by Shaun Hupp
Dustin’s mother had complained one day about being bored. His father didn’t want her working; a man provides for his family. He thought since she liked to bird watch, she’d also like to take their pictures. Not knowing anything about cameras, Frank bought the newest, most expensive one, hoping that it would shut her up. She ended up with a camera that she couldn’t figure out what half the buttons were for. She barely used it, but she kept the camera out in the open to show Frank how much she loved it.
Dustin grabbed the camera that he had been forbidden to touch, turned to leave, and accidently hit the flash button. A brilliant, bright light filled the room for less than a second. When his eyes adjusted, he could see that his mother was sitting up.
Dustin didn’t move. His mother stared ahead at nothing. By the light of the moon, he could see the dark circles around her eyes and her puffy lower lip. It’s all my fault, he thought. I caused that fight like all the others. She lowered herself back to the mattress and moments later, he could tell she was sound asleep again.
Taking no chances, Dustin crawled his way back to the door before standing up in the hallway. He clicked on the flash’s spotlight function and shined it back towards the stairs, his room, and the laundry chute.
The whole time I was in my parent’s room, I didn’t hear anything, he thought. No wonder they don’t believe me. The noise doesn’t go that far.
Dustin tip-toed back to the laundry chute. He slowly pushed the flap open and looked inside, keeping the camera away from the opening. The flashlight still lay where it fell, casting its light beyond where he could see. He heard no growling.
Maybe the monster is sleeping. I can snap a quick picture and show my parents.
Dustin slowly made his way down the stairs. He was thankful they were carpeted. At the bottom, he got back on his hands and knees and crawled towards the back of the couch. He heard no snoring, but he knew his father had to be on the other side. He made it to the arm of the couch and slowly peered over.
Empty.
I don’t understand.
Suddenly, a loud groan came from the basement door. It was usually closed, but now, it was wide open. Dustin knew what was going on.
The monster has my dad, he thought. It’s gonna eat him. I gotta save him.
Dustin ran to the basement door and stopped. He realized that he was only six and any monster that could take his muscular 35-year-old father could easily take him. Still, Dustin decided he had to try. Maybe he could sneak up on the monster and hit him in the head with something.
He crept down the stairs, shining the light at his feet. He didn’t want to alert the monster he was coming by seeing the light or falling down the stairs. When he got to the bottom, he clicked off the spotlight and peeked around the corner.
The basement featured one big room with two smaller rooms at the end. The main room was basically a storage area since there was no attic or garage in the house. There were multiple boxes of who-knows-what, an old couch, a television with DVD player that Dustin would watch his father’s movies on while he was at work and his mom was busy, and holiday decorations; beyond that, lie the other rooms. There was the laundry room on the left, which also contained the water heater. On the right were Dustin’s dad’s gun and ammo room. Frank locked his guns up for safety in this room that had a gun vault, and also used it to make his own ammunition.
Since the laundry room didn’t have a door, Dustin could see his flashlight as it gave off a little light. He wouldn’t need the spotlight on the camera for now. He couldn’t hear the growling, so he had no idea where the monster was. He figured he’d look in the laundry room first for the monster and his father and, while there, grab the flashlight. He darted behind a stack of boxes, dropped down to crawl behind an old, stained couch, and stood back up when he got to another stack. He had done this before when the basement was monster free. He liked to come down here and pretend he was a soldier hiding from other enemy soldiers, like in scenes from one of his dad’s favorite movies.
He snuck behind a wire shelving unit, packed with boxes, but there was nothing to keep him hidden if he wanted to get to the laundry room. Dustin got on his belly and slowly inched his way to the doorway. Once inside, he grabbed the flashlight and hid behind the dryer. He peered around the corner of the machine and searched the room. Nobody else was in here.
You don’t have to do this, he thought. You can just go back upstairs, put the camera back, and go to bed.
But what about dad? Is he in trouble?
At that moment, Dustin heard a thunderous growl. The monster was close by. He didn’t see it in here and he didn’t see it out there. It had to be in the other room.
Dustin turned the flashlight off and tucked it into the waistband of his pajamas. He couldn’t hold both it and the camera, and he needed to take a picture if he was unable to help his dad. At least the police would believe me, he thought. He left the safety of the laundry room and turned to the ammunition room.
How did I not see that before? he thought as he saw the light was on through the large window on the door. His father was insistent on having a locked door, but he didn’t like the isolation, hence the huge door window, even if it looked out onto a cluttered basement full of junk. Dustin remembered that his mother begged his dad to put some sort of curtain over the window, when he wasn’t in the room. He put one up, but that was an infraction for a woman making demands of a man.
As Dustin approached it, he could see the curtain was tied back. He stopped when he heard a sound that wasn’t a growl. It was his father talking.
Thank God, he’s okay.
He went to the door, put his hand on the knob, and stopped. He stood at the window and did not understand what he was seeing. His father was wearing his dark blue and stained mechanic’s coverall he usually only wore to work. He was walking around and appeared to be fine.
The other man did not.
His father’s work table was pushed to the back of the room. In the center of the room, there hung a wiry man in his yellowed underwear from the ceiling rafters by chains around his wrists. His ankles were wrapped together with electrical tape. Pressed against his mouth was a red ball with a leather strap going around his head. Matching the color of the ball, his face wore a crimson mask of blood. The man turned his head towards his father and tried to speak, his voice muffled by the ball gag.
That’s the growling I heard. . .
“What’s that? I can’t hear you,” Dustin’s father said as he mockingly cupped his ear and leaned towards the man.
The man struggled to speak again, but his dad was already moving away. He grabbed a wrench from the table against the back wall, returned to his captive, and smashed it against the man’s ribs. Dustin could hear the bones crack. The man let out a muted squeal and thrashed uncontrollably. The wooden rafters groaned and creaked.
Click.
Dustin’s finger accidently hit the shutter button. Luckily, the flash was not turned on. No one noticed. The digital screen showed a preview of the picture. It couldn’t compare to what he saw first hand. The blood covering his face was so vividly red in real life. The picture’s muted colors did it no justice. His father’s war movies never looked this real either.
Dustin looked back up from the camera to see his father picking up a bucket that was in the corner and tossing the contents of it at the man’s face. The boiling water hit the man causing suppressed screams and steam to fill the room.
When the air had cleared, Dustin could now see the man’s face. He recognized him.
That man is Mister Grady, he thought. No. His name is Grady. Daddy says we don’t call those people ‘Mister.’ He says they are beneath us. He did some handyman work for some people in the neighborhood. He was the one that mommy got to fix the washer and daddy got upset.
“What’s the matter? A little hot for you? I thought you people got used to the heat in Africa?”
Daddy says those type of people are dirty and shouldn’t be mixing with our kind. Th
ey are a different breed. He says they should stick to their own churches and neighborhoods. Anyone that tries to be like one of us should be punished, Dustin recalled.
“Do you want down? Just say ‘yes, sir’ and I’ll let you down.”
The man’s eyes pleaded with Dustin’s father, but no words could escape his gag. He hit him again in the same ribs as before. “I guess you wanted more, you dumb nigger.”
Daddy says those people always steal from the local grocery store and the church collection plate. He says they like to get together in groups and attack little white girls and boys.
Dustin’s father came back from the table with a pair of garden shears. With a smile on his face, he clamped them on the bottom man’s earlobe and cut off a piece of it. Grady screamed as much as he could. “You beasts never listen, anyway.”
Daddy always did call them beasts. He says they were beneath dogs, because even a dog could be trained to be useful. Those people couldn’t be trained and were a danger to society. They did nothing but hurt good, honest people. This man was a monster, Dustin thought.
Click. He took another picture without realizing what he was doing. The screen showed a close-up of Grady’s anguished face. His eyes bulged and his teeth clenched.
His father went back to the table and came back with a metal chain. He wrapped it around his own fingers and started punching Grady in the stomach and face.
Click. The picture showed old and new bruises that could still be seen on Grady’s black body.
“I know, I was really surprised to find out that your kind could even afford telephone service. I bet you’re wishing you didn’t accept my invitation to apologize in person for the way I acted when I found you fixing my washer. I wasn’t sorry then and I’m not sorry now.”
His father unwrapped the chain and struck Grady with it as if it were a whip. Grady growled in pain.
Click.
Growl.
Click.
Growl.
Click.
His father dropped the bloodied chain on the concrete floor. He unsheathed his knife from his belt and stabbed him in his left thigh. He pulled the blade out and blood spattered against the wall.
Click. The red did not compare to what was sliding down the white wall.
His father went back to the table. When he returned to Grady, he bent down and grabbed Grady’s left ankle. His ankles were bound together, but he still tried to kick at him. His dad was strong and blood loss had taken a lot of Grady’s strength. When he had Grady’s foot firmly pressed against the concrete floor, he took a hammer to each one of his toes.
“This little piggy went to the market. . .”
Smash. Scream. Click.
“This little piggy stayed home. . .”
Smash. Scream. Click.
“This little piggy had roast beef. . .”
Smash. Scream. Click.
“This little piggy should have stayed the fuck away from my family.”
Smash. Scream. Click.
“And this little piggy cried wee wee wee all the way back…Hmm. No sense lying to you. You aren’t going back home. No one is coming to help you. I hid your pickup truck somewhere people won’t look for it. Not that anybody will be looking for you, nigger.” With that, His father smashed the rest of Grady’s toes all the while, Dustin feverously took pictures.
Standing back up, his father grabbed Grady’s face to stop his thrashing. Tears were streaming down his face. Grady stopped moving and his eyes looked over his father’s shoulder. They met with Dustin’s. There was a silent plead for help from those eyes.
Click.
His father quickly plunged his knife into his eye. Grady went limp. His untouched eye rolled towards the back of his head. Blood flowed from the knife wound down his cheek like tears.
Click.
As Grady’s body swayed, his father started to pick up all his tools and put them in a bucket of soapy water. He unzipped his coverall and let it drop to the floor. He stood in his white boxers admiring his work. He started to move towards the door. Dustin thought he was caught, but his father grabbed a video camera and tripod that was by the door, that Dustin couldn’t see from his viewpoint. He walked around the hanging body and put the tripod by the gun vault. Dustin watched as his father pulled a DVD from the camera and put it into a case, which then, went into the vault.
Dustin knew he was finished and would come out soon. He quietly, yet quickly, made his way to the back to the stairs. Before he could make it to the first step, the overhead light clicked on and Dustin froze.
He closed his eyes and waited for his father’s voice. He heard footsteps and turned around. His father was walking into the laundry room. He threw his coverall into the hamper and turned back to leave. Dustin took off, running back up to the living room, back up the other stairs, and back into his room. He shut the door and climbed into bed. He put his flashlight back under the bed and that’s when he realized he still had the digital camera.
He knew he needed to put it back, but he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He prayed his door would not open. Did he hear me running away? he thought. The footsteps passed by his room and went into the master bedroom. He would have to wait until his father fell asleep to return it.
He was tired, but he needed to stay awake. He decided to go through all the photos he took. He realized, now, that he needed to delete them. He didn’t need proof anymore. His father knew about the monster in the basement and his father had taken care of it. There would be no more sounds from the laundry chute, unless his father decided to kill some more monsters.
As he scrolled through the photos, his eyelids felt heavy. He didn’t see the blood and gore. He didn’t care about Grady. He was nothing. He focused on his father. Dustin had two thoughts that went through his head before he fell asleep.
My daddy is a hero and I need to get into that vault.
The man awoke from his trance. He looked over at his son, who was still sound asleep. He felt something on his lap. It was a strange, old box. He went to open it, but something made him stop. He knew he had to wait, but he didn’t quite know why. Then, he remembered the old man.
He looked to his left and saw the group of teens, still being as loud as ever. They paid no attention to him. Then, he looked straight ahead just in time to see the train’s door close shut with the old man staring directly at him. He swore the man winked at him just before he vanished.
CHAPTER THREE
Daughter
Emrys smiled as he walked through the new subway car full of people. There was so much potential, but he knew he needed something more. No one was quite right for the task at hand. He looked around. Again, people were glued to their electronic devices. He didn’t need a passive sheep. He needed a doer. Then, he saw her.
She was alone, reading an ‘old fashion for these days’ physical book. Emrys approached her. A smile formed on his aged face. It was some kind of horror short story book by someone named Andrew Lennon. Surely, this one must have a dark side to her.
She’s perfect.
Emrys became one with his surroundings once again, made the little changes in his environment that he could, and waited until everything was just right. Those listening to their iPods had their volume increased, not enough to notice, but enough to mask his movements. Those reading on tablets either sped through what they were reading or slowed down so they everyone reached an interesting spot in their books at the same time. He could do this by creating or eliminating minor distractions depending on the person’s need.
The old man walked with no one to worry about, not even the young lady he was eying. She was already so engrossed in the macabre that she didn’t notice him until he sat in front of her.
She gasped and dropped her book on the floor. She watched as the old man slowly reached down and grabbed it. His aching body screamed at him, but he felt the need to at least be polite. He needed her.
“Terribly sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to make you drop your-“ he
read the title, “Twisted Shorts. Scary stories thrill you, do they?”
“Yeah,” she said, quickly taking the book from his hands. She was obviously freaked out by the stranger sitting across from her.
“I understand the need for reading. It’s escapism. And with horror, sometimes the reader has had something so dark happen in their past that they need something even darker to run to.”
“Look. I really just want to read my book. I’m not in the mood for-“
Emrys raised his cane. He really thought he would be able to read her before he mesmerized her, but for some reason, he was drawing a blank. Perhaps she was tougher than she looked. “Tell me. What is the darkness that you flee from?”
Her eyes stared vacantly at the globe. “My mother. . . I should have listened to her.”