Anyway, like my other short story - Kara - it was a once and done deal. I did not edit it at all. In fact, I haven't even re-read it since I wrote it. But before I change my mind, I'm going to put it up for you.
So, I hope you enjoy it!
The
Page
Henry Miller, such a fine name.
Henry Miller was not an ordinary person. Not only that, but he was even unique
in the things he chose to read. Henry Miller liked to read mystery novels,
novels with deep hidden meanings and morbid endings. Henry, although only the
age of 18, lived on his own, in a deserted town. No one ever visited him, nor
did anyone even dare to step foot past the towns border. Now, Henry, at this particular day had
decided to read a rather intriguing, yet, mysterious book about a murder. Now,
the reason he had found this particular book so intriguing, was because it was,
in fact, about a true man, who had really been murdered. But this was not the full reason as to why
Henry liked it so much. It was because the man in the book was very much like
himself. The man in the books name was Henry, too. Only, in the book, he was
called Harry. They were not only similar
in their names, but in their appearance. Both Henry and Harry had dark brown
hair. They were tall and thin, as well as blue eyed with flexes of gold running
through them. Both of them had one single freckle on the left side of their
face. They both had the same eating habits, as well as likes and dislikes. They both only wore collared shirts, and they
both only wore pure white sneakers. And,
not only that, but both Henry and Harry had the same problem…they both were
missing their pinky fingers. In fact,
even the lifestyle of Harry seemed to be identical to that of Henry. The more Henry read, the more he felt he was
re-living his own life over. Everything was completely and utterly the same as
himself. The book started with him as a child, and all the way up until he
turned 18. Henry shuddered with excitement.
This man, Harry, was him! But how?
Henry wondered. How could this be, no one
knows me…I’ve lived my whole life in this town…this town, that no living being
ever dares to visit. He was so
intrigued he couldn’t put the book down, not for one second. He read deep into
the night. Everything in the book was the same as his own life. That was, until
he read the last page. On the last page, he read aloud, “Harry sat in the
pitch-black room. He was reading aloud the last page of a fantastic novel. As
he read the last page, his heart was pumping, he couldn’t put the book down…he
then managed to finish it. A sigh of relief fell over him. He smiled a broad smile and leaned back into
his green leathered chair. Suddenly, he
felt pure terror run down his spine. Cold sweat ran down his brow. He could hear a man, slowly but steadily
walking up the stairs in the hallway. He
must be hearing things…no one ever comes here, it’s a deserted town! Harry,
ever so slowly, turned his head and peered around the back of his chair. In
doing this, he could see the door to the hallway was opened. If anyone was
walking up it, he would see them. He
waited for them, but he suddenly heard nothing. He turned back around again. To
Harry’s horror, the footsteps started back up.
Harry was frozen stiff with panic. He felt warm breath on his neck, and
a pair of icy fingers touched his shoulders.
As Harry went to scream, the icy fingers clasped tightly around Harry’s
throat. He fell limp…the end.” Henry put the book down. He looked around in his
pitch-black room. He felt a sigh of relief that he had finally finished it. A
broad smile came across his face and he leaned back into his green leathered
chair. Suddenly, he felt pure terror run down his spine. Cold sweat ran down
his brow. He could hear a man, slowly but steadily walking up the stairs in the
hallway. I must be hearing things…no one
ever comes here, it’s a deserted town! Henry thought to himself. Henry,
ever so slowly, turned his head and peered around the back of his chair. In doing this, he could see the door to the
hallway which was open. If anyone was walking up the stairs, he would see
them. He waited for them, but he heard
nothing. He turned back around again. To his horror, the footsteps started back
up. Henry was frozen stiff with panic, as he remembered the story he had
read. He felt warm breath on his neck,
and a pair of icy fingers touched his shoulders. Henry went to scream, the icy
fingers clasped tightly around his throat…
The End
*No Copywriting
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