Audibook Demo: Mysterious and ominous horror
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I make my way into the backyard and open the shed that sits in the back corner. Tree branches loom over it, filling the interior with shadows, but I know the contents by heart. The metal gas can is right where I left it full. Just as I always leave it. I unlocked the back door and slide into the house like one of the shadows. The kitchen is a mess, dishes piled on the counter crumbs covering the table. For a moment, I entertain the idea of cleaning up, but as I move for the sink, the gas can hits off a chair, and I am reminded of why I'm here. I washed the crumbs off the table with gasoline. The scent of it fills the air and ignites a fervour. Within me, I empty the can over the rest of the kitchen. By the end of it, I'm panting, sweating. I more animal than man, but I cannot stop. I no longer have the control to do so. My eyes dart toward the living room doorway. We don't have a wall clock, but I hear something. I stand in the middle of my gas drenched kitchen, inhaling vapors and listening for the noise to continue. I worry of woken joy with my manic movements, but there's something more. I looked down at the empty can in my hand. It's not enough. I'm not finished. I head back to the garage and cut a length of garden hose to feed into the gas tank of joys Car. I taste gas as I start a siphon. It's a repulsive taste, but I swallow it down instead of spitting it out, embracing the fire that is in hopes of the fire that will come. It said Firas cleansing. But I'll never wash this away with a full can. I head back into the house. I doused the living room next, soaking the sofa, carpet and curtains. I slosh gasoline all over the walls, drenching family, portrait's and decorative knickknacks. I come to a shadow profile, done a vase in kindergarten. At some point, I'll have to come up with an explanation for her. She's far too old for her age as is. I know Joey and I are to blame only eight, and Asia has known more pain than any little girl should. I didn't see it until now. Standing in the middle of our living room gasoline running from the can to drop on the carpet at my feet. Were we ever happy? I pick up a family portrait taken three years ago? Were smiling Joy, a za and I. But where we happy? There are flashes of fights, tantrums and violence. I don't know what to make of it. Everything is fuzzy, covered by the veil of time. A ZA deserves more than what I've given her joy, and I as well we all deserve more. I don't know if that's what I'm offering to our fractured family tonight, but I know things will change. I m t the can and returned to the garage. Pink rays of the sun appear over the trees as I finish my deadly chore. I've used a dozen gallons of gasoline on the first floor, leaving joys car dry. I hope it's enough. I returned to the kitchen, said the can on the table and fish on a long neck lighter from a drawer. The red plastic feels ice cold. Returning to the back door, I stare out past the jungle gym, past the trees and into the slowly warming sky. There's a perfect stillness in the air calmness that nearly smothers me. Echoes of joys, orgasm, break the tranquility I spin around. The house is quiet, dark and still is a tomb. I held the lighter in both hands and lower the tip towards the carpet and entryway. The peace of the morning persists, and I hate it even more with each passing moment. There's a tremor in the ground and I fall onto my knees. I study myself on the doorframe, looking into the house once more. There's a flicker of movement, a blur of something I can't make out. Gasoline vapors burn my eyes and make it look as if everything is dancing. I squeeze the trigger. It ignites. On the first pull, so does the carpet. I didn't expect the fire to grow so quickly, but by the time I make it back to the front yard, the entire first floor has blossomed into an inferno. Angry orange tongues licking the inside of my home, mindlessly destroying everything. A window breaks beneath the pressure of the flames. The glass falls to the dewy grass and the blaze surges. The heat is otherworldly, but I don't retreat. I want to watch the flames air hungry, greedily snapping at the walls, licking the ceiling. It will only be a matter of time before the second floor crumbles. My mouth waters. I haven't blinked since it began.