Originally posted on r/nosleep 3 months ago.
Imagine an August night like the rest. The afternoon sky was setting, the blue turning into red near the horizon. What was that saying? Red sky at night, sailor’s delight? Well, whatever the saying is, that was what the sky looked like. An hour later, we would be engulfed in the dark navy blue of the night, looking up at the stars that twinkled down at us.
Why does any of this matter? It matters because it was one hell of a night to kill my friends.
Nobody intentionally sets out to kill his or her friends (or at least that’s what I would hope), it just sort of happens sometimes. In the unfortunate case that you are stuck in the situation I found myself in, you probably overheard an alarming conversation amongst your friends and realized you needed to react faster than they could.
My name is Kyle*, and I’m a loser-stoner-no-good-piece-of-shit. Well, according to my parents that is. My mom and dad are real over achievers: a lawyer and a doctor; you couldn’t get any more cliché than that. My older brother is following in my father’s footsteps at Harvard, and my sister landed a job at the hospital my mother works at as a nurse. And me? I’m twenty-two years old, unemployed, and have limited access to a trust fund that provides me with lots of booze and drugs.
I gave med school a shot, I got my undergrad, but I never continued after that. I wasn’t sensitive to what the job entails, I was just lazy and couldn’t handle the hours. Afterwards, I decided to try my shot at law school; that idea lasted for about a weekend. So, I made a deal with my parents, once September 1st came, I would find myself a job – a corporate 9-5 job. I bet you could imagine my reaction.
“Come on you sad sack of shit, help bring these logs in,” Trevor shouted to me. I don’t know why I agreed to this cottage weekend, maybe I felt obliged; after all, we have all been friends since we were young (with the exception of some new comers).
I grunted as I lifted some logs, the twigs poking my torso, scratching at my arms. I walked up the path towards the stairs, the weight of the logs growing heavy. One of the logs was bound to drop, and I cursed myself when it did, the sound echoing through the quiet evening.
“You know he still owes me like, thousands of dollars?”
“I don’t get it, isn’t he a trust fund baby? Why can’t he just transfer the money to you? Hello, it’s the 21st Century.”
“Kyle would only give you money over his dead body. I think his parents cut him off after that incident years ago in the summer.”
“With the kids he was babysitting – apparently he got a little too close to them during bath time.”
“Ew! He’s a pedo?”
“No, no – everyone got it all wrong. I live next door to the Watson’s – I know the full story. They have two kids, right? A girl and a boy, and the girl got into her mom’s stash of erotic-romance novels or some shit, and she got ideas. So here comes Kyle, who wouldn’t even be in the same room when the kids are bathing. The girl gets her brother to help her with her bath, like usual, nothing weird – but she decided to cry pedo on Kyle to her parents the next day. All because of these books.”
“What happened after that?”
“They apologized to Kyle and his family in private, gave them some money, and buried it under the rug. It sucks because Kyle was so good with kids, everyone on the block recommended him as a babysitter, and then you’ve got the one bitch girl who ruined it.”
“Anyways, that’s when he became this secluded type. I know he tried to follow both his parents in their footsteps, but that was a failure too.”
Outside, they could hear the log drop outside, and quickly whipped their heads around, seeing Kyle step over the log, trying not to drop the rest in his hands. He was still a good distance away.
“God, I would DIE if someone accused me of doing that to kids.”
I tiptoed closer, praying that the logs would stay put in my arms. The more I listened, the faster I clued in that these bastards were talking about me!
“You would die, Julie? Really? You’re the one who had suicidal ideations since freshman year of College.”
I felt a bit bad for Julie; she always seemed to enjoy life, but we all knew behind closed doors she wanted out. I remember when her parents died in a freak accident; I was the first person she came to. We had a bit of a fling in the twelfth grade, but after graduation, she became a real Grade-A bitch.
I pushed the screen door, looking at my friends who just spent a good five minutes talking about me, acting like nothing happened.
“Hey Kyle, you got any more party favors? I want to have that same trip like last night.”
I set the logs down beside the fireplace and nodded, “in my duffel bag.”
I looked around the room, the four of them continued to drink. Julie’s eyes were fixated on the TV screen, some old movie playing.
Jennifer on my left was filing her nails, making faces. I never liked Jennifer – she reminded me a lot of Julie, in fact, they were basically personality-twins (minus the suicidal ideations part).
Jennifer and I grew up together, our families were close, we would always have pool parties at her house in the summer, and winter trips to the Swiss Alps. Mark, her boyfriend was beside her, glued to his phone. He’s someone I always liked; he was the typical jock, but under that façade he was the biggest nerd I knew.
“Goddamnit, I swear to God if I die again in this game I’m throwing my phone into that fire!” He exclaimed, his face now inches away from the screen.
“Easy there, bud,” Trevor said as he emerged from the room.
On the TV, someone had changed the channel. Jigsaw’s mask from the Saw series appeared on the screen. I didn’t know which Saw it was, let alone did I give a shit about it.
I closed my eyes for a moment, not realizing that I was drifting off into a deep sleep.
I woke up to them talking amongst themselves, but I kept my eyes closed.
“If I gave you a hundred bucks – you’re telling me you wouldn’t kill him? It’s not like anybody would miss him! Okay, what about me? Would you kill me for five hundred bucks? What would you put ‘my game’ as?”
“No way man, you watch way too much true crime – this isn’t some real life How to Get Away with Murder or Saw shit.”
“What if we could get away with it though? You heard Trevor, he’s a pedo!”
“No Julie, he’s not you weren’t paying attention to the whole story.”
“Shut up, Jennifer.”
“No, you guys shut up with your stupid ideas. You’re not going to kill your friend! This is definitely all the booze and drugs talking. Turn off this stupid movie, it’s on like the fourth one now – I’m over it. You guys just get dumbass ideas from it. Go to bed.”
“Chill, we were only joking.”
They began moving around me, someone tripped over my ‘sleeping’ body, and muttered an apology.
I knew they were messing around; but I was sick of it at this point. Trevor was deranged to begin with; he would be the only one to take this seriously. In the sixth grade he had got into a fight with Stewart Tulley and cracked his head open, to a point where the kid had borderline concussion. Whenever there was a fight with Trevor, it’s like someone flipped a switch on him – he just saw red.
Most recently he had taken on two biker’s, and as bad as he looked in the end, the two other bikers looked worse. The bar fight started over Olympics teams.
I slipped back into the darkness, sleeping away my angered thoughts.
I’ve been up for an hour now.
I looked at Trevor. For once in his life, his mouth wasn’t moving – he was dead silent. Everyone around me should thank me; really, this is the longest he’s been quiet. I probably set a personal record for him.
Beside Trevor, Jennifer’s body was sprawled over his (why do some people sleep like that?) Anyways, she was whimpering, the same as when you have a bad dream. I wonder what she was dreaming of? Trevor cheating on her for the umpteenth time? Julie abandoning her as a best friend? Not growing up to be a socialite and being a wife on The Real Housewives of Maine?
I shrugged; walking to the next room over I saw Julie, alone. She laid on her stomach, spread like a starfish. I bet that’s how she was during sex too. Her arms were so long, one draped over the edge of the bed. If you listened closely, you could hear a ‘drip drip’, but it’s hard to distinguish if it was from the tap in the bathroom beside us or something else.
I walked out into the hall, back into the den.
I put some logs into the fireplace, listening as the wood crackled. Mark was on the couch, his phone still glued in his hands. I walked over, grabbing the phone from his hand, my fingerprints staining the screen. I finished the level he seemed to be stuck on.
“You’re welcome”, I said, throwing the phone back at him, it landing on his lap.
I assessed the damage I had done.
Trevor’s throat was slashed. Jennifer had thirteen stab wounds, solely because that was her favorite number. Julie’s wrists were sliced open, and a nice stab in the back for old time’s sake. And finally, Mark. Stabbed in the eyes, so that he can no longer be glued to his phone.
So, let me be the first to tell you, I don’t feel sorry for killing my friends.
They may have suggested it as a joke, but looking back at it, they deserved it. My ‘friends’ were shitty people; they only kept me around for my money and party favors.
I walked to the mudroom, my parents usually kept an extra jug of gasoline in there. This goddamn cottage was on the outskirts and the closest gas station was in the next town over, almost 45 minutes away. They learned their lesson to be safe than sorry after running out of gas 25 minutes away from the cottage during the first year they bought it.
I grabbed the red jug filled with gasoline, and began circling the rooms. I walked outside, trailing gasoline behind me, and started the car. I drove it down the end of the road. Sprinting back with matches in my hand, I lit two and threw it down on the ground, watching as the gasoline reacted to the match; engulfing that little cottage into flames discarding of any evidence.
Would I do it again? Hell no, I probably wouldn’t get away with it. However, if you ever find yourself in the same situation I did; I say go for it. Besides, you can make new friends at any age.
*All names have been changed to protect myself.