Finish The Story Contest - Week #50
If you still don't know about this type of contest, I'll explain it to you: @banafish and his gang (or her gang?) create a story and your mission, if you decide to accept it, is to create an ending, but only 500ish words. That's it!
This is my entry. If you want to know more about the contest, I’ll leave you a link to the contest down below.
Source
The Abysmal Biscuit
by @F3nix
(This is the first part of the story)
The awareness of the box's contents dripped slowly in Joelle's mind, coagulating like a graceless Rorschach's blot. Bones. Tiny tapered bones, standing out against the mahogany bottom.
The unusual item jolted on the worn chair, reacting to the vibrations of the old diesel-powered train. The convoy, the last of his lineage, still fulfilled its duty along the Brașov-Sighișoara route allowing students to return to their homes every weekend. To the rhythm of joints and sleepers, the whiteness of the remains continued to dance tremulously before the eyes of the young woman as the frames of her glasses slipped slowly from her nose.
In a tinkling clink of bracelets, the student closed the lid of the box and moved away as far as possible from it, crushing herself against the seat's padding. The lazy air of the air conditioner stuck to the bottom of her dry throat an acrid plastic taste.
And then she saw him. The old passenger had returned and was staring at her through the windows that led from the corridor of the car to the cabin. She listened to her own scream erupting and fill the cramped cab.
"I didn't want to scare you, young lady."
"N-not scared. No worries, sir." Somehow, Joelle managed to gather the few polite words her manners demanded. She could not have said how long he had been watching and if he had seen where curiosity had taken her. The glasses, temples up in the air, laid on the seat beside her.
The old man was tall and lanky, his burnished skin resembled the ancient scales of a dragon. Dressed in work trousers and a raw cotton shirt, he gave the impression of being one of those peasants whose families had inhabited the Carpathians for centuries.
Joelle's gaze passed involuntarily from the man to the funeral urn disguised as a biscuit tin: the representation of a merry-go-round in a lacquered colored wood and graceful workmanship. The children were swirling with their bent busts, perhaps because of the speed of the carousel. Their mouths were wide open and their hands clung to the poles skewering the horses. With a lump in her throat, she remembered the fleeting memory of just a few hours before, when a train was huffing at the central station and a gentle old man asked her help because he couldn't open the cabin door. She felt like something ruined down from her lungs to her guts.
"I see that you like my craft." In the silence, she could detect the old man's fingers caressing the box inlays.
"It's adorable. A gift for a grandchild?" Joelle realized only now that the object was his only baggage. In the warm twilight, the colors of lacquered wood seemed even more lively. The conifers thickened on the sides of the train, sliding quickly to the edges of her field of vision.
"Oh. A gift, says the young lady. Like a toy, perhaps?" The old man's eyes were two black bottomless pits. His gaze had slowly become vitreous like that of a deep-water fish, yet at the same time penetrating.
"Yes, a toy. I like how you see it, miss." The passenger continued, his voice getting thinner.
Only then, Joelle realized where they were heading: the train had just passed the old mill and would soon pass through the tunnels beneath the mountain.
"You may have noticed how I depicted all these children. Observe, miss, between a horse and the other: they are not alone." By pronouncing the last vowel, which he abnormally prolonged, his voice tone had become a slow and drawling rattle.
It was still too early for the wagons' lights to turn on and the tunnels were preparing to swallow the convoy.
A sound of nails carving into the wood tore the thoughts of the young student.
And here is my ending
A series of letters that had not been detailed the first time, danced among the children and their horses, forming a phrase that froze their veins:
"Curiosity killed the cat"
The old man's face had been transfigured, revealing a totally different being, drawing a machiavellian expression. His eyes wide open for a single wish: to kill.
Joelle took advantage of the sudden darkness of the tunnel to escape, running towards the exit of the car, she knew that this wouldn't last long since in a few seconds the car lights would turn on.
The figure of the train attendant appeared on the other side of the car door. Her expression of despair at asking for help stopped, as did her ephemeral joy at the cold steel that pierced her insides.
"How many times have I told you that you should not injure the vital organs? You ruin the fun"
The attendant's smile turned into a grimace of regret.
"Young women like you, always visit Transylvania in order to find evidence of vampires, werewolves and other literary inventions"
"How I regret to inform you that these fictitious creatures do not exist, let me show you a real monster"
He tore off his shirt. Exposing his naked torso covered in grotesque tattoos: demons, skulls, and ghosts that represented every victim he killed.
The attendant held Joelle so she wouldn't collapse. Tears flooded her eyes and her constant whining and pleading for her life lit the killer in ecstasy.
"By the way, I don't just collect bones from my victims..."
"Don't worry, little one, your immortal essence will be embodied in my skin. I have a place specially reserved for you." He pointed with a razor knife to a place near his right shoulder.
Joelle's life quickly slipped through her wound; spurts of blood escaped from between her fingers making her effort to stop it useless.
The assassin took Joelle's failing body in his arms and began to dance to the beat of a humming tune; excited by the smell of blood.
The attendant's eyes shone with joy as he watched his master in action.
At the end of his ritual, he supported the body of the girl against the opposite door of the car.
"You'll see! Not only do I take pride in my wooden craft. I also enjoy carving other... Fresher materials," he commented as he roamed the girl's body meticulously with his razor knife.
Joelle between sobs whispered something that the murderer couldn't understand.
Intrigued to know the last words of his victim, the murderer put his ear to the lips of the girl
Joelle sank her teeth as hard as she could into the killer's neck in a last-ditch attempt to avenge her own death. The blood began to fill her mouth.
The murderer was more surprised by his own reaction than by the fact that he was losing his life. A part of him offered no resistance, the same part that was glad to end an existence tormented by demons and victims
The assistant ran to his teacher, in an attempt to save him. The master, in a single precise movement, cut his assistant's throat. Who fell with a smile for having the privilege of being another victim of his master.
Joelle spat out the piece of meat she had in her mouth, managed to take a tampon out of her purse and painfully embedded it in her wound. Maybe that would give enough time for the paramedics to save her life.
Keep spreading the Steemit love 
If you want to participate in this contest, go to:
https://steemit.com/finishthestory/@bananafish/finish-the-story-contest-week-50
