Short Shocks 2

by Andy Love

  He froze with fright, eyes and mouth wide open. A damp patch appeared on the crotch of his trousers. The vision of Jack Bonner laughed heartily at his son.

  ‘Jesus H. fuckin’ Christ! Just like your retarded, whore-of-a mother. No spine!’

  Pete thrashed his head against the door window to clear this mirage, and get back to reality. The head butts continued until his father’s voice and image dissipated in a daze. The usual voices remained, whispered in inside, and reminded him of events.

  ‘Lest you forget the Ingram’s, Pete.’

  His head rested on the cool sweat smeared window as he remembered.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Helen and Doctor John Ingram took responsibility for the teenager, after the death of Bill Mackenzie.

  “The lad should spent a little time with us.” Dr. Ingram explained to his wife. “It’d be better than him being sent to an orphanage.”

  Their difficulty with Pete increased over the next year and a half, as he became more uncontrollable and refused the injections. He spent more time on his own, whether he slept all day, or in the woods at night and returned to the house when the sun came up.

  When Helen nagged the boy to get up every morning, he remained irate for the rest of that day. If asked to help with chores, He would scream in a fit of rage, and destroy all which got in his way. Once hidden in the cellar, he talked incessantly to the darkness.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Pete crept from the cellar for a glass of milk, before he left for the night. He overheard the Ingram’s deep in an argument as he passed the lounge. He crept close to the door and listened to the muffled voices.

  “And when he does go to bed, he leaves the lights on. He eats all the food, when he’s not in the woods. Don’t you find the strange noises he makes in the cellar, a little odd? What on earth does he get up to in there?”

  The teenager heard Doctor Ingram’s calm voice. “You have to remember his traumatic childhood before coming here, Helen. He has many troubles to get clear in his mind yet. The poor lad’s been through a lot.”

  “I can’t take much more of this, John. He reminds me too much of his creepy father.”

  “What do you mean? He’s nothing like that animal. Christ woman, they sent him to prison for 15 years. Pete’s not like that. Basically, he’s a good lad.”

  “Sorry, John. I can’t see it. He never combs his hair; he has clean clothes every day, but wears old, crumpled and smelly ones…”

  “He’s still disturbed, Helen.”

  “He’s not a child anymore, with a growth on his chin. His stink sometimes catches my breath, John. When was the last time you saw him near soap and water?”

  “Oh come on, give the lad a chance, Helen.”

  The room fell silent, which seemed to last forever. Pete sidled closer and pressed his ear against the door. He heard faint sobs over the blood, which pounded a rhythm in his head.

  “No, John. No. I’ll not give him any more chances. I’ve had enough. I want our life back, the life before we argued all the time. I’m fed up having to clean his mess when he smashes our house up. Give him another chance, John? Definitely not, you should find someone to foster him.”

  “You don’t mean that, do you? He’s going to be 18 in six month’s time, when he can fend for himself. Can’t you wait that long?” The Doctor asked.

  Helen swallowed hard on her decision, as she wiped tears away with the back of her hand. “No. If he’s not gone by the end of the month…I am.”

  Footsteps approached the door. The youngster ran to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Mrs. Ingram shuffled to her bedroom, as a sense of danger prickled her skin. She turned to see the teenage burden stare at her intensely, those deep black eyes drilled deep into her soul. He stood as a grotesque statue, a face devoid of emotion and a cold heart to match.

  She was fixated for a moment, pouted her lips, swallowed hard and continued to the bedroom. He strolled to the staircase as he gulped the glass of milk, and clanked the glass on the hallway table. John noticed him as he passed the lounge door.

  “Ah, Pete my good lad. Could you spare a moment for me?”

  He glanced around at the voice. “Sure, Doc. I’d do anything for you, Sir. Have I done something wrong?” He strolled into the lounge. “Is Mrs. Ingram ill? She doesn’t look good.”

  “She’s upset, is all. I’ve told you not to call me Sir, there’s no need for it. Come here lad, we need to chat. Sit down.”

  The Doctor gestured with his hand toward the overstuffed leather chair. The adolescent entered the lounge and sat down expectantly as John continued.

  “You know how we took you in, after Bill and Nellie Mackenzie died. We said that it wouldn’t be forever.” He nodded and the Doctor continued.

  “Well, it’s time for you to move on, to a better place. By law, we can only care for you so long.” John lied.

  “Helen and I are forced to take you to a place, where you’ll meet lots of people your own age.”

  The lad squeezed a tear out. “I don’t want to leave. You can’t make me.” Pete sat up with a straight back and raised his voice. “I won’t go!”

  Doc Ingram placed a hand on his shoulder. “We have no choice, I’m afraid.”

  Pete shrugged off the John’s hand, ran to his bedroom and slammed the door to a close.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  The teenager lay awake the next morning and nursed the whispers of pain. His hands clamped on each side of his head, to stop the squeaks from his brain. He listened to the Ingram’s voices echo in the hallway below, before the Doc closed the front door behind him.

  It was a little after 9a.m., when Helen stomped up the sun washed stairs. Her eyes narrowed to prevent the strong sun, which bleached through the long arched window above the stairway’s turning point. She entered Pete’s room from the balcony and nagged him for the fifth time to get up. Mrs. Ingram opened his curtains to let the brightness cut through the stale air and flood the darkness. He sprang out of bed in his pyjama bottoms and raced to her as she reached the doorway. Footsteps behind made her turn and stepped back involuntary, to avoid a collision with the teenager.

  He towered above her with a rage-contorted face, his bottom lip quivered with tension. His body expanded as adrenalin pulsed. The two seemed to be in a strange dance for supremacy, but he continued to intimidate Mrs. Ingram backward from his bedroom.

  A thud pushed against her lower back as she dipped backward, her intimidator’s fury got closer. Helen became dumbfounded by his strength, and the effortless manipulation of her body.

  ‘What’s he doing to me?’ She thought, and feared for her life. Her feet lifted from the balcony floor when she lost balance. On tiptoes, her upper body was too far over the rail, with no hope of regaining a safe vertical. The manic youth stretched out an arm, his hand open, with a look of lucid concern swept over his face.

  ‘He’s going to save me.’ Helen thought.

  “Pete, help me. Please!” She pleaded

  He grabbed her housecoat sleeve, and his right hand grasped the lapels on her chest.

  “Help me up, Pete.” Helen implored. She watched the concern on his face drain, to fill with nefarious delight.

  The whispers were back, and in control.

  He smirked and released his grip on the housecoat lapels. Instead, he placed his right palm on top of her chest. She strained her neck down, to see why her body lost security, as she tipped into the negative side of equilibrium. Her excess weight dragged the body over the rail, a little closer to the tiled floor below. Blood raced to her head in a weird serenity, as her wide eyes begged for mercy. The teenager giggled a reply.

  “So, I leave or you do? We’ll be sad to see you go, Helen.”

  He looked down at her sleeve. The material yielded its integrity with a faint tear. His hand opened and severed the hold. She watched his evil grin spread below those black empty eyes. Mrs. Ingram gently slipped from him as she tried to grasp his hand. When her fingertips reached his, she fell
over the rail completely. The weightlessness lasted but a few seconds, until she smashed into the tiled hallway floor. In an instant, her bones crunched on impact. The back of her head popped open, like the body of a bug, under pressure from a thumb.

  Triumphant at the top of the balcony, Pete admired his one act play, executed on a tiled stage. His own little theatre of horror became a resounding hit, in his eyes. A halo of blood spread out from the back of her flattened head.

  He laughed for a good half hour. She looked like a broken puppet, snapped strings, limbs askew. Motionless. Once the whispers renounced his mind, the reality of a bloody death lay below him in vivid red clarity.

  The youngster ran all the way into town. Before entering the clinic, he leaned against the building for a moment. The teenager rubbed dirt in his eyes, to ensure tears flowed in abundance. He rushed through the clinic door and broke the bad news. He mustered the most sincerity and sadness as he cried.

  “Helen’s dead, she’s dead! Blood! Lots of…blood!”

  The recollection of the events faded, as reality encroached.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Although Pete didn’t require spectacles, even now in adulthood, his vision blurred and he tried to make out the interior of the car. White walls of light surrounded him as voices whispered close by. He remained motionless, held his breath for a few moments and listened with concentrative intent. The sounds cleared, recognisable as two males. He strained to hear what they schemed, and the voices trapped in his head convinced with whispers.

  ‘Talking secrets and plots to trick, they don’t trust you. They want you dead. They don’t understand you, only us. Hush those who mean you harm. We command, you do.’

  He couldn’t resist their whispered pleas for a death, or the unbearable agony they inflicted in his head. His mind drifted back to the aftermath of Helen Ingram’s death.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  The Doctor and Pete got in the car and headed for the Ingram’s house. When they arrived, John gasped as he entered the house, at the sprawled mess of Helen’s corpse. He examined her lifeless body, before cradling her in his arms. He breathed the sweet perfume from the cadaver deep into his lungs and wept. Doctor Ingram half expected his wife’s eyes to open, but the lack of pulse contradicted his hope. His stomach churned, as he laid his blood-soaked wife gently back on the floor, and covered her face with his jacket. He rose from his knees and gazed at his dead wife.

  The teenager thrust his hands into the jeans pockets, leaned against the wall and grinned. John turned and noticed a rancid pleasure on the youth’s face.

  “What the hell are you grinning at?” He pointed to the front door. “Get in the car. I can’t stay here any longer.”

  Pete’s mind jumped into a throb of panic, and the whispers induced. ‘He knows what you did. This man has no trust for you now. He doesn’t understand your needs, we do. It’s a trap.’

  “Why do I need to come?” He questioned with defiance. “I don’t want to. You can’t make me!”

  John turned his confused attention to face the teenager. “What? We need to report this to the police. Come on.” He walked to his car and Pete followed, reluctantly.

  When the youth arrived at the car, his hands clamped onto the edge of the roof. The voices were frantic and stopped him entering the car. ‘Must not go. No! It’s a trap! Not go! Not go…’ The voices screamed with excruciating stabs inside his head. The young man bounced his head on the outside of the car roof to ease the anguish.

  “Not in car!” He shouted repeatedly.

  Blood tainted his forehead and the car roof. John couldn’t move the lad’s rigid body away. He searched in his bag, pulled out a syringe, and used it to suck fluid from a small bottle. He thrust the needle into Pete’s arm, and plunged until all the fluid disappeared into the arm. The teenager’s body slowly relaxed and slumped to the ground. The whispers faded and a mind full of silence followed the teenager’s sigh.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  The Doctor’s car pulled up outside the Dragtoun Police station. He helped Pete from the car, through two dark blue doors and into the dark oak interior. The youth looked up, his hazy attention pulled toward the large and intricate white coving. It contrasted the darkness of the ceiling and walls. He could smell bee’s wax linger in the air, as the drug wore off. The crude metal light shades and officious colour scheme seemed to detract from the designers intended vision.

  John encouraged Pete to stay seated on the old dark bench. Doctor Ingram approached the panelled counter, leaned wearily on its top and pushed his knees against the heavy varnished panels. Sergeant Bailey noticed his solemn face, and a body ready to collapse.

  “What’s the matter, John?” James Bailey waited for a response, but his friend shook his head and mumbled.

  “She’s dead, Jim. Helen’s dead.”

  “What happened? Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” The Doctor replied.

  James placed his hand on John’s shoulder. A tear rolled down his friend’s cheek and a sorrowful tension grew in the Doc’s throat when he tried to speak.

  “I held her in my arms, but she didn’t move. So much blood, I…I couldn’t do anything. I was too late for her.”

  Jim came around the public side of the counter to comfort his best friend. He grasped the Doctor’s arm, led him to the wooden bench, and sat him next to Pete.

  “Just sit there for now, John.”

  He patted his friend on the shoulder, pulled a hip flask from under his coat and placed it in John’s hand. “Take that and finish what’s in it, John. You need to try and get your head straight.”

  The Doctor gulped the whiskey and shivered. The Sergeant turned to the teenager. “Watch over him for me, Pete. Just for now, eh?”

  Pete stared up at him with black empty eyes, and slowly nodded. The policeman returned behind the counter and shouted.

  “P.C. Michaels, get your arse out here, now!”

  When the Constable arrived, the Sergeant gave him orders.

  “Take Tom. The both of you go to the Ingram’s house. Get up there, find out what’s happened and secure the area. Report to me double quick. Don’t let anyone near the house. Oh, and don’t touch anything.”

  “Sergeant, we don’t have time to use two bodies for this, you know we’re short staffed.”

  Sergeant Bailey prodded the young man’s chest with a rigid finger.

  “P.C. Michaels, I’m not asking you laddie, I’m telling you. Get it done.”

  “But, Sergeant…” Jim’s head moved to the Constable’s ear and whispered. “Don’t piss me off, lad. I promise you’ll regret it.”

  The Sergeant moved back toward the desk and demanded. “That’s an order P.C. Michaels, now.”

  When the Constable disappeared into the back of the office, James attended his friend’s side again and helped him back to the counter. He picked up a clipboard and pen to fill in a report.

  “I hate to ask this John, but we need to put some details down on paper, while things are still fresh in your mind. I know it’ll be hard, but it’s needed.”

  “I know, Jim. I know.” The Doctor replied. “Go ahead and ask.”

  “OK, John. I have to tell you that, you can’t go back to the house. We’ll set you and the lad up in an the empty cell tonight. I’ll sort something better out for tomorrow.”

  John nodded and Jim craned his neck to make eye contact with the teenager.

  “We’ll get you settled in a cell tonight, Pete, eh?”

  Both men turned with a glance of enquiry in his direction as he sat uncomfortably. The whispering noise and pain grew inside his head. ‘They smirk and sneer. They make fun of you.’

  He blurted the words out with a venomously hushed tongue as he questioned the voices.

  “Why do they whisper about me? People always whisper behind my back.” He shook his head violently. “Whisper, whisper, whisper, with their stinking lies.” The whispers in his head encouraged. ‘Kill them all. Do it, do it. DO IT!’
<
br />   James Bailey leaned over the desk. “Did you want anything, Pete? Did you want to say something?”

  Pete closed his mouth abruptly, opened it again, and quickly spat out his answer.

  “NO!”

  Jim and the Doctor searched each other’s faces with emergent curiosity. The Sergeant leaned over the counter and spoke.

  “Is Pete alright, he seems ready for a nervous breakdown?”

  John shifted his body to cover James from the lad’s view.

  “I think he may be closer to a mental breakdown, than a nervous one. He’s seen a lot of death in his short time. I’m sure if I keep him on Chlorpromazine, he’ll be fine.”

  The teenager on the wooden bench pressed his hands between his knees, and tried not to fidget. The torque in his muscles reached their extent. The voices were incessant, persistent and stronger than before. They filled his mind with a desire to kill.

  When he realised the hands were easily divided between his knees, he sat on them. Pete used the pain inflicted by the hard wood on his knuckles, to prevent the deaths he could cause. It helped deter the destruction of those who conspired against him. The voices instilled a little push of paranoia.

  ‘Those two are sneaky and scheming bastards. They’re whispery filth stands in your way. You’re sick to your head of conniving and backstabbing. Destroy the bad-mouthed scum that talk about you. Enough! Kill them all, Pete”! Do it, do it!’

  The pain seared through his head as he jumped from the bench and leapt onto the Doctor’s back. He grabbed John’s hair, and thudded his head repeatedly on the counter. The bloodstain enlarged with each thud.

  James rushed to pull his friend to safety, but the youth kicked him in the groin and unleashed a solid jab, which broke Sergeant Bailey’s nose once again.

  The deranged youngster grabbed a pen and stabbed the Doc’s jugular repeatedly. He continued the frenzied attack, even after the nib broke off in his neck. The copious amount of warm and sticky blood coated his hand, and left him wanting more.

  The policeman rose from the floor as three officers rushed to investigate the commotion. They wielded truncheons to a rhythmic beat of thuds and cracks on Pete. The policemen continued the beating past the release of the victim and the youth’s unconsciousness.