A Creepy Halloween story written about RJ Cree by Pepper Pace

Warning: violence, murder, graphic sex and language. 

RJ sat huddled in his chair over the writing pad. His pen was busy scribbling and his mind was totally absorbed in his task. He had the uncanny ability to tune out everything around him, much to the chagrin of his ex-girlfriend Deborah. His pen halted momentarily as he pushed away thoughts of that unpleasantness. He’d been writing much more since he had come home early from work that fateful evening, only to find Deborah in bed with the landlord.
At first, RJ had been too stunned to react. The mall had flooded days before, but they still wanted security to show up—God only knew why. Soon it became evident that no one was interested in trekking through the cold rain in order to ransack a half dead mall. So he had been told to leave. He’d been cold and wet and hadn’t even paid attention to the grunting noises coming from the bedroom. He assumed she was in bed watching television because—let’s face it, that’s pretty much all she was good for. But when he opened the door it was to see the old, fat landlord humping his girlfriend.
He wasn’t even mad, at least not initially. It was just too impossible. Deborah was fucking the creepy landlord that leered at all the women and that smelled like mothballs! He had just stood there and stared as the landlord leaped to his feet and darted right past him, causing him to slam into the door jam in the process. And still RJ had just stared in shocked disbelief. It wasn’t until Deborah started bawling and explaining that he was giving her money that he realized that his girlfriend was a straight up ho!
Then he remembered the night that the sheets had smelled of Ben-gay and Deborah said it was some new lotion. Oh the bitch! That’s when he grabbed some bags and began stuffing his belongings into them. Deborah was hanging on to him and he didn’t say one word—barely looked at her. The sight of her naked body just so recently fucked caused him to want to vomit—that along with the smell of sex and Ben-gay.
Three months later he was a totally different man. Sometimes he awoke at night in cold sweats, dreaming of the violence that he should have done to that fat fuck. He should have pounded him until he was pulp. You don’t fuck another man’s woman in his own bed and get away scott free! For Deborah, he had nothing. He was so disgusted by her that he had nothing to say to her. He’d written her off completely and soon she stopped calling and stopping by the mall hoping to weaken him. She moved out of town when everyone found out that she fucked for money.
RJ’s brow furrowed and he continued to scratch out his latest story. It was about revenge and destruction and chaos. In a very short time RJ had become a writer that had developed a large and loyal internet following. He’d always enjoyed writing and had been working on a novel for a couple years, but his stories had lacked something … and now he knew what it was; rage.
RJ filled his story with the violence that he should have wreaked on the two people that deserved it. But even as he thought this he knew that it wasn’t his way. His way was to turn his back on those that had fucked him over and to wipe them out of his world.
His eyes narrowed as he wrote about his latest character; a bitch that had just cheated on her boyfriend…
Pamela hurried down the darkened street as the steady footsteps of her pursuer followed. How could it be possible? His footsteps never became faster, but they still sounded just as close! Too afraid to look over her shoulder again, she began sprinting. She’d had too much to drink at the bar and Pamela was not wearing shoes made for running. She was wearing her usual fuck me pumps and soon her ankle twisted and a searing pain ripped through her ankle. She screamed as much from that pain as the pain of her body slamming into the hard cement.

Finally, she had no choice but to look back at the approaching man. All she could see was his big, dark form silhouetted against the street lights. And the way he walked towards her, unhurried, but with a sinister intent made her blood run cold. She stumbled to her feet and with a screech tried to hobble away. The pain was excruciating! She looked back and he was closer.
“Please!” She screamed. “Leave me alone!”
As if in response, he reached into the folds of his coat and withdrew the largest knife that she’d ever seen. She began to scream, but it was only for the briefest second. And then the knife slashed at her throat, transforming the sound of screams into that of gurgles. The last sight that Pamela would have on this earth was that of the psychic that had read her palm days before! But why…? She wanted to ask. He answered her unspoken question.
“Because I know what you will do if you are allowed to live. I have seen your past and I know your future. You were going to get into a car tonight and murder an innocent family in a drunken accident ... just like…” His eyes flashed in rage. “Just like what had been done to my family!”
He was insane, she had time to think before the knife sank into her body repeatedly. And then there was nothing but the sound of the knife burying into her body time after time…”

Working in ‘merchandise control’ allowed RJ to write because once the mall closed he couldn’t leave until each shop-keeper left. That gave him plenty of down-time. He might complain about his job because on a daily basis he had to chase down at least one schmuck that had tried to walk out of a store with something that they’d failed to pay for. But for the most part just one look at the six foot three inch security guard with his sinister devil goatee and shaved head seemed enough to keep the peace.
...not the real RJ Cree...
On those unpleasant days when he had to apprehend someone with light fingers, he found himself more perturbed at the fact that they were risking a criminal record over a damned Little Wayne CD! When someone had the good taste to loot some good metal tunes he was much kinder and even found himself discussing how good a certain song was over another. At times the thief thought he would let them go just because he was shooting the breeze—but his new colder, meaner self wouldn’t allow someone to get away with a crime during his watch.
He liked his job despite the fact that whenever he apprehended someone they would invariably refer to him as a mall cop. He’d grown to dislike teenagers and now watched them with suspicion. RJ was thirty-three and despite his joy of beer, he kept himself in good shape because there was nothing worse than having some young punk outrun you with an armful of merchandise. His job was best when he was able to recover thousands in looted property. It required him to go to court, but even that was fine. His job gave him a lot of down time-and that was valuable to an aspiring writer.
Later that night, he was on his laptop when he got an IM.
“Hey RJ, long time.”
Bonita! “Hey Mami! Where you been?!”
RJ had a particular fondness for Latino women and though Bonita was a bit older he’d always been attracted to her. But they were friends and he’d been with Deborah and so … well nothing had ever developed between them.

“Lol, I’ve been around Papi. What have you been up to? You still writing?”
RJ grew serious as he told her about his recent breakup.
“I’ve been writing more than ever! You should read some of my new stuff.” He decided to take a chance. “Hey, Mami, I don’t work Wednesday. You should meet me for lunch and I’ll print up one of my stories for you.”
RJ waited anxiously for her reply.
“Sounds good!”
He blew out a relieved breath. Things were looking up.
After they chatted for a while and made their date plans, RJ pulled up a fresh word doc page and began to write a new story. He wouldn’t give her one of his slasher stories. He wanted to try his hand at something different. He’d always had a fantasy of him and Bonita; one particular fantasy …


RJ Cree wrote everything from sci-fi, to fantasy. But what he wrote best was erotica. He printed out the story that he’d been writing for the last two days. He was nervous because he’d never written anything so erotic and yet so honest. He didn’t want to offend Bonita or put her on the spot—but at the same time, she was hot and he was an aspiring writer so …
He checked himself in the mirror one last time and winked at himself and with a chuckle grabbed the story and hurried to his date.
RJ arrived at a local pub a bit early and sat in the chair where he faced the entrance so that he could watch for her arrival. Five minutes later a brown skinned woman walked into the restaurant and looked around anxiously. Her black hair flowed in waves just over her shoulders and her chocolate brown eyes looked around the darkened room.
Damn, she was every bit as desirable as he’d remembered. Bonita was that voluptuousness that women thought they should exercise away. He thought her rounded body was perfect. He felt himself stir as he thought about the things he’d written in the story that now sat on the table. He sighed and stood hoping that his slight erection wasn’t noticeable, and then he waved her over. She seemed delighted to see him and gave him a strong hug that made his day.
They had a great date and she wanted to read the short story right then but he told her to wait. After lunch they promised not to let so much time pass before hanging out again and the two parted ways.
After the date RJ ran some errands and when he got back to his apartment several hours later, he was surprised to be greeted by Bonita who was sitting on the stairs waiting for him.
“Hey, Mami. What are you doing-?” He was further surprised when she came to her feet and wordlessly placed her arms around his body. He felt her lips on him and blinked in surprise. “Bonita…”
And then he stopped asking questions and pulled her into his apartment. Her hands were all over him and soon his were on her. He palmed her full ass and groaned against her lips. Damn, he’d wanted to do this for years.
She slithered out of his grip and dropped to her knees. His eyes practically bugged out of his head when she unzipped him and pulled out his cock. Jesus … he never knew that she was so bold! Not that he was complaining. He reached down and slipped his hand into her bra and fondled her taut nipple as she sucked him into her mouth.
Moments before he was going to cum, she released him and standing, she stripped out of her clothes while giving him a smile.

“Spank me, amante, because I have been very naughty.”
RJ threw his head back and chuckled in understanding. Bonita was recreating what he’d written in the story. In the story he’d given her, the sexy woman comes to the house and gives the hero the blowjob of his life, then he spanks her thoroughly before burying himself into her plump bottom. After hours of wild sex he confesses his love and she does the same. Happily ever after ensues.
Damn … he smiled at her. And then RJ joined in the re-creation of the story that he’d written for the lovely Latina that he’d been secretly attracted to for so long. When their night ended Bonita looked at him tiredly, but with a smile on her face.
“I’ve been wanting this for a long time, RJ. Did you know that?”
He snuggled up to her, burying his face into her neck. “You never let on.”
“You were with that girl-”
“It’s just us now.”
The ringing of the phone pulled him from his sleep and Bonita’s arm. He looked at the clock. 3 am? He picked up the phone and went into the next room so that he didn’t wake up his new girlfriend. He smiled to himself as he thought that.
It was his mother. “Mom? What’s wrong?” Someone was dead. He already knew. Because why else would his mother call him at such an hour?
“Sweetheart … I don’t know how to tell you this but it’s Deborah.”
“Honey, Deborah is … dead. Some maniac murdered her!” It felt like the air had been knocked out of his body as he slumped to the couch. “They caught him though!”
RJ rubbed his head and tried to understand. “But what happened?”
“Some crazed lunatic stabbed her in the middle of the street. Oh honey, it was so horrible! The man was an ex-mental patient who was committed after his wife and child were killed in a drinking and driving accident. The police think that he went to the bar that Deborah had just left searching for someone who might drink and drive to kill. Oh RJ, I know you and Deborah broke up on a bad note but-”
RJ hung up the phone. His heart was beating a mile a minute. He had been in the process of transcribing that very story so that he could post it online. He felt a cold sweat break out over his body and began an uncontrolled shivering.
Oh god, it was crazy what he was thinking but what were the chances that what he’d written and what had happened to Deborah would match? He felt something touching his back and spun around with a jolt.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Bonita said, practically jumping herself.
“Oh shit … Bonita, something terrible happened.” He explained about what his mother had told him but was reluctant to mention the story that he’d written. He was suddenly ashamed that he’d written something like that—especially now, after what had happened to Deborah. He didn’t love her anymore, but he hadn’t wanted anything bad to happen to her … well that wasn’t true. Had he … had he wanted Deborah to be murdered?!
Bonita hugged him, soothing some of his fears as she led him back to bed. After making love again he began to convince himself that this was all just a coincidence.
Days later, RJ was trying his hand at writing something new. He’d written much more erotica and Bonita had become his biggest fan. Everything he wrote she was anxious to try which caused him to write some pretty daring things, like sex in the mall in one of the dressing rooms. She had delighted him by showing up wearing a garter and corset beneath her clothes. They had some crazy, wild sex there and then walked out as if nothing had happened.
But recently he had decided to put away the slasher stories and to try writing an apocalyptic story about the last man on earth. Being military, he’d always thought about what would happen if all of the sparring nations decided to let their bombs fly at the same time.
He was writing about the catalyst; a terrorist act in the UK when Darryl Madison came running into the security room.
“Dude! Did you hear? A terrorist bomb just went off in a subway in England!”
RJ’s eyes grew big and round. No no no!!! “In Picadilly Circus?!” He asked while leaping to his feet.
“Yeah.  How’d you know?” Darryl asked.

“Was anybody hurt?!”
“I don’t know. It just happened…”
RJ sat down and quickly picked up his pen. He began writing furiously.
“…the strategically placed bombs, meant to bring the optimum in carnage, miraculously caused no fatalities. Weeks later, people would call it a miracle that not one person was hurt in the multiple explosions. Some would later describe feeling as if they’d had a premonition and had fled the tube. Others would describe seeing the terrorists and feeling that they were suspicious. Many heroes were made that day as the crowd sought out and chased down the would-be killers and brought their own brand of justice upon their heads.”
RJ was sweating as he finished writing, and then he hurried out of the room to the break room where several people were gathered watching CNN.
“Early reports indicate that there are no fatalities, however, it may take days to dig through the ruins…”
RJ collapsed into a nearby chair. Good God almighty … He was a freaking killer. He left work shortly after and went straight home and opened his laptop. He had story after story about slashers, murderers and revenge. He began to investigate the online headlines about recent killings. It wasn’t hard to see that his stories had come to life.
RJ moved to his kitchen and grabbed a beer and had it drained before realizing it. He was on the second beer when he realized something that devastated him nearly as much as the fact that he was an unwitting murderer. He’d written Bonita falling in love with him.
He squeezed his eyes closed. Bonita would have never done any of that if he hadn’t written it.
The next day he showed up at her house and it saddened him when she flashed her beautiful smile and gave him a lingering kiss.
“Bonita … ” he sighed and she gave him a curious look.
“What’s wrong, papi?”
Swallowing, he got the story out. Bonita listened and even read the story that he’d partially written about the terrorist attack. He showed her the slasher stories and then had her pull the actual events up on her computer. When she still hadn’t made much of a comment he finally just spun on her.
“Well what do you think?! You haven’t said a thing. You can see how closely my stories resemble what’s been happening!”
She licked her lips and glanced away.  “Yes, they are similar. But that’s because you wrote them after it happened. Baby, I think you’re just over-worked-”
His eyes grew wide. “No. You think I’m insane.”
“No, not insane but tired. Overworked, stressed.” She pulled him into her arms and hugged him. “Sweetheart, I love you not because you wrote it but because you’re a good man. I’ve been attracted to you for years, RJ. Hell, I read your story and knew it was about us. Re-enacting it was my way of telling you that I feel the same way. So there. That wasn’t part of your story.”
He stared at her. “You promise that you had feelings for me for years?”
She smiled. “I promise.” They kissed and he pulled back. “Bonita, hand me something to write with.”
“What?” He didn’t explain and she did as he requested. He sat down at her dining room table and began to write.
“What are you writing?”
“You’ll see.” He muttered as he scribbled. Fifteen minutes later he turned the paper over so that she couldn’t see it. “Let’s turn on the television.”
She gave him a curious look but turned on the television. He instructed her to turn to CNN. They watched for nearly an hour before there was an emergency interruption in the regular scheduling.
“Breaking news. We have a report of a strange occurrence in the Gulf of Mexico. In a small town on the Alabama Gulf Basin a very strange phenomenon has begun. A few moments ago there were reports that the water has turned pink. That’s right. The entire Gulf Basin has turned a pink tint that some have described as Pepto Bismol pink.”
Bonita’s mouth turned dry. She looked at RJ and then leaped to her feet and picked up the paper that he’d  been scribbing on. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand as she read. The last line read; “Two days later the hoopla would die down when it was discovered that a local company had illegally dumped its waste in the waters, which had caused the pink color.”
“Oh my God!” She started pacing as he followed her with his eyes.
“I know.”
“RJ … Deborah … ” He closed his eyes and placed his head in his hands. He felt Bonita’s hands on his shoulders and it was a welcomed distraction. “You have to write her back to life. RJ, it’s the only way.”
His head popped up. “No fucking way! I don’t want it turning out like The Monkey’s Paw!”
“The what? What are you talking about?”
“The Monkey’s Paw. Don’t you know that story?” He shivered as he thought about how a man had come to own the mummified paw and despite hearing about the ill-fate of the prior owners he made a wish for money. It turned out that his only son had been killed in a horrible accident by falling into machinery. The insurance pay-out was the exact amount that he’d asked for. Putting two and two together, his wife had begged him to wish for their son to be alive and so he had and that is when the sound of something slithering up the walk caused them to remember that their son had been horribly maimed. His wife didn’t care but he did. He didn’t want her to let the thing that had once been their son into the house and he searched for the paw to make the third and final wish before she could open the door.
“And what was the third wish?” Bonita asked softly.
“No one knows. He made it and the sound ended just as his wife opened the door.”
“Okay, you’re right.” She stood up and began pacing. “We can’t write her back to life.”
She reached for his hands and gripped them. “Honey, do you think that you could maybe use your talents for good. Maybe you can write world peace or-”
He was shaking his head. “Bonita! I don’t want this power!”
“Okay, baby, calm down. How long have you been able to do this?”
He shrugged and stopped pacing. “Well, the crap that I used to write never came true. So I guess after Deborah and I broke up and I started writing all of that slasher shit. I think that’s when it began.”
She asked to read them and he reluctantly agreed. Now that he knew his stories had caused people to die, he was ashamed that he’d ever written them. Something niggled at his mind but he couldn’t quite get to it and so he left her alone to read.
The next day she called him on his cell phone and met him at the mall. “Those stories are so violent. They aren’t you, RJ. They were filled with so much anger and—”
“I was frustrated back then!” He tried to explain. “After finding Deborah and my landlord together I didn’t know what to do with my rage so I just … wrote through it.”
She gave him a curious look. “You never wrote about the landlord?”
He grimaced. “I try not to think about it. No.”
Then he knew what had been niggling in his mind. He gave Bonita a quick kiss. “That’s it! I need to do something. I’ll call you!” He hurriedly left the mall and drove to the apartment complex where he and Deborah had lived. It was just early evening and he could hear the sounds of the television so knew that someone was home.
Tony Marcone was the epitome of a slimeball. He was an opportunist that had spent the majority of his life taking what belonged to others; whether it be money, women, or opportunities. His greatest passion was women; no matter what size, age or color. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the type to attract most women. Fortunately for him, he had learned that every woman had their price. This worked to his benefit as the landlord of a complex that had several single women—and some that weren’t quite so single.  
He was expecting one of his tenants. She had been exchanging sex for reduced rent for a year now. He rubbed his crotch and hurried to the door. He opened it with a look of confusion when he saw RJ instead of the pretty blonde that he’d been expecting. He tried slamming the door shut but RJ had already pushed himself inside. 
“Hi asshole. Remember me?”
“Dude, you better get out of here if you know what’s good for you.” Tony said while using his best big boy’s voice. He hoped it masked the fact that he was scared shitless. He’d slept with a gun under his pillow after this guy had burst in on him screwing his girlfriend. Deborah liked snorting some cocaine and had developed quite an appetite for it. She didn’t want this guy to know about it, which had given him quite the opportunity.
He figured the guy was a punk-ass when he’d simply moved out without confronting him. Now he knew that he’d counted his luck a bit too quickly. RJ placed his hand around the Tony’s fat neck and drew back his fist. He punched the older man with as much force as he’d ever mustered and felt the satisfying crunch of Tony’s nose breaking beneath his knuckles.
“That’s for Deborah.” He released the wailing man who clutched his nose and fell to his knees. Using his feet he pushed the man over to his side and kicked him in the ass. Tony cried out again and then RJ spat on him.
“And that’s for making me doubt myself!” He left the apartment and went straight to Bonita’s place. He rapped on the door, which she opened immediately. She jumped into his arms.
“Where’d you go?! What’d you do?!”
He kissed her. “I figured out what I’d done to cause this thing to happen to me.” He ushered them into the house, not releasing her, but watching her openly. “I held it all in; my rage and … I guess I channeled it all into my writing.”
“Write something!” She exclaimed. The paper and pen were still on the dining table and he quickly wrote a few words. He handed it to her and she read it out loud.
“And they lived happily ever after.” She chuckled. “RJ, for real. Write something.” He took the paper back and began writing in earnest. A few minutes later he gave it to her to read.
When RJ went home that night he checked the mail box. Inside was the letter that he had been waiting for for months. It was the letter from one of the publishing houses that he’d shopped his novel to. With shaking hands he tore open the envelope and began reading it right there in the hall. He whooped loudly and turned to the woman that he loved.
“Baby, they want my novel! I’m published!” Bonita kissed him proudly.
Bonita handed the paper back to him. “Come on, let’s go and see if it really happens.” The couple climbed into his car. He was shaking when he pushed his key into the lock on his mailbox. And when he saw one white envelope sitting within it his heart began to drum rapidly in his chest. He reached inside and stared at the envelope, reading the writing on the outside.
He looked at Bonita with a confused frown. “It’s my insurance bill.”
She smiled and began jumping up and down. “It worked!” She jumped into his arms. “RJ, you ended it.” He held her quietly.
“What?” She said after a moment, pulling back. His face was turning white. “Baby, what?!”
“Why didn’t I write myself winning the lottery?!”

…or is it?

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