Short Story

The Confession Of A Murderer – Best Thriller Story

The Confession Of A Murderer – Best Thriller Story: My time has come. I was enclosed in these four-sided concrete walls while seated on an old plastic monoblack chair and a rectangular white table in front. The ambiance whispers an eerie silence- harmonizing with the pounding rhythm of my anxious heart causes blockage of fearful thoughts in my throat.

The air conditioning unit allows a chilly atmosphere to kiss on my skin, yet my body refuses its touch and slowly allows the sweat to drip.

Maybe this is because I am about to be interrogated now. Perhaps this is because of the hundreds of souls that perished in my hands due to my selfish urges. I am in a shallow state, but my conscience slowly drowns me with madness.

Then the silence break when I heard the door squeak as it swings to be open. His here! The interrogator is here! I shouted in my head. He walks towards me and let himself be seated on the unoccupied seat in front and laid his notebook, pen and recorder in the table.

“Good day Ted!” he greeted after exhaling the smoke from his cigarette. “It was a wild chase and the police admitted that it was a tough time tracing your moves in order for you to be captured.” He said without any hint of emotions in his face. “But I’m not here to praise your intelligence of escaping the law enforcers, I’m here to know what did you do to your victims?” He added.

“Listen to me! I did not kill them! I helped them!” I burst in anger.

“The demon sometimes imitates the light to drag his victims in the dark Ted.” He said which messed up my comprehension to understand his thought. “tell me what did you do to your first victim? the performer?” he asked.

“The performer? He was my friend. He was a talented young man. his voice was admired by many for when he started to sing every note that comes out is faultless. It’s like a swing that cradles you with sweet sentiments.” I told him with a face painted with a smile of adoration.

“But what is your motives of killing him? Are you jealous of his gift?” he asked.

“No. Not at all.” I replied with a sad face. “Time changes, and so is his instrument. He couldn’t adapt to these changes, and I pity him a lot. So I kidnapped and hide him in the dim and cold basement. I chained him in the seat, but he was fighting against me to be free.

So I wrap his body with barbed wires and its spikes dug deep into his skin. It was so deep that the blood started to drip out into the floor. And at that time, he could barely move, and only sadness was inscribed in his face.

I sewed his mouth into a smiley face so sadness will be removed and he will not be able to sing again. Then I leave him there. I thought that if he keeps on singing with those changes, the people will hate him for he can’t sing the same as before. I don’t want to let him live in frustration for the rest of his life. So I end it for him.” I narrated.

I looked into the eyes of the interrogator, but I see no sight of horror in his face. I didn’t quite expect that it will be empty as a blank paper. Maybe he is thinking about and analyzing my testaments. Or perhaps time sharply molds him due to his profession so he can hide his thoughts from me. The air was in silence for a few seconds.

“How about the second Victim? The teenage boy we hide in the name Lover. What happened to him?” the silence broke when he asked this question with an inquisitive tone.

My heart broke when I heard those words. I knew that he is referring to my secret friend. Surreptitious enough that only me, him and the universe knew the existence of the thread that connects between us. My mind and soul is fighting for I promised that I would not disclose things about him to anybody. But I am imprisoned in these walls that even my words will not escape.

“Tell me Ted.” He insisted.

“He was my secret friend.” My head bows down with my voice filled with disappointment. “he lives in a life where he wears a mask of clay so he can face the eyes of the people that surrounds him. He fell in love a thousand times but refuses to embrace it. He said that thorns over thorns don’t match. And thorns that doesn’t bear roses are cut and burnt into ashes.” I continued.

“That’s quite a metaphor Ted. But I get your point.” He said. “But why did you kill this poor young man?” he added.

“He silently cries in the night when the city is a sleep and ask the universe why does his heart beats so differently. He wonders how does euphoria feels when one can freely choose the person that one loves the most?” I shed these questions to him.

“Continue.” The interrogator said as he crosses his legs.

“I can’t handle such heartbreak. So I invited him in my room. There, I tied his hands and feet in the corners of my bed. I tied a white handkerchief in his mouth so I will not be able to hear his scream of agony. Then I look at his face, it was full of innocence. But I have to do my work.” I said to the interrogator.

“So I picked the sharp knife hidden under my bed and places its edge into his breast where the heart is located. I drag it down with great force and a red line drawn. The blood was overflowing as I insert my hand to snatch his heart. Then I put it to an empty jar so I can bury it.”

“Why did you stole his heart?” he asked.

“Because that was the cause of his suffering. So I end it for him.” I replied.

I looked into the eyes of the interrogator again, but Still, I see no sight of horror in his face. He still looks empty as a blank paper. Maybe he is thinking and analyzing my testaments again. Or maybe time sharply molds him due to his profession so he can hide his thoughts from me. The air was in silence for a few seconds.

“How about the third victim. The one you called the Dreamer. What Happened to him?” It broke the silence once again.

Again, it breaks my heart for the third time after hearing what he mentioned. Because among the three, my third victim was very special to me.

“Dreamer was the exceptional and most favorite friend that I’ve ever had in my entire life.” I said to him with the mood of holding the tears back that is starting to fill up and weight in my eyelids.

“If he means a lot to you, why did you kill him? Compared to the two, your third victim sounds like he has a positive view of life. What was the impetus that brought you to such madness?” he asked with the extreme stress of controlled anger in his voice.

I was shocked when he let out an angry tone. This leads me to look away on his sight due to embarrassment. But still, I continued to respond.

“Yes you’re right.” I replied.

“But Tell me why did you kill him?” he inhaled and exhaled deeply to control his temper.

“He has a vivid projection of his future. he was a risk-taker that gamble even his last penny to see what is beyond the horizon.” I said to the interrogator. “His enthusiasm of life scares me a lot for the higher you fly, the harder the gravity will drag and break you down when you fall.

So one moment when we were hiking in the middle of the forest, I put my plan on freeing him from what I think is fake optimism into action. While he was walking in front of me, I opened my bag and got the knife. Then I buried its blade with full force in the flesh of his back which leads to excessive bleeding. He screams in extreme pain, but he still managed himself to run away from my danger.” I narrated.

“What happened next?” Did he ask?
“I followed, and the trail brought us to a river. I was able to catch him and drag him into that body of water for I know that he can’t swim. I wrap my hands around his neck and forcedly submerge his entire body in the water to drown. But he was too strong and freed himself in my grip. He tried to run away from me, but he stumbled and fell in the ground.

I grabbed the chance and picked a Rock and throw it in his legs to forbid him from running again. He screamed in pain and asked me to spare his life. But I did not listen so a grab my knife yet and stab him in the chest, in the neck and I stick him multiple times until the sound that I only hear is the rushing river as its water crashes into the rocks.” I continued.

I looked into the eyes of the interrogator for the third time, but still, I see no sight of horror in his face. He always looks empty as a blank paper. Maybe he is thinking and analyzing my testaments again. Or perhaps time sharply molds him due to his profession so he can hide his thoughts from me. Yet after a few air of silence, he smiled. But that was no ordinary smile.

“So you killed him because you are afraid that he’ll fail?” he asked.

“No. I killed him because if he fails, the people will laugh and make him miserable for the rest of his life. So I end it for him.” I replied.

“What a stupid mind you got.” He laughed. “You thought you were able to helped them through ending their lives!” He shouted with excitement.

I was in deep confusion for what the interrogator acted and chilled slides down into my spine. I thought I was a cold-blooded monster who fears no one. But this time is different.

“Accept this gift of mine for you.” He said while extending the pen towards me.

“What shall I do with this?” I asked in confusion

“Do the thing that you do best.” A grin was inscribed in his face. “like the others, kill yourself too.” His Smile broadens more.

“I did what you ask!” I shouted towards his face. “I killed the performer, the Lover and the dreamer just as you commanded! Why should I kill myself now? I’ve been your loyal servant!” I shouted uncontrollably now.

The interrogator wildly stands up and grabs my hand. He then forcedly controlled my hand to pick the pen, and with all his strength, he pointed its tip towards me.

“If you’ll not do it, then I have no choice but to help you!” He laughed even more.

He Put more force and placing the pointed part of the pen just a few centimetres from my eyes. I felt powerless. I thought That the monster inside me grew strong. But it failed me at this moment. I am filled with fear now. The light and my vision are in the chaos that leads to my eyes to see nothing but a blur of hopelessness. Then everything turns black.

I opened my eyes, and it was filled with tears, and my body was intensively shaking of fear. My body couldn’t move. I rolled my sight to determine where I am. It was still a four-sided concrete wall, but this time is different. I’m in my bedroom and safe from harm.

Then I’ve realized I was having a terrible dream and sleep paralysis again. I calmed myself, and a few moments, I was able to regain control of my body. I managed myself to sit and fixed my sight towards the clock, and I realized that it was three A.M.

The vision of my dreams is clear, and it haunts me every night. The frustration of my choices in life wraps and tightens day by day. Yes, I am a murderer. The cold-blooded monster that ended the lives of thousands of souls to quench my selfish urges. But I did not harm anybody. It is hard to accept that the performer, the lover and the dreamer lives and is united in my soul. The performer, the lover, the dreamer and I are in one person. I am a murderer, and I harm nobody but myself.

I am the performer that loses confidence in myself and chooses to hide in the basement of my heart to protect me from the sharp words of the spectators. I am the lover that forbids myself to embrace the person that I love to protect myself from the eyes of the neighbors that tears flesh in their heads. And I am the dreamer that allows the society to drown and stab me multiple times by their words that I am not good at anything.

I am a murderer, and I killed myself multiple times to be accepted by society. But they are not satisfied. They wanted to kill my entire existence now.

My time has come, and I wanted to be free from these chains. It has come, and I want to live a life that I want. My time has come, and I want to reborn myself. Just one question is echoing in my head. Can I still resurrect the parts of myself that I killed?

By: Brent Enerlan Atchuela
Genre: Horror/Thrill/Crime

Read More: Story Of Your Life

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