Hello, and Welcome back, I understand that I have not been posting lately and i have no good reason for doing so under a regular schedule. Lately maintaining a blog has been increasingly difficult due to everything that has been happening lately. But all that aside i have good news to share: (Disclaimer: IF you don’t like horror get off this blog, and the Following news is for introductory purposes. If you do not wish to listen to me babel like an old man in the body of a 21 year old, skip to the part where it says chapter 1 about 4 paragraphs down and starts reading/ Warning: Errors and horror and cursing ensues) (Second Disclaimer: The story i am revealing is told from the first person view of each of the three characters mentioned in the rest of the foreword. Don’t know what i am talking about? Read the foreword… enjoy!)
Starting today I am releasing something that I have never thought would show to the world (Let alone a blog that i created when i was 17). This blog does not have a large following and in hopes of fixing that i am releasing the very first book that I have ever written in the form of a series. I know in the past I have tried writing series posts for this blog and trying to be very consistent with them and all but one attempts have failed. Ultimately I would just post the entire half-assed copy of these stories in hopes of good reactions and thrills given to my viewers…. something about that last sentence didn’t sound right.
Keep in mind this book i am about to release was from my roots, my time in high school was a time of finding myself and finding my true skill set. As a writer i made mistakes with this book: an impractical story line, too many cheap gore thrills, grammar, punctuation, and spelling errors. This copy I will present is the rough draft slash first edit of My horror/crime/supernatural tale of a serial killer, a teen aged boy with an unclear destiny, and a detective who is father to the boy. All three colliding heads in this jumbled up story of demonic origin and hellish fury brought upon an unsuspecting family.
Also keep in mind that i did little research in making this story; as my 17 year old self said once: “Fuck it, I’ll edit it all out once I am finished” Now here we are from my dreams of this hopefully becoming a movie, to knowing i can write much better than this.I am proud that i finished this and am about to release it, because if i hadn’t I wouldn’t have finished my new book (NO SPOILERS) or would have started my two other projects which i am working on. A lot has changed since I was 17. I Listen to Radiohead and Panic! at The Disco instead of Green Day and Linkin Park. I have my own place and a PC that can process all the shit i do instead of an Compact Laptop (which i wrote this story on as well as my newest book). I am about to be 21 and i have my own apartment a fiance that i love very much and two cats that both annoy the shit out of me and make me love them as well. Enough babble, now i present to you: The Burnt Chronicles: The story of B.I.K ( Chapter one of course. Tune in this blog every Saturday for the next chapter!!)
The Burnt Chronicles: Intro/ Chapter 1: The Job
Introduction
Ever have one of those moments where you just snap? Where the very fragment of your mind just cracks and you just lose control? I’ve snapped; I have lost all hope that I will ever be the same.
I watch my bitter half take control as I stand by and watch; the blood-red windows I call eyes can’t see anything but red. The cold doesn’t bother me anymore, it comforts me, and it lets me know that this dark abyss I used to call Hell is a haven. I can now find peace, knowing that the other half of me is doing the evil deeds of my fractured mind. I peer outside of my dark-haven to see what my troubled half may be up too. One time, I discovered myself covered in blood running down from my hands to my elbows.
I may need counseling, because in my own demented mind, blood arouses me. The dark warm liquid just tempts me to lick it off my fore arms. As I look on, I noticed that I am working on one of my victims.
I step in, knowing that I couldn’t miss this.
‘You’re not ready.’ Says my inner voice ‘Let me gut this bitch!’ She was lying upon a dining room table, unconscious and beaten to a pulp. ‘Ok, have fun.’ The sinister voice within spoke to me and I was in control again. I grinned from ear to ear and studied my victim.
She was stripped naked and was covered in blood splatters. Her face was purple from the bruises I have given her. Unfortunately, she woke up before I could begin. She starts to groan in pain sounding as if she had wakened up from a hangover.
“W-where am I?” She mumbles as she tries to open her purple, swollen, eyes.
She looks up and sees me; I’m obviously going to hear some screaming unless I gut this bitch quick. She finally opens her eyes wide enough to see me; her eyes grew wide and fearful at the very sight of me. She sits up quickly as to try and run off and lets out a loud scream; I try to react but I’m too late.
As she rolls off the table and stands up, she make a run for it and dashes across the kitchen floor. As she runs from me she slips on a small puddle of blood that I had casually “left” there. She slips and falls forward slamming her own head into the marble floor; she’s unconscious again.
That was easier than I expected, it’s hard to work when my victims are screaming like banshees.
I squat down and reach to grab her shoulder then I roll her over on her side. She had a big round bruise forming on her forehead and blood running down from her nose. I feel her neck to see if she had a pulse. I waited a couple moments to feel that last bit of lingering life within her. Her pulse vibrates onto my fingers for a few seconds and then it had stopped. No pulse… Good, then this should be easy.
I stand up from over her body and look down at the drawer below the counter to my right. I open the drawer to look for a worthy weapon; there I find a butcher knife; not the most popular murder tool but it will do.
I grab the knife and crouch back down over her body to hold her head straight and yank her hair to keep her still.
“I’m going to enjoy licking your blood off the floor.” I whisper silently in her ear. I plunge the sharp end of my butcher knife into the neck of the woman. Blood sprayed violently out of her neck from her jugular, the very liquid sprayed onto my face then spread on the black-and-white tiled, marble floor.
Sure enough it formed a red, dark puddle. I laughed at the blood upon the floor. I wanted to pour the red liquid all over my face so badly! But I must control myself. I stand back up with an evil grin upon my face, and I notice my work is unfinished. I look down to see the butcher knife still stuck inside her neck. “Oh, yeah… I almost forgot.” I said playfully.
I lift my foot up and stomp on the knife on her neck. The bone snapped, tearing through flesh and tendons. The sound pleases me but my work is far from done. My process is complicated yet worth it in the end. I bend over the girl and grab her head. To my left I notice a cabinet of wine bottles that decoratively were hung on a rack through a glass window cabinet.
I go over and grab the bottle from the middle rack and proceeded to the front yard. There in the lawn were five heads impaled on my iron poles I got from an old steel mill.
The expressions of fear and death permanently marked on each ones face. To the far left was an empty pole stuck in the ground, ‘this spot is reserved.’ I thought to myself as I slowly laugh. ‘Make sure to burn them all!’ the sinister voice said from within.
I placed the woman’s head on the empty pole and the blood spurted out from the neck down the pole. The display satisfied me; I felt a boner arise within my pants as I grabbed my crotch staring at the heads on the poles. But then I wanted to complete the task before I did anything fun. I open the wine bottle I had taken out and begin to pour the liquid on all the heads. I just spray the shit all over the blood soaked heads and soon the bottle was empty. I toss the bottle on the grass lawn and I take out my lighter, I slowly savor the moment and press the lighter to each head.
I watch the fire grow violently and intensely around me. ‘You are ready, go forth and raise hell.’ The voice inside encourages me as I walk away from the blazing fire. The smell of burning flesh spread across the midnight sky.
I turned to the fire from the doorway of the house and smile. I was far from finished, and this was only the beginning.
BURNT CHAPTER 1 (Detective Stan McCalister) the Job
The nights have grown longer, and the days have gotten shorter. Every day I think I can save everyone, but I can’t. Sadly, that’s just reality. Sometimes I don’t find myself worthy to be a detective. But if it supports me and my son, so I’ll just hang on for now.
Today was both terrifying and stressful. Not necessarily a good thing, but it is completely accurate for this time.
The Station called in on a homicide on Grove Drive and Winston Road, where a series of murders have been committed. I guess you can call them serial murders.
The M.O. has been the same as the last six-teen murders that have been called in the past two years. He preyed on families of four, and he’s always used the same method: He would cut of the heads of these families and would impale each head upon an iron pole.
Then he would display them sticking into the ground in a row. The worst was yet to come, because just when you think he has done enough damage, just when you think it’s over, he sets each head on fire, then leaves the pile of headless-bodies in the living room. The bastard never left one shred of evidence, he’s smart but sick.
The first time I have encountered this horrific display, I was mortified. I vomited on the side of the road. Never, in my 20 years working as a detective, have I thought anyone would be capable of such gruesome attack.
Who would do such a thing? The expression on the victims faces were hard to make out. After all each of them were burnt to a crisp. We took to calling this bastard, The Burnt Iron Killer, B.I.K for short.
Today, B.I.K made a hit on a local family down Grove Drive, same M.O.; impaled heads being lit-up, and displayed in the front lawn. It sounds like some sick Halloween prank. But this isn’t Halloween, and this is no prank.
As I arrive in my car at Grove Street, I see the press and random bystanders crowding the scene of a two-story tan house. Its front lawn surrounded by yellow police tape and cops telling the others to stand back as the blood work guys do their job.
I then park at the end of the street; I got out of the car and continued to walk toward the house which was only three houses away. As I walk up there I hear the officer to my left yelling at the bystanders to stay back. “Sir, you’re not allowed in here!” An officer commanded at me. I sigh then flash my badge at him. “Come right in detective.” he says pointing to the crime scene ahead. I then put away my badge into my left breast pocket, but just as I’m about to duck under the yellow tape and go in, I hear tires screeching from afar.
“Late, again.” I say under my breath; I stand back up then turn around to look behind me to see my partner’s red Chevy Impala parked next to my Mazda. My partner, Johnny, was always late and had a knack for arriving shortly after me. He proceeds to jump out of his car and slams his door shut. Then he continues to run to me, swiftly and panicking. He was wearing a trench coat and a fedora, he was very old fashioned, but was a damned-good detective.
“Why are you always here early?” he shouted as he came closer to me then finally he approaches me. “On-time, not early.” I reply, looking at my watch. “Well then, why are you always on time?” he asks and adds emphasis on ‘On time’.
“Because, Rookie, I care about my job, and about how I dress on my way to work.”
I commented gesturing at his old fashioned get-up. “Whatever man, this looks good!” He defended himself,” Sure it looked good, in the 1920’s”;”Whatever man, so what do we have here?” He asked as he pointed at the scene of the crime. I turn to the crime scene and go into professional-mode.
“There are six people dead instead of four. The M.O has changed slightly but the murder weapon’s the same as all the others: 5-foot-long iron poles, and some source of flammable material.” I describe the crime scene as I look toward the six burnt heads in the front lawn. They were all expressionless due to they’re fiery demise.
“C’mon lets go inside.” I suggest as I pat his shoulder and turn to walk. He then walks with me behind the yellow tape. “God, I hate this part!” He exclaims. “Look, I don’t like it either, but it’s our job so come on.” I explain.
As we walk closer to the row of heads, I look to see only one head had the most gruesome, heart-wrenching, disturbing look:
It was a young boy, his head was burnt half-way and the hair on its head wasn’t there anymore. He had blue eyes staring at nothing, and his eyelids weren’t there anymore as well. As if the killer wanted him to see something before he met his end. His left side was burnt to hell, yet the right half was looking so innocent. His jaw was wide open and covered in what seemed like splatters of blood.
“Oh, God!” Johnny said as he bent over and kneeled down on the ground, he would have vomited if I hadn’t done anything.
”Off your ass Johnny! C’mon!” I exclaim as I picked him up by his shoulder. Good lord, doesn’t he know there are people here? He gathered himself and stood back up. “Son, I don’t know how you became detective, if your this squeamish on every damn case!” As I explained my confusion, he sighs and continues toward the house, and enters inside almost hesitantly.
I soon follow him in. What I saw next, was the most disturbing sight I have ever laid my eyes on.
Body, upon bloody body; all the decapitated corpses piled in the living room in the far corner behind a couch. Stains of blood covered the floor and the couch; you couldn’t step anywhere without seeing one spot of blood.
In this case this means plenty of evidence and one step closer to finding that son of a bitch.
But in my case, this means that bastard has taken it way too far. The body-count was six in all, and all were stripped naked. Their bodies laid motionless, still bleeding out small amounts of blood by the neck and through stab wounds, spilling blood on each of the bodies below the body they laid on top of.
A puddle of blood surrounded the bodies; the puddle was a big as half the living room. There were two bodies of children: one boy, and one girl. The rest were adults; three females, one male.
“Rookie what do you make of this?” I say in disgust, I was honestly more focused on avoiding the God-awful-smell inside the room. “I don’t know.” He said weakly. “Looks like the family were his target, but the other two women were caught in the cross-fire and he wasted them all.” He explains as he holds his nose looking as if he was going to be sick.
“What makes you say that?” I ask as I stare at the pile, whilst Johnny was leaning on the empty door-way of the living room. He refuses to speak; he turns his back and throws up in a barf-bag he pulls out of his right pocket of his trench coat. “What? Sorry Stan, I’m just not used to this!”
This just pissed me off, I expected someone like Johnny to deal with this better. I sigh heavily, anger flashes in my eyes and I walk closer to him, and then I grab his trench coat with both hands and hold him up against the wall.
For the first time, I lost my cool; I saw red and stared him down with deep sincerity upon my face. “Listen to me Johnny!” I whispered angrily to him. “This isn’t SHIT you simply ‘get used to ‘. This is REAL okay? It’s a serial killer; NO ONE is used to this.” with each word I wanted to punch Johnny so hard that maybe it will knock some sense into him. Maybe then he will grow a pair. “S-s-sorry” he stammered still with that pathetic sad look upon his face.
“So do your fucking job, got it!?” I exclaim as I let him go and storm into the kitchen to look for more evidence.
He walks with me once again and catches up to me in the kitchen. We look toward the oval shaped room and see the markers already set up around spots of blood all over the floor. There was one trail of blood leading out into the living room. A blood stain starting from the kitchen floor to the living room shows signs of a body that been dragged from one spot to another. At the beginning of this trail was a large puddle of blood upon the marble floor… and a foot print. It looks about the same size as the young woman in the pile of bodies.
Well it looks like we found something finally. I crouch down to see what appeared to be a vein or a tendon of sorts next to the dining room table which appears to also have a significant amount of blood and knife marks. “Oh my god, this must be where he cut off their heads” my partner says hoarsely as he stands behind me. The room was dark and all the life was drained from it. The blood alone tells a story.
A girl in the pile of bodies had blood on one of her feet, she was here; she slipped and fell as she was trying to escape and slams her head upon the marble floor. I guess that’s how one of the heads outside had a sort of deformed bump on its head.
But that didn’t cause the blood puddle. She was unconscious and the killer had decapitated her on the spot. “How does this not creep you out?” Johnny asks puzzled at my unusually calm behavior.
“It used to, not anymore though.” I say in a quiet more depressed tone. I stand back up and turn to Johnny and place my hand on his shoulder. I assess the situation and tell him this:
“Johnny I think it only gets worse from here. I need you to know that if you don’t think you can’t handle anymore, than work on something else ok?” I suggest
“No, I can take it” He says shrugging off my hand. “I know what happened to your brother Stan. I’m-” My eyebrows raised and my depression turned to pain. “No don’t please.” I plead him to stop talking about Devin: my brother who was actually on of B.I.K’s first victims.
“I’m just saying, I’m with you on this, one-hundred percent of the way; I’ve been partners with you since day one and that doesn’t stop there. I got your back pal.” He tells me as he holds out his hand to shake mine; I looked at his hand then back to his face. I smiled slightly and shook his hand.
“You’re a good friend Johnny and possibly one of the best detectives I’ve ever gotten the pleasure to work with.” We have only worked as a detective for eighteen years and he was in fact the best out of the other two partners I had.
We then prepare to leave the kitchen. As Johnny left through the entrance I look around the life-drained kitchen one more time for evidence. I look toward the cupboards over the oven and the counter tops to the far left of the room. One of them was open; it looks as if the family had an extensive wine collection in the open cupboard. The bottles were stacked in an orderly fashion, each bottle looked untouched.
Why would this specific cupboard be upon amongst all the un-opened ones? I walk around the table and walk over to the cupboard to get a closer look. As I look inside it I notice something peculiar. One of the bottles is missing. I could tell because the order is messed up and one of the bottles from one of the center-shelves was gone. It stuck out the most considering it was in the dead center of the cupboard.
Wait a second? My face made a questioning expression and I instantly connected the dots as to how the heads were burnt. There was no gasoline found at the scene, or any other scene for that matter. There were only trace elements of…
“Oh shit…”
I walk quickly to the blood analyst in the living room. “John.” I called him out. He was taking pictures before he looked up at me. “Yeah?” He looked up at me as I walked toward him. He was scrawny and dressed casually with a badge hanging around his neck. “Remember the blood reports of the last few victims?” I asked quickly. “Yeah” He responded.
“What was the element most commonly found in the blood of each victim?” I asked again. He aused a moment to think and he remembered
“Alcohol-”
Shit, I knew it. “Johnny!” I called him over just as he was about to exit the house out the doorway. He turns around and walks toward me. “Yes, Stan?”; “Alcohol: the Killer used alcohol and some light source to light the heads on fire. He most likely used a lighter or matches.” He looks at me questionably. “What do you me-?”
He then pauses, realizing my logic. “Where’s the alcohol then?” He asks, “Missing, we find that, we find a lead.”. Just as I said that Johnny studied the room carefully and he stops in his search staring down at the bodies; his face grows pale and his eyes wide with terror.
“Hey…” He tells me still staring at the bodies. “Remember how you told me that it only gets worse from here?” He asks with a disturbed voice. “Yeah; why?” I reply.
“We never found a bottle of wine anywhere, where else would he hide a bottle than under the mess he made?” I stare at him, confused and clueless. Then I realized what he was thinking. I look at the pile of bodies then look back at him while he stares at the bodies with fear. “Johnny…” I paused then spoke again. “You don’t seriously think he’s that stupid to hide possible evidence under a pile of his victims?” I suggest, chuckling lightly.
“No not under the pile; IN one of the victims.” He says, and shudders under his breath as he holds his hand over his mouth. He shows disgust in his expression whilst concern appears on mine. I turned around at the bodies then I look closer and crouched down for a closer look.
The decapitated man on the bottom of the pile had something lodged inside his throat. It had the shape of a cork, wait a minute? I put on a latex glove I got out of my pocket and grabbed along the edges of the cork. It was surrounded by veins, blood, and muscle tissue. I proceed to pull the object, but it was stuck. I was curious, my partner was not. He backed up acting as if I was trying to defuse a bomb. I pull harder on the cork till finally it popped open.
I got the cork, but the bottle remained lodged inside the neck; just then the bottle started to spill blood that was inside the bottle. Blood ran smoothly from the bottle to the floor, only drenching the carpet in even more blood. I closed my eyes and dropped the cork into an evidence bag that I had always carried with me. I hold it above me then toward Johnny as I stare on at the bottle.
“Johnny, can you hold onto this in your trench coat? I have no pockets big enough for it.” I was only wearing dress pants and a button up shirt after all. “Sure thing.” He says disgusted, as he grabs the bag from my hand.
I pull back my hand and continue to look at the bottle. There was something odd about this bottle. It then stopped pouring blood and a single, white-colored string emerges from blood at the edge of the bottle top.
“What the hell?” I pull the string out of the bottle and from the end of the string is a silver colored key. “Uhh, Stan?” Johnny calls me. “What?” I say still holding a string with a blood-soaked key on the end. I stand up and walk toward him he is holding the cork in the evidence bag above his eye-level looking closely at it.
“You might want to see this.” He suggests as he handed the bag to me. I took the bag from his hand and looked at the cork through the bag. That’s when I noticed a message was written in the surrounding edges of the cork. It was written in what appears to be Sharpie marker. It read: ‘Come find me ‘; Looks like this bastard was waiting for us. “Fine” I say as I look at Johnny.
“This guy wants to be found? Then we’re going to find him!” I say in sheer confidence and fear; Johnny then nods in agreement and calls the sergeant in here to check out what we had found.
But why, why did he want to be found? Something wasn’t right; I could feel it in my gut. This is, after all, a serial killer we are talking about. If their goal is to be found, then that could only mean trouble for whoever finds him. I hope it’s me; I will find that bastard. And when I do, he’s going to regret the day he fucked with me and my family.
*
It was a long day at work so I then proceed to go home after I filed the evidence in the evidence locker. This job can’t be any more stressful; tracking down a serial killer was easy, but trying to be a father is hard.
Once I pulled into the driveway next to my son’s Ford, I felt a sense of grief come over me. Being home brought me discomfort. I always thought of this house as a reminder of pain and misery, ever since my wife died in this very house two years ago. I would talk about it but I don’t feel comfortable.
I walk up to the front door of the two-story, brownish-colored, house. Then I open the door and walk in to find my son Ryan on his laptop, sitting on the pleather couch next to the coffee table in the living room.
The living room was the first thing you see once you walked in through the door. Next on your right you would see the arch way into the dining room/kitchen. Then straight ahead from the entrance, was a stairway.
The house was a two-bathroom, three-bedroom house. One bathroom was downstairs, one was upstairs, and all the bedrooms were upstairs connected by a narrow hallway that was horizontally facing the front of the house.
“Hey Ryan, what are you up to?” I greeted my son and placed my jacket on the coat rack next to the door. I shut the door behind me while Ryan remains focused on the laptop, still not answering. I look at him. “Ryan? Hello?” I wait for his response “Oh what?” He finally answered. “Sorry dad I was focused on my project.” He replied sounding tired and worn-out.
“OK, so what’s the project on?” If I know my son Ryan, then I know it’s important when he spends long hours of studying for a project.
And the only projects important to him were the ones that his forensics class assigns. “Forensics.”; “I knew it!” I point my finger at him acting cool while putting on a slight grin. I then proceed to walk to the kitchen’s fridge and grab a beer. “So, what are you guys doing this time?” I shout from the kitchen, as I opened the fridge.
“We are studying Serial killers”. Of course it had to be serial killers. I grab a beer from the fridge door, shut the fridge and walk into the living room standing beside Ryan leaning against the wall next to the couch. I open my beer and take a sip. “So, what serial killer are you studying, exactly?” I ask, I was a bit curios but I didn’t really want to hear all too much about serial killers the rest of the day. But for Ryan’s amusement I’ll listen.
“Just any one of them.” He replies now looking at me. My son was 17; bout’ the same height as I am and he had jet-black hair that went down to his neck. His eyes were hazel and he was as sarcastic as I was when I was his age; just like his dad.
“So everyone started working on world famous serial killers right? Like Jeffery Dahmmer or Ted Bundy. But I went with something that’s infamous but not ‘world-famous’.” He explained “Well go on then spit it out.”
I tell him while taking another sip of my beer. “I’m doing my project on the Burnt Iron Killer.” The response shocked me. My eyes grew wide and the look of worriment appeared upon my face as I set down my beer. “But son-” I start sounding very concerned. “There’s not enough evidence to collect. We barley just got some new found evidence, today and we still can’t make sense of it.” I explain trying to persuade him to not do his project on that nut-job.
“Yeah but If I collect enough evidence and eventually you guys find him then maybe-“;”Whoa…Umm, you collect evidence?” I ask in disapproval.
“Earth to Ryan, this isn’t your job! Plus it’s way too dangerous to hunt down a serial killer!”
My voice volume raised and I was frantic. I can’t imagine what shit he might find, all the horror, all the gore; this would scar him for life.
“But dad listen,” He got up and put his laptop on the coffee table. “I was going to ask you: Let me help you on the case.” He looked at me with an expressionless face then proceeded to explain.
“Ryan, take a look at this.” I place my beer on the coffee table and quickly walk upstairs and into my room. On my bed was my work suitcase full of take-home evidence. Then I quickly go back to the living room. “Move your laptop.” I commanded; he quickly moves his laptop over the edge of the table and I gently place the suit case on the table.
“Do you know what’s in this?” I ask him as I sit down on the couch on front of the suit case. He shakes his head looking at the case, “Sit down.” I say as I sigh, why am I doing this? Focus Stan, focus.
“What is this?” Ryan asks. I look at him and look back at the case. I hesitate at first but fuck it, no backing out now. I quickly open the case and slowly open it all the way and push it slightly towards Ryan. He sits down and looks into the case. I could see the awe in his face; his eyes were wide but he wasn’t scared or anything; he looked more interested in the contents than he was fearful.
“You know what this is, Ryan?” He pulls out a bag containing a bloody cork. “It’s evidence from the Burnt Iron Killer case.” He was astounded. “We could easily track this fucker down with all this stuff.”; “We won’t be tracking any fuckers with this stuff.” He ignored me shit, this was pointless.
“Why do you have all this?” He asked “I asked the chief if I could do some personal studying with this, but that’s not the point. This is the story of a fucking mad man!” I exclaim while pointing at the case. “Dad, I understand.”; “No you don’t understand.”; “yes I do.” Damnnit Ryan! He then put down the bag with a cork in it and looked at me.
“Come on, think about how many lives we could save if we partner up and catch this ass-hole? Think about it! I am the top of my class in my advanced forensics class, I’m practically a detective.” He explains in ignorance. “Dad we can do this!” He exclaims with a grin; this is such bullshit. “What makes you all bad ass all of the sudden? What makes you think that this is easy?” I question is ignorance and just try not to lash out on him; he’s practically belittling my job! “This is a Fucking serial killer, Ryan; what would happen if he catches you!?” I start yelling and the expression of anger came on me. He is still and quiet, that grin he had is long gone now. Good, that means I’m getting to him.
“This guy will stop at nothing to rip you to shreds! I’m practically putting myself in danger here, I mean I want to catch this fucker just like anyone else, but this is no job for a kid. You got that?” I drink from my beer then set it down on the table again.
“Dad, I know it’s hard and ever since mom died you’ve been overprotective. But I’m older dad, I can handle this.” Oh no, he didn’t; anger consumes me and I begin to see red.
“YOUR MOTHER HAS GOT NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!!”
I was enraged I wanted to…- there would be no telling what I wanted to do just then. I stand up and my face turned red and intense with anger, my eyes cringed with ferocity. I was sweating in panic and my heart was beating faster and harder. My mind was not under my control anymore.
I would say anything now to keep my son from getting himself killed. “This psycho turned a whole home into a fucking slaughter-house! The last fucking thing I want is for you to get your stupid ass killed because you thought you were hot shit!!”
Ouch that struck a nerve; I could see the disappointment and the hurt in his eyes. I hope he learned something otherwise my anger would have been wasted on him. I never did like hurting my son like that, but if it meant protecting him then by all means I will do what I can to keep him safe.
“Fine then-” He sighed in disappointment. He then gets up, grabs his laptop and shuts it down and takes it with him upstairs. He didn’t try and grab the suit case, he just stormed upstairs.
“I’ll just study Jeremy-Fucking-Dahmmer.” He utters under his breath. What the hell, Stan? I know I was hard on him, but I needed to get him off the subject. I worry for him, and I don’t want him to get into trouble. I already lost my wife; I don’t want to lose my son. Even if it means putting him down, I had to keep him safe. I take a sip of my beer which I didn’t realize I was still holding. This is how you end a day in my house I guess.
Wish life wasn’t always like this… so full of grief and hate, we destroy ourselves with these emotions and somehow they affect the ones we hold close to our hearts. I wish there was another way. I really do.
Hells Reject 