when I walk into the house. Normally, Justin is at the piano, or at his keyboard working on a jingle, but this day was different. The television was off, and I could see Frankie's red hair from the corner of the sofa. The more I walked into the room the more unnerving it became. It was at that moment when I saw my husband lying on the floor, his head clear across the room. Blake's chest was ripped open, and there was a hole in Frankie's throat. I remember coving my mouth, trying to hide my shriek. Then I saw it, it skulked around the room for a moment before the black shadow sprang from corner to corner in the shadows. As I turned to run out I was stopped by the apparition. Standing there face to face with the pugnacious looking apparition, it tosses a Ouija board at my feet covered in blood.

"And then?" says Sargent Passerello moving toward Jonathan with his arms overlapped on the table. Jonathan looks wounded by the events of the day and then a slight simper falls upon his face.

Jonathan looks up, his eyes glazed over completely black as a demonic voice reverberates from within his throat, "WHY DON'T YOU ASK ME?"

Screams fill the room; blood sprays the glass and cops rush into the integration room.

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