Novels & Short Stories Forum Prologue to my new Novel, The ..

Jesse was born in a shell, yet there was never a story that she didn’t like.
 When Jesse was merely twelve pounds and two hundred and fifty days old she decided to break out of her abnormally large yellow crib and proceed to search through a dark burgundy hand bag and devour an entire tube of cherry red lip stick. It was then that her seemingly harmless narcissistic heavyset mother Rilla decided to give her the first terror and tremendously overbearing burden that she would receive in her melancholy life.
When her father Bill Posten returned home from working rigorously at his new job laying shingles on the rooftops of fancy homes in the suburbs of uptown Los Angeles on that Tuesday afternoon he decided that the only thing worthy of making his exhausting day any better was to hold his child in his arms and stare into her beautiful blue eyes, as any new father should. When he found her face down in a pool of what seemed to be her own blood he almost didn’t notice the cuts and bruises covering his beloved jesse's head and body. As Mr. Posten let out a terrifying shriek he heard a woman’s scream emanate from his bedroom just down the hall from his daughters.
Mr. Posten scurried out of the room and down the hall as fast as his enormous, yet ridiculously overworked legs, would take him. As he entered his devastated bedroom he noticed the closet had been ransacked, the contents, including nearly every item of clothing that he and his wife owned, had been thrown throughout the room. The forty two inch box television set lay face down on the floor, pieces of glass and other debris scattered the floor, mostly he assumed, had come from the large window that had seemed to have been destroyed by a long dented steel baseball bat that sat propped against the wall near the door that he had entered. On the freshly painted pearl white wall he could see a barely legible word. “Spawn” he read aloud. Mr. Posten’s gut twisted as he began to breath even heavier than before.
Mr. Posten quickly ran over to the home telephone that was strewn across the floor. He recited the numbers 911 in his head as he dialed them. The phone rang twice. When a voice came over the phone that said “911 what is your emergency” Mr. Posten immediately replied “My house has been robbed.” He paused for a moment. “They’ve killed my f*****g baby.” He felt a burning sensation as tears swelled in his eyes.  “They killed my f*****g baby” he repeated. The words seemed to surreal as they fell out of his mouth. He noticed that he couldn’t hear himself, or the voice of the woman on the other end of the line.
Mr. Posten tried his best to gather himself together again. It was then that he heard a scream quite similar to that of the one that he had heard when he found his daughters, and his own life had ended. The sound had come from the other side of the bathroom door in front of him. It was then that he realized that the woman on the line had been repeatedly, and quite anxiously, asking him for his home address. “My wife” he mumbled. ‘She’s alive, she’s here.” “1356 Oliver road” Mr. Posten took a breath that was deeper than he had ever taken. He heard a click as he pressed end on the land line phones dial pad.
As he very shakily stood, almost losing his balance, Mr. Posten realized that the murderous villains that had ended his child’s life may be holding his wife hostage in their bathroom. Just then he recalled the dented steel baseball bat that still sat propped against the wall in the corner across the room. He quietly crept towards the weapon. Just when Mr. Posten was in reaching distance of the bat the bathroom door swung open making a loud bang that seemed to shake the entire house. In the doorway stood a terrifying entirely naked figure clutching a pair of razor sharp steel hair trimming scissors in its right hand. A wicked grin was strung across the face of the frightening vision. Mr. Posten almost didn’t recognize his wife. Her once shoulder length dark brown hair now  seemed to be in patches across her bleeding half bald head. There were cuts covering the length of her entire body.
When at last he looked into her eyes he could see nothing but bloody stained outlines. “Oh my god” he shrieked. “Rilla?” just then his wife let out a fanatic chuckle.  “I can hear you Bill.” Rilla began to sprint toward him, scissors in hand. As she leaped across the room, arm outstretched, she let out a piercing scream. Mr. Posten quickly reached for the steel baseball bat that sat propped next to him, and swung as hard as his arms would allow. He heard a loud crack.
A baby was squealing down the hall.  

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