The Abuse of Ashley Collins

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The Abuse of Ashley Collins Page 14

by Athan, Jon


  “Oh, really?” Ashley asked, obviously mocking him. She said, “It doesn't look like you'll be doing anything anytime soon, dad. I mean, look at yourself. You're pathetic.”

  “I'm pathetic? That's funny. You begged for weeks, but now I'm pathetic. You dumb little slut... When I break free, I'm going to hurt you. You're going to regret everything you've ever done to us.”

  “Like what? Like killing mom?”

  Logan clenched his jaw and breathed deeply through his nose. He tried to contain his rage and sorrow. He felt like crying and screaming, but he couldn't show fear around his daughter.

  Ashley said, “It doesn't matter anyway. You're not going to break free. I'm not going to let that happen. I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to teach you a lesson. I wish I could teach this to your brother, Uncle Huey, but that won't happen. You'll have to take his punishment for the both of you.”

  Huey – Logan furrowed his brow upon hearing the name. He didn't know her story of abuse, he couldn't connect the pieces. What the hell does Huey have to do with us?–he thought.

  Logan asked, “What are you going to do to me?”

  “You'll see.”

  Ashley sighed and stood from her seat. Logan trembled with fear as his daughter approached. Ashley knelt down in front of the kitchen chair, then she unzipped his pants. The crackling of the zipper was inexplicably unnerving.

  Logan asked, “What do you think you're doing?”

  Ashley simpered as she reached into her father's pants through his opened zipper. Logan gasped and shuddered as his daughter fondled his crotch. Through the fly on his boxers, she pulled out his flaccid penis and scrotum. A few stray pubic hairs protruded from the zipper, too. Logan tried to cross his legs, but his entire body was restrained. His genitals were flaunted for the world to see.

  Ashley grabbed a high-density polyethylene bottle from behind the recliner. She walked back to her father and said, “This is sulfuric acid. It can really eat through flesh, right? Isn't that what you told me? 'I'm going to melt your face.' Yeah, that's how I remember it. Now, I wonder if it will eat through that little cock of yours? Let's find out.”

  “D–Don't! Stay away from me! Stay the hell away from me!”

  Ashley giggled, amused by her father's reaction. She unscrewed the cap, then she held the bottle near Logan's chest – directly above his bare genitals. Grinning from ear-to-ear, she playfully trembled as if she were going to drop the bottle on his lap. The sound of liquid sloshing and bubbling was like nails to a chalkboard to Logan.

  Hysterical, he screamed, “Please, Ashley! I'm sorry! I'll do anything!”

  “It's too late for sorry, it's too late for begging. This isn't water, either, asshole. You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

  Teary-eyed, Logan said, “Don't do this, sweetie. I only wanted to help you. You have to believe me. I... I love you.”

  Ashley tilted her head and furrowed her brow as she gazed into her father's moist eyes. She saw a reflection of herself – a reflection of abuse and torture.

  In a soft, gentle tone, she said, “That's too bad, dad, because I hate you. I'll see you in hell, you sick bastard.”

  Before her father could utter another word, she tilted the bottle and poured the sulfuric acid onto Logan's crotch. The translucent brown liquid dripped from the bottle like a waterfall. The chair wobbled as Logan screamed and convulsed. The liquid splashed on his pants and genitals. His penis and scrotum quickly burned, swelled, and wrinkled as the acid burned through his flesh. Red patches formed on the skin, too. The shaft of his penis ripped and his scrotum was torn open.

  As her father bounced on the chair, injured and horrified, Ashley giggled and splashed more acid on Logan's face. The acid immediately burned his face. It looked as if he had a rash on his cheeks, nose, and forehead. His eyes reddened, too. Due to his screaming, some of the acid even splashed into his mouth, which caused him to retch and croak.

  As she watched her father's struggle, Ashley closed the bottle and said, “I think you'll die from shock and a loss of blood soon. If not, I'll happily kill you later. I just need to finish some other business first.” She tossed the bottle through the kitchen archway, then she grabbed a hatchet from behind the recliner. She waved the small axe at her father and said, “I'm going to borrow this. You wait there and die. Bye.”

  Logan wept as his daughter casually exited the room. He screamed and squirmed, trying to break free from the restraints, but the insufferable pain crippled him. Due to his frantic convulsing, the chair tipped over. He fell to his side, but he still wasn't able to break free. Through his red and blurred vision, he stared down at his mutilated genitals and screamed at the top of his lungs. The tip of his penis was severed, falling to the floor in front of him – mushy and bloody.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The End

  Ashley stood at the top of the stairs, a hatchet in her right hand. Her father's crying still echoed through the house, but the noise was muffled on the second floor. The door on the master bedroom remained open. She huffed and puffed as she stared at the room. She didn't feel a shred of remorse for her slain mother. She approached the second door to the right. She wiggled the door knob – locked.

  Ashley leaned on the door and knocked. She said, “Calvin, I know you're in there. Can you please unlock your door? I'd really like to come in to talk to you if that's okay. Calvin? Hello?” The room on the other side of the door remained silent. She knocked again and said, “Calvin, I really have to talk to you before I go. Please, open the door. Pretty please.”

  “I just called the police,” Calvin responded from the room, sniffling as if he had spent the night crying. “Just leave already. Go away. I... I don't want to see you. You're bad. You... You're evil. Leave me alone!”

  “Don't you want a 'BJ' before I go?”

  “No! Just go!”

  Ashley smirked upon hearing her brother's cries. She simpered, then she said, “Calvin, Calvin, Calvin... The police can't help you. This door can't stop me. I'm coming in, whether you like it or not.”

  The door rattled as she struck the wood near the knob with the hatchet. The wood splintered and the metal screeched with each strike. The golden door knob detached from the door and fell to the floor. Pieces of metal and screws followed, clicking and clanking on the floorboards.

  Ashley stepped back, then she tackled the weakened door with her shoulder. The door swung open and wobbled as it collided with the door-stop. She stood in the doorway, zany-eyed.

  With a wide grin on her face, she shouted, “I'm here, Cal!”

  Tears coursing down his cheeks, Calvin hopped onto his bed and hid under the covers. He cried, “No, no, no! Don't hurt me, Ashley. Please...”

  “What's the matter, Cal? Don't you want a BJ? Huh? Isn't that what you asked for? Don't you wanna talk to your sister before I leave?”

  “N–No, I don't want any of it. Just... Just go away.”

  Ashley strolled into the bedroom, hatchet in hand. She sat on the edge of the mattress, then she ran her fingertips across the baby blue covers. Calvin shuddered as he felt his sister's soft touch. He hyperventilated under the covers, terrified.

  In a soft tone, Ashley said, “That's not very nice of you, Cal. After everything I went through, you just want me to go away? Just like that? I expected better from you. You know, I always hated this family. I hated mom, I hated dad, but I loved you. I trusted you, Calvin. You were supposed to be different. You could have changed the world for the better. But... you ended up being just as bad as them. I don't think I can love you anymore.”

  From under the covers, Calvin said, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I was... I was stupid.” He poked his head from under the covers, holding the blanket up to his nose. Teary-eyed, he said, “Please, don't hurt me.”

  “It's too late for begging. I begged for weeks, but no one helped me. I'm sorry, kiddo, but this is how it has to be. Knowing what I know, I can't let this family destroy the world. I have
to finish this.”

  Ashley shuffled onto the bed and mounted Calvin's back. The boy tried to hide under the covers, but he was not strong enough to overpower his sister. He squirmed and screamed, helpless.

  Ashley grabbed the back of his head and pushed his face down into the pillow. She held the hatchet over her head, then she struck down at his neck. Blood oozed from the gash on the side of his neck, spilling onto the white pillow and bed sheets. She pulled the hatchet out, held the tool over her head, then she struck down at his neck again. Blood splattered on her shirt, forearms, and face.

  Calvin's screaming stopped with the second strike. He trembled under his sister as he struggled to breathe. A muffled gurgling sound emerged from the pillow. Coughing and grunting, the boy was choking on his own blood. The disturbing sounds and the extreme violence did not stop the young woman, though.

  As she whimpered, dismayed by the thought of killing her own brother, Ashley continued to chop at Calvin's neck. At the same time, she found some relief in the violent attack. She couldn't help but giggle, delirious. With ten strikes, she had cut through half of Calvin's neck. With the eleventh strike, she was certain Calvin was dead and he could not be revived.

  Yet, Ashley did not stop chopping.

  ***

  Ashley stared into the living room. Logan was still tied to the chair, his mutilated genitals hanging out of his zipper. Her father passed away while she was murdering her little brother. Consumed by her lust for vengeance, she did not notice when he stopped screaming. She was saddened by that fact – she really wanted to see him die.

  She said, “I'll see you around, dad.”

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as she shambled onto the front porch. The fresh air filled her lungs, revitalizing her with each breath. A cool breeze caressed her body, soothing her battered skin. Her restraints were broken over an hour ago, but she finally felt free. She felt as if she were whisked away from her nightmare.

  A plopping sound disrupted her peaceful contemplation.

  She smirked as she stared down at her right hand. Hair clenched in her fist, she held her brother's decapitated head in her hand.

  She stopped at the top of the porch steps, then she glanced around the neighborhood. The moonlight barely illuminated the community. However, light poured out of her neighbors' windows. Her nosy neighbors were awake – and they heard the violent attacks. They peeked out their windows and watched the Collins house from afar.

  A woman across the street even stepped onto her lawn in a robe to watch the commotion. She held her hand to her mouth and furrowed her brow as she examined the teenager. Through the blood and bruises, the shaved head and the disheveled clothing, she couldn't recognize her. The teenager appeared feral – an animal unleashed from her chains.

  Ashley tossed the hatchet on the floor, then she waved at her neighbor. With a smile on her face, she shouted, “Hey, Mrs. Mercer! It's me, Ashley! How are the kids?” The woman did not respond. Ashley said, “We're fine over here. You can go back to bed! See you in the morning!”

  She swung her right arm back, then she swung forward. As if she were throwing a bowling ball down a lane, she hurled Calvin's head down the walkway. His head bounced and rolled until it hit the white picket fence.

  Ashley shouted, “Strike!”

  As Ashley hopped and giggled, celebrating her family's demise, the nosy woman scampered back into her home – terrified. Ashley sighed as she sat on the porch steps. She leaned back and stared at the night sky – a beautiful sky speckled with glittering stars.

  The young teenager whispered, “What did I do? What have I gotten myself into? Where am I going? Ashley, you should have thought it through, you silly girl.” She glanced around the neighborhood and shook her head – she could hear police sirens beyond the horizon. She sighed, then she said, “He actually called the police. Well, I guess I know where I'm going. I could, you know, kill myself, but... it doesn't seem worth it. Maybe they'll let me go, maybe I can be better. Shit, I don't know. Who the hell am I even talking to?”

  She cracked a smile as she stared at her brother's decapitated head. She was overwhelmed by conflicting emotions of shame and joy. One moment, she was happy and satisfied with her actions; the next, she was crippled by her guilt. Did they deserve it? Did I deserve it?–she thought. The event took a toll on her psyche.

  She wiped the tears from her eyes and stared down at the hatchet, contemplating her uncertain future.

  She could have used the hatchet to slit her wrists and end her misery, but she was a survivor. She figured she could survive a few years in prison, too. She didn't believe she would serve a life sentence since she was a victim of abuse. She was willing to risk a stint in a psychiatric hospital, too, just to prove she could survive.

  She sniffled and said, “I'm ready to go home.”

  The wailing sirens grew louder as the police rapidly approached, rushing to a gruesome American crime. Ashley gazed into the sky and waited for the authorities to arrive, welcoming her imminent arrest with open arms. Her neighbors watched from the safety of their homes, too, eager to watch the show.

  Teary-eyed, Ashley smiled and repeated, “I'm ready to go home...”

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  Dear Reader,

  Hello! If you're reading this, you've either made it to the end of the book or you're vigorously searching for my contact information so you can insult me. If it's the former, thank you so much for reading; if it's the latter, you'll find all of my information at the end of this segment. The Abuse of Ashley Collins was a disturbing book. I was personally unnerved while writing this story. There were even moments where I contemplated shelving the book. So, I think it's safe to assume someone out there might have been offended by the content of this book. If you were offended, please accept my sincerest apologies. That was never my intention.

  The Abuse of Ashley Collins was inspired by novels like Jack Ketchum's The Girl Next Door and other real crimes. My goal with this book was to create a terrifying experience through human horror. I wanted to showcase the despicable actions humans can and have committed. Sure, there were a few things that may seem outlandish, especially towards the end, but most of this book was supposed to be grounded in reality. Although I didn't experience the same abuse as Ashley Collins, I have felt the belt before. This is an extreme case of abuse, but I think it's also important.

  Through this book, I also wanted to show both sides of the coin—while flipping everything by the second half. By that, I mean: I started this book by giving you a reason to dislike Ashley. She had a rotten attitude towards her parents, verbally and physically abusing them. At the same time, I gave you a reason to like her parents: they wanted to reconcile, they wanted to help. By the time you reach the second half of the book, I flipped the characters. Ashley became someone you could sympathize with and her parents fell to their inner demons. This is something I hope you noticed because I believe it is important.

  You don't know what certain people are going through, so it's never right to assume.

  Finally, I wanted to showcase the cycle of abuse, which is something that is mentioned in the book. Logan and Jane come from a generation of abuse. By that, I mean: a generation where abuse was more acceptable. And, if they still believed it was acceptable, they would inadvertently pass on their belief through abuse. In a sense, Ashley fulfilled her role in the cycle. She responded violently to her parents' abuse because that is what was taught to her. I'm not going to tell you how to raise your kids. I only state this because it is interesting. Does abuse lead to more abuse?

 
Oh, and here's a fun fact: this novel was originally written under the title A Generation of Abuse.

  Anyway, if you enjoyed this book, please leave an honest review on Amazon.com. Your review is very important to me. In fact, my entire career depends on your review. Your review helps me improve on future books and it helps other readers find this book. In turn, the more readers I attract, the more I can write. So, if you liked this book, a review will help me release more – and it'll only take five or so minutes. This book was very dark, wasn't it? Was it too dark and disturbing? Did you enjoy the serious themes? Was the violence too over-the-top or just-right? Do you enjoy this type of human horror? Or would you like to read something a bit more relaxed? Answering questions like these will allow me to better understand you, the reader. Your words have the power to influence my writing – please use them wisely.

  Also, feel free to share this book with your friends and family. Tweet it to your followers on Twitter, share it with your friends and family on Facebook, lend it to them, or even read it to them over the phone or video chat. Birthday, holiday, or special event coming up? Buy them a copy as a gift. Word-of-mouth is a superb method in supporting independent authors – and it's mostly free. This is usually the part where I update you on my financial status. I'm proud to report: I'm still poor. That won't stop me from writing, though. (At least, not yet.)

  Finally, if you enjoy scary stories, feel free to visit my Amazon's Author page. I've published over a dozen horror anthologies and a dozen novels. If you're looking for something less serious, check out my camp slasher, Camp Blaze – it was inspired by Friday the 13th. If you want more serious human horror, check out Mason's Television, which releases in April 2017. Keep your eyes peeled for my upcoming books and feel free to check out my older novels. I really appreciate it! Once again, thank you for reading. Your readership keeps me going through the darkest times!

 

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