The thief (standard:horror, 856 words)
Author: jopoguerrero	Added: May 30 2009	Views/Reads: 2831/1864	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Despair

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

a web of dark, liquid colors. 

Bliss was still inundating Mario's heart when he was startled by a
faint, muffled sound from the floor – weak groans and mutterings. 

Though fear started to seep into him, he trained an ear to the floor.
The mumblings persisted but still unintelligible. He fell to his knees 
to listen closer, and closer, and closer, and then the slab he was 
inspecting suddenly roared at his face. 

“Thief!” the slab growled. “You are stealing our masterpieces! It took
us thousands of years to form these images in our hearts, and we will 
not let you take them away from us! We will destroy you! We will kill 
you! We will be your unrelenting gravestone, so that your poor soul 
won't be able to steal even just a drop of mercy! Death to you, thief!” 


Mario frightfully cried for help as he retreated to a corner – his hands
and face turned ashen. 

The other slabs also started to yell at him. “Thief! Thief! Thief!
Thief! Thief!” 

Mario wanted to run to the door but it has been barricaded by angry
marble slabs, while the angrier ones inched toward him. 

Mario desperately cried and shouted for help. But his voice was drowned
by the sliding and growling of the slabs. 

“Thief! Thief! Thief! Thief! Thief! Death to the thief! Death to the
thief! Death to the thief! Thief! Thief! Thief! Thief! Thief!” 

After an hour of investigation, the authorities concluded that Mario
died of heart attack. The maid found him dead in his art room – eyes 
wide open, clawing hands stiffened. 

The investigators were about to leave the room when one of them saw a
canvass behind the door. 

“Is this one of his works?” the policeman asked his companion. “What
kind of painting is this? He painted his own floor?” 

“Whatever it is,” answered the other officer. “It certainly lacks
imagination.” 


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