The following is an account of events that took place in the late summer of 2001. I can neither confirm nor deny its validity. It was recounted to me by my Brother-in-law, who disappeared in the summer of 2008.
Just of route 49, in Clay county Alabama, there is a house. It’s abandoned now, slowly rotting away to dust, but in 2001 I lived there. There is one reason I left: fear. It started in July. My dog, Georgia, had died earlier that month at the age of 14, my girlfriend had left me, and I was heavy in debt. It’s safe to say thing were pretty shit. But one night, things took a sudden turn for the macabre. The phone was ringing, and when I picked up, it was my neighbor Mr Bronson. He said he had seen lights around my property (about a mile down a track from his) and he wanted to check I was okay. After giving him my assurance that I was okay, I headed outside to look for any ‘lights’. Maybe rowdy teenagers where nearby or something. I trod through the darkness barefoot, just with my dressing gown and a flashlight. Silence greeted me. Silence and darkness. No rowdy teenagers, no mysterious lights, no nothing. I turned around, and headed back inside, to sleep.
The next morning, I went to check around the property. The front door had a strange symbol daubed on it in black paint. It was two black triangles arranged to make a diamond with a gap in the middle. A line connect the two triangles furthermost points. Underneath was scrawled ‘rule of seven’ in the same paint. I stared at it in disbelief. This kind of thing didn’t happen around here. After calling Mr Bronson, the cops, and anyone else I could think of, I resigned myself to scrubbing it off with a sponge and a bucket of water.
Later that night I entered my kitchen, and saw something white on the table. I picked it up cautiously. It was a sheet of plain white paper. In the middle were the words ‘rule of seven’. I swore. Loudly. Someone had been in my house. Someone had been in my house, and I didn’t even notice. I locked all the doors, checked every room, then went to my phone. There was no dialing tone, no operator, nothing. Just silence. Someone must have cut the line. I was beginning to panic. I went to my gun safe, and pulled out my weapon. It was a Colt M1911. Loaded. I flicked off the safety. I slowly stalked up stairs to my bedroom, jumping at every shadow. I barricaded the door, locked the window, and crawled into my bed. Sleep was impossible. Every sound I heard convinced me that whoever came in earlier was still inside. I clung to my firearm, and stared at my digital clock.
It was 3:49 when the power went. The clock flickered off, and was quickly joined by the lights. My heart turned cold when I realized the flashlight was still on the kitchen table. I edged open my door. Silence and darkness, just more silence and darkness. I walked blindly down the stairs, weapon at the ready. The only sound was my breathing and the creaking of the floor boards beneath my feet. I reached the kitchen, and grabbed my flashlight. I fumbled with the switch, and the sweet relief of light flooded the room. The kitchen door that led out to the yard was open, shaking in the wind. Even though I locked it 5 hours ago, and the keys were still in my pocket. Just in the corner of my vision, I saw something moving in the shadows. Quicker than a bullet, I swung around. My eyes landed on an empty patch of wall. I stared at it intensely for what could have been hours, when a sharp noise broke my concentration. I panic, backing into a corner. vomit was rising in my throat. I breathed deeply. It was just a dog barking in the distance. The panic began to subside. My stomach clenched and I threw up, onto the cold floor boards. I dropped the flashlight, and watched it roll under the kitchen counter. Putting the gun down, I dropped to the floor and felt under the kitchen counter to grab it. My hand met nothing but dusty air. I reached further down the gap. My finger brushed something. I reached out to feel what it was. My hand was met with another. A human hand. It was cold and hairy. I pulled back in pure shock, but it grabbed me. It’s sharp long nails dug into my skin, drawing blood. I couldn’t get free. Blood was pouring down my arm.
I was looking at the floor. It was cold and dark. I was lying on the kitchen floor. Had the hand been real? I didn’t know, maybe it was a dream. But when felt my arm, It was coated with dried blood. Panicked, I felt around for my gun. My fingers met it’s grip, and I pulled it up. I leveled it with the kitchen counter, and open fire. The gun flash illuminated the room, and with terror I saw blood splattered all across the walls. It had been splashed to form the same symbol, and those words. Rule of seven. It was my blood, I remembered now. My fingers were red and raw from scratching the symbol into the wood so many times. Rule of seven. Rule of seven. I discarded the gun, now empty, and ran for the door. The relief of night air met me, and I bolted round the yard to my car. I jumped in, and felt around in my pocket for my keys. When I pulled them out, I started the car, and pulled out onto the track. As I did so, just out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure in the window of the house. I looked away, and drove off into the night, eager to forget.
19 Comments on 'Rule Of Seven'
I liked it but it could have done with a little more explanation at the end. Maybe make a sequel?
Oh and person above me I like your username.
Rule of 7, as in the investing rule?
The hairy ape-hand was helping your investments and trying to eradicate your debt!
Seriously though, not a bad pasta, a little confusing if you as me. Maybe it’s just me.
Could you please tell me what the Rule of 7 was?
Writing could have been a little better, but it was interesting.
I’d read a sequel.
I live in Alabama, thanks. It was good though. 8/10.
e.e extremely confusing at first i thought he was insane and shot his neighbor but than read about how he saw a figure and just now i don’t know a sequel would be awesome of the character like returning to the house out of curiosity with a few friends and they get hunted down or something you could also throw in a flashback of maybe what he saw because the light of the gun shot could let him see “it” and maybe he knows what rule of seven is intended to mean here the writing skill is excellent and i’m sure a second part can be pulled off there’s plenty of information and questions you can base it off of.
If you re-read and pay attention to all of the misfortune the man talks about, it’s all about the number 7 and it’s multiples, etc. Which makes you think that this wasn’t random, it was slow and deliberate.
I’ll give it a 7
How are the seven ones?
And what exactly the rule of seven is?
his grandma died when he was age 14 2*7 is 14, he heard the noise at 3:49. 3 *7=49
It happened in 2001 and he disappeared in 2008 and that’s seven years later
This was a tasty pasta, I give it a 8/10. I think making a sequel would also be a good idea.
Please keep writing thought it was great, I agree with everyone else we need a sequel. Just one tip a Model 1911 does not have a flip safety (sorry my favorite pistol) other than that thought it was a well written pasta
After reading the comments I understand why it’s the rule of seven now! Please, check out the comments and then re-read it. It’ll make so much more sense that way.
seriously thats how bad this pasta is
I like this story, but I am kinda confused :/
Even for a CP – which, obviously, are predominantly written by amateurs and thus held to a lower standard – this was pretty shitty. Among it’s many faults, the narrator mentions wearing a dressing gown!? In 2001? Da fuck? Is he a Victorian England cosplayer? There’s a lot of those in Alabama. GUFFAW. No wonder his chick bounced on him.
It was definitely creepy, but, I didn’t really understand it. What’s the rule of seven? how did the narrator know he/she carved it into the wood? And what was the hairy human hand? I think this could be super awesome if you expanded on the idea a little bit more. But, overall, not bad.