NIGHT WHISPERS
by
Katherine Deavers
I heard the voices again last night; they followed me here. I don’t know what I’m going to do. It seems they can find me no matter where I try and hide. I don’t think I can take much more; I can feel my sanity breaking down. They’re winning, God help me, they’re winning and I sense that when they’re done with me, they’ll find someone else to carry out their evil wishes. Please understand, I’m not a bad person and I never wanted to hurt anyone. It’s just those voices, those damned voices. I couldn’t ignore them any longer; they’re much too strong.
My name is Randy Walker and I’ve been on my own since I turned seventeen. Most people look at me as being a drifter because I move from town to town, but even so, I make a good living.
I never knew my mom, she died when I was born so it was always just my pa and me. Dad was never much of a father, as he preferred the life of a drunk. He was a loner, a womanizer, and a mean bastard as well. Every evening, after he was good and drunk, he would start beating on me. For years he beat me, until finally one day, knowing I couldn’t face another night of his anger, I took off. I doubt he even noticed my absence, at least not right away, but if he had people looking for me, they never found me as I was constantly on the move.
That was six years ago and I’ve never looked back. To this day I don’t know whether my dad is alive or not and quite frankly, I don’t care. It’s because of him that I choose to live by myself. I don’t depend on anyone and no one depends on me; that’s the way I like it.
Everything was fine until I moved into an old boarding house in Franklin, Virginia. It was a grand house, making even the prettiest of old southern homes look shabby in comparison. The rooms were very comfortable and the prices inexpensive; it was a combination I couldn’t easily refuse.
I went to Franklin because I was hired to help with the construction of a new school. The town was building a new high school and the contractor hired me, along with a subcontractor, to do the masonry work and the plumbing. The project was expected to last three months, whether or not it did, I don’t know, I wasn’t able to stay in Franklin that long.
About three weeks into the job, some of the guys asked me if I wanted to go and drink a few beers with them after work. I’m not much of a drinker, for obvious reasons, but I didn’t see the harm in drinking a beer or two. We went to a little pub that was located at the south end of town and ended up staying there until closing. I had a little too much to drink and hooked up with one of the local girls. I invited her back to my room where we had a little party of our own. It was that night that I first heard the voices.
We were both in a drunken sleep when I was awakened by people talking. At first, I thought there were people standing outside my door. I ignored it for about fifteen minutes, but the talking continued. I was starting to get upset so I decided to confront the rude guests. When I opened my door to say something, I found that no one was there, in fact, the entire hallway was completely empty. Thinking nothing of it, I went back to bed but five minutes later, the whispering began again. It wasn’t loud, very subdued as a matter of fact, but it was just loud enough to keep me from sleeping. I got out of bed to check the hallway again and found that it was still empty. Seeing that my window was open, just a bit, I walked over to it to see if perhaps the voices were coming from outside. Just like the hallway, the grounds were empty. I shut the window, just in case, and went back to bed. The voices never stopped but eventually I managed to fall back into a not so restful sleep.
It was almost noon when I woke up the following day. My head was pounding terribly! I could hear lawn mowers running in assorted lawns but they were the only sounds I heard. The girl was already gone, which I considered a blessing because I could not remember her name. I couldn’t recall at which point the previous night I had exceeded my limit but I vowed to myself and to my aching head that I would not make that mistake again. The rest of the day was relatively quiet and I spent most of it in bed, but late that night, I heard the whispers again.
They started when I began to fall asleep. They were soft at first, just like the night before, but unlike the prior night, they were gradually becoming louder. I didn’t know why or how, but I could tell that the whispers were inside my room and this time, I could hear them clearly.
“Kill them! Kill them all! Take as many as you can! For us! For us! For us!” The whispers said over and over again. They kept repeating these words for hours and hours. I knew they weren’t but it felt like they were screaming at me, tearing at my brain, generating a feeling not unlike the squeamishness one gets when a fingernail is being dragged across a chalkboard. I put my hands over my ears to obstruct the voices but I couldn’t shut them out. All night long they tortured me but thankfully, when the sun rose, the whispers stopped.
Weeks now past and almost every night was the same, always the voices driving their words into my brain. I was left in a state of confusion. Unable to rationalize these disturbing events, I thought I was going crazy. I wanted to tell someone but I didn’t have any close friends to speak of and I was afraid that I might wind up in some insane asylum. In the end, I decided it would be in my best interest not to say anything at all to anyone. I realized I would have to deal with this problem on my own.
Two months into the project, I was losing all grasps of reality. Every night, seven days a week, the whispers came. I didn’t sleep at night anymore because they wouldn’t let me. They faithfully repeated the same sentences over and over again, never straying from their mission and I could feel they were wearing me down. After so many weeks of this, I couldn’t take it anymore and I knew what I had to do. I had to give them what they wanted.
In my bag was a gun that I carried for protection. With it, I had an ample supply of bullets. I knew the bar would be packed tonight because it was the only tavern in town. As soon as the sun set, I laded the gun, shoved it into my pants and headed for the pub. There was a nice cluster of trees across the street from it that would hide me perfectly. In the darkness I waited and the crowd began to arrive.
I hid in the trees for several hours, waiting for just the right moment. The whispers were with me but they weren’t overbearing. For some reason, I knew that once I gave them what they wanted, I would have some peace.
It was late when my first victim stumbled out of the bar. He was a local; the face I recognized but I didn’t know his name. He slowly made his way to the back of the building and was pissing on the wall when I quietly came up behind him. I shot him in the head, pieces of his scalp flew everywhere. He never knew what hit him. By odd coincidence, one of his buddies soon followed behind, I suppose to do the same thing, and he became victim number two. With each kill, the whispers became softer. I can’t remember how many people I executed that night but when the whispers stopped, I went back to my room to get some much-needed rest. I slept in silence that night and I gratefully welcomed it.
The bodies were discovered the following day. Police sirens woke me from a deep sleep. I knew I couldn’t stay in Franklin any longer so I packed up my belongings and slipped out of town. No one noticed my leaving amidst all the commotion and I would be well away before anyone even knew I was gone.
I drove for hours. The murders had made the news but no real details were released. To be on the safe side, I dyed my hair and shaved off my mustache. I was able to find a handyman’s job in a small-secluded town so I decided to stay for a little while. My nights were once again quiet ones so I was able to sleep. After a few weeks, Franklin seemed more like a bad dream than a horrible reality. I told myself over and over again that it didn’t happen and I think I was successful in convincing myself that it wasn’t real. I had been in Edinburg for one month when the voices returned.
It was midnight when they started. They were soft at first but they quickly got louder. This time they were saying something different.
“Feed us! It’s time to kill again! We hunger! Do it again!” The sound sent a chill through my spine. Now they were loud enough for me to hear distinctly and what I heard was chilling! These voices were not human. These voices had never been human. They were more repulsive than any human voice I had ever heard; so cold and filled with hatred. I was very frightened. They haunted and tortured me all night long. My path was once again clear. I knew I wouldn’t have any rest until I did what they needed me to do.
Breaking into the houses was easy. The locals slept with their windows open so all I had to do was hop inside. I waited until I was sure everyone was asleep. I grabbed a pillow to soften the sound of the firing gun and quietly went from room to room, house to house until I once again silenced those horrific voices. I didn’t wait for morning to arrive before leaving town because I was already near the state line. I knew the sooner I could get away, the better my chances of escape would be. I drove through the next state, stopping only for gas here and there. Within nine hours, I had put an entire state between Virginia and me. Feeling somewhat more relaxed; I got a motel room for the night. I knew that the voices wouldn’t be back for awhile so I would have some time to try and figure some things out.
I didn’t sleep well that night. No, the voices weren’t back; it was my conscience that was bothering me now. Even though I knew in my mind that I had no other choice, my heart felt entirely different. I thought of the parents I had killed and their children, who because of me would never experience the joys of growing up. Maybe their lives were similar to mine, in which case I guess I did them a favor; but for those who had the promise of a bright future, may God damn me for what I’ve done. I stayed in Erie for several days. I had to carefully plan my next move. I was going to meet an acquaintance in New York who could get me a new identity. My final night in Erie, the whispers came back. I had been there for only four days.
That was three months ago and since that time, the voices have stayed with me. Their hunger increases with every kill; they are never satisfied. I made it to New York only to kill my friend before he could be of any help to me. I can’t stop the whispers nor can I hide from them. My only relief will come from this gun that I hold in my hand. The same gun that has taken so many innocent lives will now take my own. I have done damnable deeds and I know for me, there is no salvation. I only pray that I can somehow be forgiven for the hideous things I’ve done. May God have mercy on us all.
* * *
The maids at the Roadside Inn found the body of Randy Walker the next morning. The police were immediately brought in. Detective Marshall Poole had just finished reading Randy’s suicide letter. “So Marshall, what do you think,” one of the police officers asked, “Do we have our psycho murderer or what?” “Well,” Marshall replied, “the gun matches the one that was used in all of the murders and the letter makes a pretty strong confession, so I think it would be safe to say that we can call off the manhunt and close this case.” The young officer nodded his head. “You know, it’s scary to think that there are lunatics like this guy, running around loose in this world.” Shoving the letter into his jacket, Marshall agreed, “Yeah, but at least there are people like us willing to try and stop this madness. Why don’t you wrap things up here and I’ll go and have a word with the press.” With that, Marshall left.
Later that night in his home, Marshall spent the evening studying the contents of the letter. It was late and he was tired so he decided to retire for the evening. Lying in bed, he was just about to drift off to sleep when something startled him. He wasn’t quite sure but he thought he heard some people mumbling. Right next to his ear, a cold voice said, “I’m glad you got my letter.”
And then, the whispers came.
The End