Hell reunion (eBook)

Keith Jarvis jr (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025
550 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
979-8-232-52615-3 (ISBN)

Infos

10 years ago a prank was pulled on the night of senior prom. Putz the highschools nerd and the bullies main target trick him in believing that the most popular girl in school wants him to take her to prom. Putz beliving is this wines up tied to devils rock naked and left for dead while they mocked him as they left. That was the last time anyone saw Putz again. well til now. At highschool reunion Putz now a insaine vampire puts his tormentors in a game of surval. All of them are looked in the school and all must fight to the death til there is only one. Putz now a spectator in his twisted game of life and death watches and cheers on.

Textauszug

Chapter 2: The Homecoming of the Monster

The air in Havenwood had always been thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, a comforting perfume that, for a brief, luminous period, had been the backdrop to Michael’s youth. Now, returning under the cloak of an unnatural dusk, the aroma was tainted, soured by the lingering echoes of his suffering. He moved through the familiar landscape not as a prodigal son returning home, but as a specter surveying the ruins of a life he had meticulously dismantled, piece by agonizing piece. The decade had been a crucible, and the boy who had been Michael Jarvis had been melted down, reshaped, and reforged into something utterly alien.

The town itself seemed to shrink, a faded photograph of a place he vaguely remembered. The quaint storefronts that had once been hubs of small-town camaraderie now appeared hollow, their windows reflecting a sky bruised with twilight. He saw the chipped paint on the sign for Miller’s Bakery, the loose shutter on the library, the same stubborn weed pushing through the cracked sidewalk outside the old cinema. These were not landmarks of nostalgia; they were scars, each one a fresh reminder of the festering wound that had never truly healed. His heightened senses, now a curse and a blessing, picked out the subtle shifts in the town’s atmosphere – a flicker of apprehension in the hurried footsteps of a late-night wanderer, the stagnant air of secrets kept too long, the faint, almost imperceptible tremor of fear that clung to certain shadowed alleys.

 

He had orchestrated his homecoming with the same cold precision that defined all his actions. The whispers had reached him, carried on the currents of his network, the tendrils of information he had painstakingly woven across the continent. A reunion. A decade. The architects of his misery, those who had celebrated his downfall, would be converging, basking in the perceived permanence of their victory. It was a cruel irony, a macabre jest that delighted the monstrous entity he had become. They would be seeking comfort in the familiar, seeking to rekindle the embers of shared history, utterly unaware that the inferno they had ignited was about to consume them all.

 

He found himself outside the wrought-iron gates of his childhood home, a place that existed now only in the fractured fragments of his memory. The house stood, a gaunt silhouette against the darkening sky, its windows like vacant eyes staring out at a world it no longer recognized. He could almost feel the residual warmth of forgotten laughter, the phantom touch of hands that had once held him. But these were just that – phantoms. The venom coursing through his veins did not carry sentimentality; it carried purpose. He could recall the layout of the house, the creak of the third stair, the loose floorboard in his old bedroom, not with longing, but with the detached knowledge of a general planning an assault. He knew where the vulnerabilities lay, where the deepest shadows concealed themselves.

 

The silence of Havenwood was no longer the peaceful quiet of a sleeping town; it was a heavy, suffocating blanket, alive with the unspoken anxieties of its inhabitants. He could sense the subtle currents of their lives – the quiet desperation of the failing businesses, the brittle facade of forced cheerfulness, the gnawing dread that settled over families whose prosperity was built on shaky foundations. He knew their secrets, the petty cruelties and the grand betrayals that had shaped their years since he had been cast out. He had watched from afar, an unseen observer, the slow decay of their moral compasses, the inexorable march of their self-deception.

 

He stood for a long time, a solitary figure cloaked in the encroaching night, the wind rustling through his dark attire like the whisper of restless spirits. The familiar streets, once trod with the innocence of youth, now felt like a treacherous maze, each corner a potential trap, each doorway a hidden threat. But he was no longer the boy who had been lost in this maze. He was the architect of its destruction, the predator who had learned its every secret, its every weakness. The reunion was not an opportunity for them to reconnect with their past; it was an invitation for him to exact his final, devastating retribution.

 

He moved with a grace that belied the immense power coiled within him. The old oak tree at the edge of the town square, where he had once carved his initials alongside hers, now seemed to mock him with its stoic presence. He traced the weathered lines of his own forgotten mark, the ‘M’ intertwined with the ‘S,’ a symbol of a love that had been twisted into a weapon. The tree itself was a witness, a silent sentinel to the genesis of his torment. He could feel the ancient life force of the wood, the slow pulse of sap, but it was a pulse he now understood in terms of life and death, of sustenance and decay.

 

The people he encountered, the few who still ventured out into the night, did not recognize him. His features, once so familiar, had been reshaped by the darkness that had claimed him. His eyes, once warm and brimming with life, now held the cold, predatory gleam of a hunter. His presence exuded an aura of disquiet, a subtle dissonance that made the air around him hum with an unnatural tension. They felt it, a prickling sensation on their skin, a vague sense of unease that they could not articulate, and they hurried past, their gazes averted, eager to retreat into the supposed safety of their homes.

 

He found himself drawn to the high school, a hulking brick edifice that was the epicenter of the impending gathering. The lights were already on, casting a warm, inviting glow that stood in stark contrast to the chilling emptiness that permeated his being. He could hear the distant murmur of voices, the faint strains of music that had once been the soundtrack to his adolescence. These sounds, once associated with joy and camaraderie, now felt like the prelude to a slaughter. He was a phantom at the feast, an uninvited guest whose sole purpose was to bring about an end.

 

The contrast was stark, almost absurd. The mundane reality of a high school reunion, a ritual of remembrance and reconnection, was about to be shattered by the arrival of a monster forged in the fires of betrayal. He observed the small details: the chipped paint on the gymnasium doors, the faint scent of disinfectant that always clung to the school hallways, the way the moonlight cast long, distorted shadows across the empty parking lot. These were the remnants of a life he had been so brutally ripped from, and now, he was here to reclaim it, not by returning to his former self, but by erasing the perpetrators from existence.

 

He knew their faces, their names, their histories. He remembered the casual cruelty, the whispered insults, the moments of exclusion that had chipped away at his spirit. He remembered the glint of triumph in their eyes when he had fallen, the smug satisfaction of their perceived superiority. He had cataloged every slight, every betrayal, and now, the ledger was about to be settled. The silence of Havenwood was not an emptiness for him; it was a canvas, waiting for the crimson strokes of his vengeance. The scent of pine and damp earth had been replaced by the acrid tang of anticipation, the intoxicating aroma of imminent retribution. He was home, and the homecoming of the monster had just begun.

 

He circled the school, a silent predator in his own former hunting ground. The familiar architecture, the playgrounds where children had once scraped their knees, the bleachers where crowds had once roared – all these were now merely backdrops to his grim purpose. He could see the cars arriving, hear the bursts of laughter and the squeal of tires. They were arriving, unsuspecting, eager to relive their youth, to bask in the glow of shared memories. They did not know that the boy they had tormented was now a force of unimaginable power, a creature of shadow and venom, returning to collect his dues.

 

The façade of the school seemed to mock him with its normalcy. The chipped paint, the flickering fluorescent lights in the far corners of the parking lot, the faded welcome sign – these were the symbols of a world that had moved on, a world that had forgotten the darkness it had inflicted upon him. But he had not forgotten. The memories were not faded; they were etched into his very being, fueling the inferno that raged within. He could feel the vibrations of their arrival through the soles of his boots, a tremor of anticipation that resonated with the hunger gnawing at his core.

 

He remembered the shame, the humiliation, the gnawing self-doubt that had been his constant companions in these hallowed halls. He recalled the hushed whispers, the pointed fingers, the ostracization that had been his daily bread. These were not distant memories; they were visceral sensations, and they propelled him forward, a relentless tide of vengeance. He saw the faces of his tormentors in his mind’s eye, their smirking visages, their confident strides. They believed themselves safe, insulated by time and distance. They were wrong.

 

The night was his ally, a vast, encompassing cloak that hid his movements and amplified his senses. He could hear the murmur of conversations drifting from the open doors of the gymnasium, the clinking of glasses, the rising tide of forced joviality. It was a symphony of ignorance, a prelude to the cacophony of despair he intended to unleash. He felt a surge of dark satisfaction, a cold, exhilarating power coursing through him. The decade of pain had...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 14.10.2025
• Reihe/Serie: Among us
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Essays / Feuilleton
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror ► Horror
• Themenwelt: Geisteswissenschaften ► Sprach- / Literaturwissenschaft ► Literaturwissenschaft
• Schlagworte: bullies • Highschool • Murder • Plots • revenge • schemes • Vampire
• ISBN-13: 979-8-232-52615-3 / 9798232526153