I could have run then, and should have, but I was shaking and my legs wouldn’t move even though I willed them to obey and get us out of there. Either way, it was too late, as the owner of those boots returned and moved towards the girl. I dared to peek, ignoring the stifling heat as I watched.
He removed her blindfold, and then just circled the chair, watching her. I tried to get a look at his face so that I could give as much information as possible to the police the first chance I got, but he was wearing a novelty monster mask that wouldn’t have looked out of place in some cheap 50’s B-Movie. As much as I was desperate to help this girl, and no matter how I would like to tell you that I saved the day, I have to admit that saving my own skin was more important to me, and so I stayed hidden whilst he danced around her and cackled as she grew more and more afraid. I don’t know how long it went on for. All I know is that I was drenched in sweat and the shadows had grown long by the time he left. I waited and listened, and once I was satisfied that he was gone, I crawled out from under the table.
The girl was sobbing, and if she knew I was there, she didn’t acknowledge me. I was just about to sneak off when she spoke, so softly that it would have been easy to miss.
“Help me.” She said, and found the strength to lift her head and look at me. Her eyes were a piercing blue, and although her ordeal must have been unbearable, there was a life and defiance in them which told me that she still had plenty of fight. I approached her restraints. The rope was thick, but I thought with enough time I would be able to untie them.
I began to work the knots, ignoring that intuitive feeling that I didn’t have much time. I don’t know how much the girl knew about what was going on, but I suspect that she might have been experiencing some kind of delirium. It was now almost dark, and the shadows had almost claimed the room when the gaps between the window boards illuminated with the harsh twin glow of car headlights. The girl began to thrash in her seat, and I ran for the safety of the covered table. I barely made it before the door swung open.
A lot happened all at once. It seemed that I had done enough to loosen the ropes because the girl squirmed free and ran for the door. I could see right away that she never had a chance of making it, but she tried anyway, and the masked man with the dirty work boots grabbed with ease. She tried to fight, but she was weak, and he easily overpowered her despite her clawing and scratching at his arms. I thought he would tie her back to the chair, but he seemed intent on teaching her a lesson, perhaps for daring to try to break free. He began to hit her, the sounds of his fists impacting on her flesh combined with the screams were indescribable.
He carried on even when she stopped screaming.
By the time the man left, the shack was in total darkness. I crept from my hiding place, and in the gloom, saw the girl lying there on the floor. I had never seen death before, and it was a frightening thing to experience. I ran, ran as fast as my young legs would carry me. I barely felt the cuts and scratches from the unseen branches as I charged through the underbrush, at every second, expecting my world to grow bright from the twin pool of headlights behind me as the gibbering, masked man came for me.
I didn’t stop running until I was on the other side of the river, and there I stood gasping and sobbing but safe. I walked quickly, keeping on my guard until I could see the soft glow coming from the house in the distance. All I could think of was that lifeless stare of that poor girl who lay dead in that stinking, filthy shack. By the time I had reached the house I had organised my thoughts enough to work out how I would tell it, making sure that my parents knew how serious the situation was before they had a chance to punish me for my lateness, or for forgetting my rod and creel. What happened next was one of those moments where a person’s life can change completely in a split second, and all that seemed important suddenly became trivial.
They were the same boots.
I knew because I had been unfortunate enough to get a close look at them whilst I was cowering under the table in the shack. They were by the side of the back door, my father obviously not wanting to walk the mud that covered them through the house.
My stomach was performing dizzy somersaults and I felt something, perhaps a scream, launch itself to my throat, but in the end, it came out as a shallow gasp. It seemed impossible to me that the gibbering, mask-wearing thing in the shack could be my father, a man I associated with being strong and proud. A man who lived by his morals, and tried to always teach me the difference between right and wrong, and yet I knew it was true. He and the murderous, cruel beast in the shack were one and the same.
My mind raced with what to do, and even though now as an adult, the answer seemed obvious, the repercussions on my family weighed heavy, and rather than call the police, I took off my equally filthy shoes, set them next to the murder boots, and went inside the house.
Dinner that night was roast chicken and potatoes, but as we sat around the table, I barely tasted it. I had told my parents that I had fallen asleep whilst fishing and then got lost in the woods trying to find my way home after dark. It was a plausible explanation, which they accepted without question. We ate in silence. I shot my father secretive glances, trying to make sense of the new information I had just learned. I tried to see him as that thing from the shack, but despite my best efforts, he was just my father, the man I had known and respected since I was old enough to know right from wrong. Broad shoulders, red and black lumberjack shirt, strong jaw and kind eyes which I had inherited from him. Nowhere could I see the latex mask-wearing animal, and I began to wonder if perhaps I had made a mistake.
He caught me looking at him and I almost screamed.
“Everything okay, boy?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
He nodded, and as was his way didn’t push the point any further. Again, there was silence, the sounds of cutlery on plates our only company. I looked at my mother, and wondered if she knew or even suspected anything. My instinct said not, surely she couldn’t be so indifferent if she were privy to such a horrific secret, and besides, It was hardly something that my father would be keen to share with his wife.
‘How was your day honey?”
“Oh, not too bad. I tortured and killed a naked girl today.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Did anyone see you?”
“No danger of that, I have a little place across the river away from prying eyes. I might show it to you sometime.”
“That would be nice dear. Would you like more potatoes?”
I felt sick, then my mother said something that almost caused me to scream outright and run as fast and as far as I could.
“What happened to your arms?” She asked my father as she bit into another piece of chicken.
I glanced to the scratches on his forearms, then watched his face, hoping that it would betray the lie that I knew was coming.
“Barbed wire.” He said between mouthfuls of food.
My mother seemed satisfied, but I knew it wasn’t barbed wire. I knew that it was the desperate clawing of his most recent victim as she tried to escape had caused it. I was dismayed with the ease of his lie, and by the lack of guilt or emotion in his eyes. It raised another question, one that gave a new depth to my terror.
How long had my father been partaking in his secret hobby?
That night I barely slept. I kept imagining that he knew and that he had somehow seen me in his secret place and was just waiting to get me alone in the house to kill me. However, he didn’t come, and as the days passed, I was reassured that my presence in the shack had gone unnoticed. I started to watch him, to observe his patterns. When he would leave the house in the pickup truck, I would charge through the woods and across the river, and because it was the most direct route, I would always arrive first. I don’t know where, but at some point between leaving our house and arriving at the shack by the dirt road, he always switched vehicles and arrived at the shack in the transit van. I hardly ever ventured back inside the shack, and I didn’t have to. Even from outside I hear
d the screams and the sounds of torture from whoever his latest victim was. Often, he would come out bloody and breathless, the latex mask perched on top of his head as he smoked a quick cigarette between torture sessions.
I became desensitised, and soon the violence seemed no more real to me than the stuff I watched on TV. As strange as it seemed I got used to seeing the animalistic side of my father, and as winter came and went and a new year dawned, I stopped logging the events on paper, because I knew that I could no longer rely on the police to help me. I knew that I had to take care of it myself, and the way to do that was to him as he did to others.
I had to kill my father.
***
It was mid-April by the time I was ready to proceed. I don’t know how many he killed in that shack during that time. If I had to guess, I’d say it was at least twenty, but that was conservative. I was thinking at least forty would be a more accurate number. As to my father himself, I had never seen such a sickening Jekyll and Hyde performance. He was his usual loving and caring self at home, but on those occasions when I was brave enough to venture to the window and look through the gaps in the boards, it was like watching a stranger. I felt sick as he danced and slithered around that hot, sweaty shack, and even though the faces would be different, it would always be a girl tied to the chair, naked and frightened and bloody from his torture, but no more. My preparations were done and I was ready.
***
It was a family dinner, much like the night when I first discovered his secret. I remember my father was in a good mood that day because he had sold off some shares that he had been sitting on for twenty years, and was looking at a good sum of money. He was grinning and talking to my mother, who was listening politely when I picked my moment to speak up.
“Hey dad, I found something in the woods today.” I said, somehow able to keep my voice conversational and calm.
“That’s good boy, lots of wildlife out there if you look hard enough.”
I paused and watched him as he continued to eat the stew that was in his bowl, wanting to deliver the killer blow as it were.
“Actually,” I said with a smile. “It was across the river.”
He paused and looked at me, his steaming spoon of potatoes and meat held still on the way to his mouth.
“I thought I told you not to cross the river. I made that clear.”
I could see the fury in his eyes and maybe, deep inside a flicker of fear.
“I’m sorry; it’s just that I was curious and crossed to take a look. Nobody saw me. I did find something odd, though.”
He set his spoon down, and now it was as if it was just him and me, eyes locked, a battle of wills. My mother may as well have been a million miles away.
“What did you find?” He asked, eyes burning into mine.
“There’s an old shack out there,” I replied, watching him and trying to hold his gaze despite the knot in my stomach.
“I think there’s something going on in there. Something bad.”
I had never seen my father angry, not until then, but he set his spoon down and leaned across the table, pointing at me with a huge, calloused index finger.
“Now you listen and you listen good. I don’t want you in those woods anymore, do you understand?”
I opened my mouth to protest, and he cut me off, bringing a huge fist down on the table, which made both my mother and I flinch in our seats.
“I said no woods, end of discussion.”
“Henry, don’t you think...”
“No Mary, he has to obey the rules.” My father raged.
I could see he was tense, the veins sticking out of his neck, and bulging eyes told me he was close to losing control and I was looking at a beating or worse.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was such a big deal,” I said, trying to sound as downbeat as I could.
He relaxed and I thought that I had done enough to make him react. We finished the rest of our meal in silence and every time I looked up from my plate he was staring at me, and I wondered if he knew that I knew his secret. I waited to see if he would take the bait, and it didn’t take long. He finished eating and set his spoon down.
“I have to head out for a while.” He said it in a way that told both my mother and me that questioning why and where just wasn't an option. We sat in silence as he stood and left, and I chose that moment to make my own move, as I knew where he would be heading.
“I’m going to go up to my room for a while,” I said to my mother, and she barely acknowledged me. I think she was troubled by the glimpse into the usually hidden side of my father’s personality, and I was grateful as I slinked away from the table.
I heard the pickup splutter into life. For a second, the room was bathed in the glow of headlights that brought back memories of that first day when I found his secret place before the car rumbled away down the dirt track. He was heading to the shack and I had to make sure I was there first. I don’t know if my mother heard me slip out of the front door, and to be honest any potential punishment was the least of my worries. I had been building up to ending my father’s disgusting existence and knew I had to act whilst I still had the courage.
I ran into the woods, crashing through the underbrush and across the river. Even in the full dark, my passage was easy, as there was a good-sized moon to light the way. I arrived just a few moments before my father. He hadn’t bothered to switch trucks, and it was our Ford which skidded to a halt outside the shack.
My father was out of the car before it had come to a halt and stalked towards the door. I waited and watched; heart pounding and throat dry from fear. I was waiting for the sound, the one that would tell me that it was almost all over.
It came to me then, a short sharp rapport like a gunshot as it drifted across the chill air to where I squat in the undergrowth. His scream came next, long and anguished, and I felt renewed and pushed on by adrenaline, I charged for the open door.
I had set the bear trap just behind the curtain that led to the kitchen area.
I knew he would always go in there first because that’s where he kept the latex mask. The plan was simple. Set up the trap and wait for him to step in it, then once incapacitated, finish him as humanely as possible. The repercussions of what I was about to do had not dawned on me at the time, I just knew it needed to end and because I alone knew what he was, I had to be the one to do it.
I charged through the door and was first hit by the smell, like rancid meat and feces. The girl in the chair looked to have been dead for a long time. How he coped in that tiny, hot windowless space with that stench is beyond my comprehension, and to this day I can’t think of an adequate way to describe just how awful it was. The dead girl, however, wasn’t my concern, and I ran past her and swept aside the curtain towards my wounded father.
The split second that it took me to realise that he wasn’t in the trap seemed to last forever. I remember feeling a sharp pain in my face, and then I was bouncing off the wall and sliding into a sitting position on the filthy floor.
He came through the curtain and I knew then that all of my planning had been in vain, because he knew. He had known all along. The trap that I thought was sprung for him was in fact set for me.
He was naked apart from the green latex horror mask, his pot-belly shaking as he danced into the room. I could taste the blood in my mouth and when I blinked, I saw flashes of white, which further aggravated the pain in my head. Did he recognise me as his son? I couldn’t say, all I could hear was his laughing beneath the mask as he skipped around the room and closed the door, the sound of the latch closing making me feel as if it was the final nail in what would soon be my coffin. I couldn’t understand how my plan had failed, as I was sure I had heard the bear trap go off. When he grabbed a length of cane that was leaning against the wall, he whipped it against the floor, and realisation hit me. It was similar enough to the sound the bear trap would make had it been sprung, and enough to bring me charging into his death room.
I could see his eyes glaring at me in the half-light, and although a thousand thoughts raced through my mind, I didn’t say anything. I just watched him as he approached the girl from behind, and yanked her dead head up to look at me. Her milky eyes were open and glared accusingly, as my father manipulated her mouth and he spoke in a mock female voice.
“I told you not to cross the river and you went ahead and disobeyed my command.”
I was horrified and could only watch as he continued his bizarre ventriloquist act.
“What choice do I have now but to kill the inquisitive boy who couldn’t keep his nose out of daddy’s business.”
I realised then that this man wasn’t my father. He was an animal, a crazed beast. I also realised that I was about to die. He came towards me gibbering and dancing and singing and grabbed me by the shoulders, his strong hands digging into me as he yanked me to my feet. I’m not sure what happened next, maybe it was the anger and frustration at seeing the true face of the man I had called my father, but something in me ignited, and I screamed and brought my knee up as hard as I could into his groin. Crazy or not, he still felt pain, and he crumpled to the floor, groaning as he rolled around. I stumbled to my feet, my sole thought was of escaping and calling the police now that I realised that I was completely out of my depth, but he grabbed my leg as I ran past, and I fell to the floor. He was recovering quickly, his eyes angry behind the mask, the same way they had been at dinner just an hour earlier. It already felt like a different lifetime.
I kicked out with my free foot and caught him in the face, but it barely seemed to register. He was up and so was I, and we faced off in that tiny, stinking room, a boy and his crazy, naked murderer of a father. He was laughing as we circled, round and round the stinking dead girl in the middle of the room. He feigned charging at me, laughing all the time. I had seen this before. He was toying with me the way he toyed with them. I heard myself pleading with him in my head, begging for forgiveness but I knew from my observations that to do that would only increase his excitement, and so I kept my mouth closed. He grabbed at me and I wasn’t ready. I tried to rear back but he got a good handful of my t-shirt and pulled me towards him. I squirmed and twisted, and was free of him again.
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