Blood Money Chapter Six

The Letter

“Dammit!” Leonard dropped the letter angrily still upset over his encounter with Jeffrey and now this. He’d give anything to go back and just never look over at the corpse that got his attention. That feeling he had, for just a few hours the first night that all his troubles were over, the weight of his financial pressures had lifted for just that one evening. And now the weight had returned a thousand-fold. He paced a few times eyeing the letter.

 The questions like “How”, “Why” and “What” had all melted into one unexplainable interrogatory. Leonard stopped asking. Still pacing and still staring, he finally surrendered to curiosity, albeit a pissed-off curiosity and snatched up the letter again to begin reading.

“Dear Leonard Kimble,

 If you are reading this letter, it means that I am dead and you have my money. Of course by now, you know, as I found out, that it isn’t really mine and isn’t really yours either. I found the satchel at a time when I felt the world was against me and the first night I had it, I drank and drugged myself into a stupor. The next three days I did not awake from the hell I found myself in. I convinced myself that I had gotten a bad batch of dope.

 I found this satchel gripped in the hand of a dead man and had to saw off his hand to get away. His last message to me I found in the same compartment you did with my name on it. I copied word for word what he wrote to me personally and it turns out that what little he knew wasn’t much more than what I, and you, found out the hard way. This is blood money. I hope you will be the one who finds a way to end this curse because I tried everything I knew to try. Anyway, here’s what he wrote.”

 Leonard flipped the letter around and saw a list of what seemed to be rules on how this “blood money” works.

 “My name is Samuel S. Belding, the man I got the satchel from was David Bellows, and he got it from an elderly woman named LeAnn Jasmine. Each time the satchel was found it was held by the deceased former owner. Getting authorities involved is really never an option.

 No matter what you do with the money, by morning you are always going to be in the same position you were in before you spent it. You can never keep what was purchased. By morning, the purchases are missing, destroyed or stolen.

 Everyone who takes of the money you give dies in less than 24 hours. You will see, feel, hear and experience each death in a very personal way. Make sure that the person you are giving money to deserves the death they will die. For those who unfortunately don’t, you will be punished all the more.

 Trading the cash for smaller, or larger bills elsewhere does not work. The new bills will vanish, and the old ones will return.

 Burning the bag does not work, and results in a painful experience.

 Losing the money in a gambling binge in Vegas means seeing the deaths of hundreds of people who end up with just a single bill at the end of the night, this process takes days as you experience each of their deaths in a seemingly never ending nightmare.

 Ms. Jasmine indicated in her letter that the previous owner had been convicted of stealing from and murdering an angry Haitian who had cursed the money from the grave. Where or when this happened, I have no idea.

 Mr. Bellows indicated that he had attempted to end the curse with supernatural means. He gives no details as to what he tried and obviously it didn’t work.

 The dreams ease when every dollar is passed to a dishonest or evil persont.  Should you choose to keep and not spend any of the funds for a day and by chance hope to avoid the dreaming and the deaths, the money, or the force behind the money will cause you to spend.  Eventually, the money will drain your life out of you. The dreams, the pain, dying a different death each night, we just aren’t built to take that kind of suffering. When you start getting used to it, you know you are dying inside. You can feel your own death swallow you until you can think of nothing else.

 When you have finished reading this letter, re-write it, add what ever experiences you had about stopping the dreams and ending this curse. The next unfortunate soul who will find this money, his or her name will come to you before you die. Let them know what they are in for.

 Leonard set the letter down and let what he had read sink in. The deaths he had figured out was because of the money, more accurately, because of his spending the money. The dreams will ease, he thought about that phrase. He needed to find the answer to this curse, and all he had were some ideas that didn’t work. He stuffed as many of the bundles into his jacket and left the room.

 With every step he took he remembered seeing the face of the STD ridden man who had strangled the young stripper to death. The man’s face had been burned into his memory. He had felt his hands around his neck, felt the life-force drain from the desperate teen. If anyone deserved death, it was him. Leonard swore then and there that he would find him. He crossed Orange Blossom Trail and stopped where he knew the drug dealers hung out. Behind the strip club that catered to the African-American residents.

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Novel / Novella
writing GunnarALawrence
Horror is only fear from a source we can't possibly understand.
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Leonard finds a mysterious letter in his cursed bag of money.