| Horror and Thriller Fiction posted August 25, 2014 |
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A 500 word short story
Shafted
by Dean Kuch
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
“Damn it! Why in God's name don't we do something about these outdated elevators? I slave for these murdering fucks on the top floor, and how do they thank me? By making me climb into this deathtrap to ride eighty-eight floors to bring them up their blood money!”
The attendant looked very pale, especially in the dim light.
“God knows everythin', bubba. But where you're goin', it don't matter much.”
"You're addressing me?”
“Ain't nobody else here, 'cept'n you. So yeah — I 'spose I'd hafta' be.”
“Look, uh— whatever your name is...”
"Davies is my name,” the strange attendant cut in. “but you can call me Slim. Everyone else does.”
“For your information, Slim, my name is Lionel Kilamon. My girlfriend's father, Philip Weisman, also owns this company. I happen to be engaged to Philips' daughter, Miss Elanor Weisman. You are aware of what they do here? They're paid to mop up messes in life that fuck-ups like you leave behind.
“Izzat so?” Slim shook a cigarette out of a pack, lighting up.
“Look...”
"Slim will do fine.”
“Okay, Slim — whatever. I really don't like being stuck in elevators. I like it less when someone is depleting my oxygen. So, if you wouldn't mind, please extinguish the cigarette, and shut your trap.”
“Oh, but I do mind. And we ain't stuck, I cut the power, is all.”
“Oh? And why would you do that?”
The strange man smiled, then took a long drag off his cigarette.
“'Cause I was paid to send you and this elevator crashin' down the shaft. Seems you been talkin' to your momma about what it is that goes on around here. That's about as straightforward as I can shoot it to ya'. When I'm done with you, I'll get another twenty grand to pay mommy a visit. I'm glad you put her up in that posh high rise apartment. It'll make her suicide much easier to rig than this accident you're gonna have. Once you're killed in the fall, I'll remove my equipment. The failure will be written off to old age and bad luck. Hell, they might even make upgrades to these outdated elevators. But you'll never see 'em.”
“Hah, we're ... moving!”
“I'm afraid so, bubba. This is where I get off. I just had to know, is all."
Lionel heard a burst of compressed air, then felt a slight stinging in his thigh. The world and everything in it began to spin.
He collapsed onto the elevator floor.
The doors opened.
"Sorry, bub, but I ain't makin' this trip."
Flashing a smirk, Slim stepped off.
Soon, the world and everything below it fell out from under Lionel Kilamon. He screamed all the way to the basement...
In the ladies' room, Elanor "Slim" Weisman removed the facial prosthetics and make up, then ripped the theatrical sideburns off her face. She tossed them into the garbage.
Lionel had been talking after all.
Soon, she'd pay a visit to Momma Kilamon.
Assassinate Me A Thriller! writing prompt entry
“Damn it! Why in God's name don't we do something about these outdated elevators? I slave for these murdering fucks on the top floor, and how do they thank me? By making me climb into this deathtrap to ride eighty-eight floors to bring them up their blood money!”
The attendant looked very pale, especially in the dim light.
“God knows everythin', bubba. But where you're goin', it don't matter much.”
"You're addressing me?”
“Ain't nobody else here, 'cept'n you. So yeah — I 'spose I'd hafta' be.”
“Look, uh— whatever your name is...”
"Davies is my name,” the strange attendant cut in. “but you can call me Slim. Everyone else does.”
“For your information, Slim, my name is Lionel Kilamon. My girlfriend's father, Philip Weisman, also owns this company. I happen to be engaged to Philips' daughter, Miss Elanor Weisman. You are aware of what they do here? They're paid to mop up messes in life that fuck-ups like you leave behind.“Izzat so?” Slim shook a cigarette out of a pack, lighting up.
“Look...”
"Slim will do fine.”
“Okay, Slim — whatever. I really don't like being stuck in elevators. I like it less when someone is depleting my oxygen. So, if you wouldn't mind, please extinguish the cigarette, and shut your trap.”
“Oh, but I do mind. And we ain't stuck, I cut the power, is all.”
“Oh? And why would you do that?”
The strange man smiled, then took a long drag off his cigarette.
“'Cause I was paid to send you and this elevator crashin' down the shaft. Seems you been talkin' to your momma about what it is that goes on around here. That's about as straightforward as I can shoot it to ya'. When I'm done with you, I'll get another twenty grand to pay mommy a visit. I'm glad you put her up in that posh high rise apartment. It'll make her suicide much easier to rig than this accident you're gonna have. Once you're killed in the fall, I'll remove my equipment. The failure will be written off to old age and bad luck. Hell, they might even make upgrades to these outdated elevators. But you'll never see 'em.”
“Hah, we're ... moving!”
“I'm afraid so, bubba. This is where I get off. I just had to know, is all."
Lionel heard a burst of compressed air, then felt a slight stinging in his thigh. The world and everything in it began to spin.
He collapsed onto the elevator floor.
The doors opened.
"Sorry, bub, but I ain't makin' this trip."
Flashing a smirk, Slim stepped off.
Soon, the world and everything below it fell out from under Lionel Kilamon. He screamed all the way to the basement...
In the ladies' room, Elanor "Slim" Weisman removed the facial prosthetics and make up, then ripped the theatrical sideburns off her face. She tossed them into the garbage.
Lionel had been talking after all.
Soon, she'd pay a visit to Momma Kilamon.
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Writing Prompt In 500 words or less, write a thriller (or/and horror) prose involving an assassin/assassination or hitman/hitwoman. No poetry or script, please. Be creative and have fun! :) |
 Recognized |
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As always, thanks for reading...
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