Dark-Scene-Kid
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Warm Cookie
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#1
Mister Pennysworth..
“Morning, Mister Pennysworth!” Claire called as she jogged past.
“Oh, g-good day m’lady.” The old man stuttered, smiling broadly at her. Claire Winters was a regular in this corner of the park, where the charming, elderly Mister Pennysworth sat on the same bench every day and made it his routine to greet the regular passers. The path was small, relatively concealed in the city park. Very few people made a regular point of taking this path during their daily commute, all of which Mister Pennysworth had gotten to know over various amounts of time.
His heart rose as he saw someone round the corner of the path, coming his way. It was Michael, a fresh, young businessman busy with working his way up the corporate ladder. “Why, hello Michael. Good day to you!”
“Hello, Mister Pennysworth, good to see you again.” Michael smiled and nodded, and continued his way down the path. Mister Pennysworth’s heart fell as he watched Michael pass out of sight. It was almost too much to bear, so many people he wanted to see, so little time to spend with them. He decided he would try to start a conversation with the next person to walk by.
That person happened to be Gertrude Fanning, a kind, elderly woman on her way to another one of her grief share meetings. “Ah, Miss Fanning, just the woman I wanted to see. I’ve been meaning to ask you, how is your grandson doing at college?”
“Ah, Mister Pennysworth, very good indeed! You should have me tell you about him when I have more time. I apologize, but I’m already late as it is. Have a wonderful day, Mister Pennysworth!” His heart sank. He was devastated that she couldn’t spare more than a few seconds with someone that had spent the last seventeen months making a daily attempt to wish her a good day.
His heart rose again as he saw another person rounding the corner. It was Stephen, one of his favorite regulars. He was sure that Stephen would share a conversation with him. But yet again, Mister Pennysworth was cut short. He felt a sharp presence is his consciousness. Was it anger? No, that would be ridiculous, as they were both wonderful people who were just in a hurry. They didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.
Mister Pennysworth continued trying to make conversation with all the passers, but was politely turned down every time. He was crushed, he’d never felt so depressed in his life. Dejected, he moped back to his home and slept all day.
Over the passing months and weeks Mister Pennysworth continued his routine, occasionally picking a day where he would attempt to make conversation with everyone that passed his bench. He wasn’t sure why he did this, as it usually led to him feeling rejected and spending the rest of the day sleeping.
After a while, though, he began to see a decrease in the amount of people on the path. He didn’t mind at first, mostly because the people that seemed to be disappearing were the ones that never stopped to share a conversation with him anyway. By the time it got to the point where he would only be passed by one or two people a day, he began to grow suspicious. Maybe the people didn’t like him. Maybe they’d gotten sick of having to greet him every day and had stopped walking the path because of him. He felt the sharp presence in his conscious again, but quickly dismissed it.
Months passed, and suddenly Mister Pennysworth was alone. No people walked the path anymore, though he refused to give up his routine of waiting on the bench every day. He waited for weeks, willing for someone he knew to return, but only a few stray wanderers ever crossed his path. Until one day a man in uniform joined him on the bench.
“Mister Pennysworth, do you know who I am?” The man asked. Mister Pennysworth was thrilled, someone was actually talking with him! This is what he had been waiting for all these months!
“I’m afraid I don’t, good sir, but I would certainly like to!” The man laughed; a forced laugh. Mister Pennysworth despised forced laughs, but quickly put it aside, as he was just glad to have someone to talk to. He also noticed two more men in uniform were standing just a short distance down the path, watching them.
“I’m Detective Houser. And I’m afraid you’re under arrest Mister Pennysworth.”
“Under arrest? Whatever for, Detective?” Houser sighed, and pulled a folded stack of papers out of his pocket. They were pictures, but Mister Pennysworth couldn’t see what they were of.
“You live at 1139 Applescotch Avenue, correct?”
“Why, yes, of course.”
“We took these photos at your home, sir.” The Detective said, handing the photos to Mister Pennysworth.
Nothing anyone could have said would have prepared him for what he was seeing. They were photos of all of his friends. Claire, Michael, Miss Fanning, Stephen, everyone. They were all there.
Or their corpses were, at least.
Their bodies were nailed to the walls, pinned in awkward poses. One appeared to by waving, another jogging. Some were badly rotted, looking as if they’d been there for months. Blood spatters were a commonplace on the walls, with an occasional organ or limb lying around. Mister Pennysworth was utterly speechless.
“B-but, I-.”
“Mister Pennysworth, we’re aware that you have a history of schizophrenic behaviors, but we’re willing to leave you out of the cuffs if you cooperate and come with us now.”
“I don’t understand. I’ve never hurt anyone, I’m sure of it.” He sputtered. The Detective said nothing, and picked him up by the arm. He led Mister Pennysworth out of the park and placed him in the back of the patrol car, shutting the door gently behind him. The old man just stared blankly out the window, entirely unsure of how to react.
Well, at least that explained the nightmares.
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Topic: Mister pennysworth..(Story).
Posted on November 13, 2008 02:35
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