Voices (Short)Mature

A short story about a man who returns home drunk only to be surrounded by voices attempting to entice him into committing viscous deeds.


Rufus stumbled from the taxi, swaying as he walked. He was chewing on his seventh breath-mint, hoping they would mask the stench. He threw his hand up to his forehead as the pounding there got worse.

He fumbled with his keys, struggling to open the door, trying to stay quiet.  swearing under his breath, the keys fell from his hands with a clatter. He bent to retrieve them and upon straightening up, he was face to face with his wife.

“You’ve been drinking again! I can smell it! and look you can barely stand!”

“I’m fine”, he mumbled as he pushed past her into the house. He swung himself down onto the couch as the pounding in his head escalated.

“You’re not fine, you promised you’d stop… for me and for Kelly, for yourself too… it’s destroying you!”

Why couldn’t the bitch leave him alone? He ran his hands down his face as she stormed from the room.

Kill her.

He sat up and looked around. Where had the voice come from?

Kill her. The girl too.

He was looking around everywhere. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

Kill them. They don’t care about you.

That was true, Rufus admitted. They didn’t give a shit about him. They just didn’t shut up about his drinking, or the night he had beaten both of them.

Kill them. Take a knife and do it.

Whoever was talking to him made a lot of sense. Those bitches deserved it. He sat forward on the couch.

That’s it. You know you want too.

He stood up.

Now get the knife.

He went to the kitchen and pulled out a long, sharp knife.

Now go upstairs.

He started up the stairs, taking slow, dramatic steps. He went to his daughters bedroom. They were both there, cuddled up together, lying asleep on the bed. His wife; the bane of his life, and his daughter; his 7 year old daughter.


He moved to the bedside.


He raised the knife high.


He brought the knife crashing repeatedly down, stabbing, slashing, killing. When he finished, he dropped the knife and gasped in shock. Their mutilated bodies broke him. He burst into tears.

“What have I done?” he wailed.

Join them.

Yes, they should be together. He went to his room and removed his gun from his bedside locker. He returned to his daughters room and lay with them on the bed. He raised the gun to his temple, smiled and pulled the trigger. The last thing he heard before he died was the muffled laughter of the voices.

The End

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