by Jon Athan
The victim's legs violently trembled as she went into shock. Blood jetted from a gash on her forehead. Yet, Katina did not stop the violent beating. She was not bothered by the senseless savagery of her actions. She showered in the warm blood squirting from the wound. She was relishing in her moment of ferocity. The woman was wicked and proud – a horrifying combination.
Edward grabbed Katina's wrist and said, “That's enough, doll. Let her pass with a bit of pain. Don't make it easy for her.”
Katina placed the hammer on the table and said, “You're right, you're right. I lost myself for a moment. I'm just so... I'm so excited to have some boys around! This just doesn't happen very often. It's amazing!”
“Yeah, I understand that. Just keep your damn paws to yourself. You understand me?” Edward asked. Katina licked her lips as she leered at Stanley. Edward grabbed her chin and turned her head towards him, then he sternly repeated, “You understand me?”
“Of course.”
Wide-eyed, Richie screamed – a blurt of noise. He couldn't conjure a simple word, so an indistinct shout sufficed. He stumbled over the stairs, tipping over his muddied footprints. Edward shook his head as he rushed towards the boy. He inhaled deeply as he lifted the chubby teenager from the ground. Kicking and screaming, Edward lugged Richie towards the center of the room. Richie's flailing and yelling was fruitless.
Stanley tumbled to his buttocks, then he crawled towards the wall behind him. The cellphone slipped and slid from his hands as he struggled to compose himself. He thought about calling the police, but the numbers quickly became muddled in his mind – 911, 191, or 119? Before he could dial the first number, Katina yanked the phone from his hands, then she smashed the device on the ground. She grabbed Stanley's wrist and pulled him deeper into the dungeon.
With Richie in his arms, Edward said, “Oh, oh, oh. You fucked up, boys. We were going to let you leave, we were going to let you walk away. Why would you try to run? Huh? Why would you do something so stupid? Now we know we can't trust you. Trying to run, trying to call for help. We've got to put you to sleep, you hear me?”
Teary-eyed, Richie pleaded, “No, please, don't hurt us! We won't tell anyone, I swear! Please!”
“It's too late for that, you stupid piece of crap! You fucked up!”
As she gently caressed Stanley's cheek, Katina said, “They fucked up, I know. I want to spare this one, though. There's something about him.” She simpered like a conniving child, then she said, “I want to touch him, but I don't want to hurt him. No, I can't hurt this young man. I just can't do it. I'm sorry.”
Stanley trembled uncontrollably as he sobbed. His nose and cheeks were blushed. He could have shouted for help, but he did not want to aggravate the problem. The entire situation was Richie's fault. At the very least, he hoped to save himself by remaining quiet and cooperative. Richie was on his own.
With his hand over Richie's mouth, Edward asked, “You want to spare that boy? You want to let him walk out of this house?”
Katina nodded and said, “Yeah.”
“I don't know about that. We have a good thing going here. I don't want to mess that up by letting this boy run around with our secrets. It won't do us no good if he talks.”
“I want to let him live. There's something about him. I can see it in his eyes. Please, I don't want to hurt him.”
Edward glanced at Stanley, then he stared at Richie. He said, “Well, I think we can work something out...”
***
Edward dragged Richie towards the sturdy table. Richie whimpered as he approached the slaughtered woman. He had seen death and gore through the internet and movies, but he had never witnessed real violence before. A schoolyard tussle was nothing compared to the bloody slaughter in the dungeon. Edward grabbed a large chef knife, then he tossed it on the ground in front of Stanley.
Edward said, “Pick it up. Don't try anything funny, boy, we're giving you an opportunity here. We're giving you the chance of a lifetime. Now, pick it up.”
Stanley wheezed as he reluctantly grabbed the knife. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he pointed the blade away from his body. The everyday kitchen knife was daunting – a common home appliance had metamorphosed into a tool of torture.
Katina gently grabbed Stanley's wrists and said, “Hold it steady, sweetie. You don't want to cut yourself with this. If you cut one of your soft fingers off, the best we can do for you is glue it back on. I don't think you want that.”
As the woman giggled, Stanley stuttered, “Wha–What do you want from me?”
Edward pulled Richie closer to Stanley, then he said, “Well, to be blunt, I want you to kill your friend. I want you to stab him. Not once, not twice... I want you to stab him over and over. I want you to make him squeal like the pig he is. And, when you're finished, you can walk away. It's that simple, really.”
Leaning closer to Stanley's ear, Katina whispered, “Do it, sweetie. Cut him up, then walk away. I'll make sure no one hurts you. You can trust me. I promise.”
Teary-eyed, Stanley stepped in reverse and said, “I... I can't. He's my friend.” He gazed into Katina's eyes and said, “Please, don't make me do this. I won't tell anyone, I promise. I've never... I've never snitched before. I can keep a secret.”
Katina smiled and pinched his cheek, like a mother teasing her child. She said, “Sweetie, you're a big boy. You can do this. It's very easy. You just hold the knife up, then you thrust it into him. Poke through the fat a few times until he dies from the pain and the loss of blood. The blade is sharp, hun, you can even just walk into him and it'll cut him...”
Richie shouted, “Don't listen to her! They're lying to you, Stanley! They'll kill you anyway and you know it! Run! Just run!” He jerked and squirmed, trying to escape from Edward's powerful grip to no avail. Richie barked, “Run, you fucking idiot! Run! Or... Or kill him! Kill them!”
Edward smacked the loud teenager upside the head – one swift slap to the back of the dome like if he were swatting a pesky fly. Richie yelped from the hit, then he sobbed. His words became a garble of noise. Stanley stared at his friend with narrowed eyes. He wanted to feel sympathy, but the pity did not emerge. Instead, he felt offended. 'Idiot,' he thought, who the hell does he think he is calling me an 'idiot?'
Edward sternly said, “Listen up, boy. You either kill your friend here or we kill both of you. I've got a busy schedule, so I'm going to give you thirty seconds to make a damn choice. Now, I don't have a watch and I'm a fast counter, so keep that in mind. Your time starts now.”
Thirty seconds to choose between life and death, thirty seconds to contemplate a lifetime of friendship. Under the circumstances, thirty seconds felt like an eternity. The world was whisked away as time slowed to a crawl. Stanley stood in an empty abyss, lost in his thoughts. 'Thirty seconds' and 'idiot' continued to echo through his mind.
Katina whispered, “Kill him.”
Stanley tightly shut his eyes and inhaled deeply. He held the knife away from his body, then he hurtled forward. He stopped as he hit a soft body, penetrating the skin of a fluffy person with the stainless steel knife. He stepped in reverse, pulling the blade out of the mush, then he lunged forward. Two stabbings were not enough, though. He grunted and groaned as he blindly stabbed his friend three more times.
As he felt a liquid dripping on his hands, Stanley opened his eyes and gasped. His hands were drenched in blood. A few droplets fell on the sleeves of his jacket. The droplets were negligible, but he could see them – he was stained by murder. The knife was jammed between Richie's ribs, even after Stanley released the handle.
From over Stanley's shoulder, Katina said, “Good boy...”
Stanley staggered in reverse as he stared into Richie's eyes. He could see the life fading from his body. His breathing was slow and heavy. His eyelids flickered and his head swayed. Edward held his hand to Richie's mouth, stopping him from screaming. He wanted to hear the boy squeal, but he figured a silent death would be best. He didn't know if another gro
up of teens were exploring upstairs. The risk was not worth taking.
As Richie passed away, Edward carefully dropped him to the floor. He said, “We don't want to bruise the meat. A boy like this can offer us plenty of food for a few weeks if we store him correctly. Yeah, he seems like a nice catch. Let's just hope he's not too fat.”
Katina said, “I think he'll be fine. A little fat never hurt anyone.” She seductively sucked on her thumb, then she wiped a droplet of blood from Stanley's face. She smirked and asked, “Want to join us for dinner?”
Stanley slowly shook his head, astonished. The suggestion was heinous – cannibalism. Richie's body would be used to feed a couple of cannibals hiding in the woodland. The simple thought made him think of a horror story. Despite the horrific situation, he didn't scream. He stood with a steady posture, waiting for permission to leave.
As he browsed through Richie's pockets, Edward said, “We would love to have you for dinner, boy, but I'm afraid you're not ready for this premium meat. Shit, I don't think you want to feast on your friend anyway, right?” Stanley did not respond. Edward glanced back with a furrowed brow and asked, “Right?”
Stanley nodded and whispered, “Right...”
“I thought so. But, shit, if you'd like to join us sometime, I think we can welcome you back. You seem like the type to hang around us without running your mouth. That's good. That's very good. I've always liked that about people like you.”
As she rubbed Stanley's shoulder, Katina said, “Yeah. You seem like the good type. Listen, sweetie, my name is Katina. You can call me 'Kat.' With a 'K,' okay? It's what all of my friends call me. Well, at least the living ones.”
Edward said, “The name's Edward. Edward, Eddie, Ed... it never really mattered. Personally, I prefer 'Ed.' It's simple, you know? You call me that from now on. None of that 'Edward' bullshit. It's too formal, too professional.”
Katina said, “Start calling me 'Kat,' sweetie. It'll make us feel closer. Trust me.”
Stanley examined the violent couple as they watched him. He was anxious, but he didn't fear the pair. He was feeling a medley of emotions, but fear and guilt were not at the top of his list. In an instant, Ed and Kat seemed welcoming to him. Ed and Kat, nicknames for friends, he thought, are they really my friends?
Stanley responded, “My... My name is Stanley. It's nice to...” He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to keep his composure. Stanley said, “It's nice to meet you, Ed and Kat.”
Ed smiled and said, “Well, you can go home now. Just remember one thing: you have blood on your hands. You can't tell anyone about this or you'll go to prison for a long time. Believe me, boy, you don't want to go to prison. You don't know what they'll do to you in there. You don't know what the system will do to you. Go on. Get out of here.”
Stanley nodded as he stared at Richie's lifeless body. He swallowed the lump in his throat, like swallowing a can of tuna. He kept his eyes on his murdered friend as he walked towards the staircase. The whole situation felt illusory, like if he were living through a nightmare. At heart, however, he knew he was awake.
As Stanley walked up the creaky steps, Kat winked and said, “You can come visit us any time, sweetie. I'll be waiting for you...”
Chapter Three
Home Sweet Home
The dazzling sun was setting beyond the horizon. The sky was painted with every tint of orange, creating a vibrant portrait of natural beauty. Teens and kids ran through the cul-de-sac, enjoying the sunshine before darkness reigned supreme. The children were blissfully unaware of the savagery in the woods.
Stanley only wished he could have remained as oblivious as his peers. He shambled up the decomposed granite walkway, dragging his feet towards the two-story house. He wasn't running late, but he could not wash his terrible actions from his mind. He was different and his family would recognize the shift in his demeanor. He needed to buy time to recompose himself. Excuses, he thought, I need an excuse.
As he opened the front door, Julia King, his mother, immediately rushed towards him with open arms. Waiting by the door for her kids to arrive was her routine. She was perpetually worried for her children when they were not in her sight. She was only relaxed when sunset approached – the regularly-scheduled curfew.
Julia planted a kiss on Stanley's forehead, then she said, “You were almost late, sweetheart. You know your father would have grounded you if you were late again, right?”
Stanley gazed into his mother's vibrant brown eyes, baffled. He expected her to notice his change in character, he expected her to find a microscopic speck of blood on his black jacket. The woman had the eyes of a hawk when it came to cleaning, but she did not notice her son's fracturing psyche. She was clueless.
Stanley grunted to clear his throat, then he said, “I... I lost track of time. That's all. Sorry.”
“I tried calling you a few times and you didn't answer. You remember what we told you about answering your phone even when you're with your friends, right? Why didn't you answer? Did you get the calls? Was the service bad? What happened?”
Stanley sighed and shook his head. He still stood on the porch, not one foot in the house, and he was already being interrogated. The passive questioning was irritating. He knew he would be scolded for breaking his phone, too.
Stanley said, “I lost my phone.”
The sound of rippling paper emerged from the living room. Stanley peeked inside and spotted the source. Michael King, his father, sat on a forest-green sofa as he read a newspaper. The stern man obviously overheard the conversation. His austere ego would not allow Stanley's mistake to go unpunished.
Michael stood from his seat. With his hands on his hips, he asked, “How the hell did you lose your cellphone?”
Stanley shrugged, then he said, “I was in the woods and–”
Michael interrupted, “What the hell were you doing in the woods?”
Stanley sighed and shook his head. Arguing with his father was pointless. He demanded answers, but he refused to listen to an entire explanation. He only listened until the opportunity to ask another question emerged. He was like a television reporter interviewing a politician. In this case, Stanley was the politician trying to slither away.
Trying to contain the situation, Julia said, “Oh, it's fine. He was due for an upgrade anyway. It's going to be his birthday, too. Cut him some slack.”
Michael bit his bottom lip as he stared at his wife. The brunette woman was soft on her children and it irked him. Michael ran his fingers through his grizzled hair as he turned his attention to Stanley. He was willing to scold, but he decided to cut him some slack on his birthday. He sighed, then he flumped into his seat – whatever.
Julia patted the dirt from Stanley's jacket and asked, “You want a snack? I can fix something up for you before bed. What do you say?”
Stanley smiled and responded, “No, I want to save some room for Adventure Planet tomorrow. I want some funnel cake.”
Julia giggled, then she said, “Alright, alright. We'll eat plenty of funnel cake tomorrow. Go clean yourself up. Go on.”
Stanley nervously smiled as he strolled past his doting mother. He glanced at his preoccupied father and nodded. Except for special days and scolding times, his father was distant. He cared about Stanley's well-being, but he didn't care enough to be involved in the teenager's personal life. There was nothing Stanley could say to change the fact. He walked up the stairs to his left and headed towards his bedroom.
As Stanley reached the top of the steps and stared down the hallway, Daniel King, his older brother, hopped out of the first room to the right. Daniel grabbed his younger brother in a headlock, jerking him every which way. The pair bounced from wall-to-wall as they wrestled.
Daniel said, “Come on, man. What are you doing? Huh? You can't get out of this?”
Through his gritted teeth, Stanley said, “Let me go, asshole.”
Daniel shoved Stanley to the floor. Stanley crawled in reverse as he glared at his brother. Danie
l closely resembled his younger brother. The siblings had the same vibrant brown eyes and feathery brown hair. The older sibling, however, was taller and stronger. He had a hulking physique, chiseled like a stone sculpture. In a few months, he would finally reach adulthood and graduate from high school. Age and education did not equal maturity, though.
Stanley scowled at Daniel and said, “You're an asshole.”
Daniel smirked and said, “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you. Now, why don't you go fuck yourself in your room. We all know what you do in there when you lock the door.” As he walked into his room, Daniel chuckled, then he said, “Fucking idiot...”
Stanley staggered to his feet as he huffed and puffed. His brother's bullying antics infuriated him, but he was too weak to respond with action. He shook his head and marched into the neighboring room – his bedroom. He locked the door behind him, then he leaned on the only barrier keeping him away from his family.
Stanley whispered, “Finally...”
***
Stanley removed his jacket and slipped out of his sneakers. He dropped his begrimed jeans, revealing the black basketball shorts he regularly wore underneath. There was a small droplet of dried blood on his white t-shirt. Although puny in scope, the speck was a terrifying reminder of the day. It was not his blood, it was not the result of an accident. It was Richie's blood and it was the outcome of murder.
Stanley walked towards the other end of the room. He glanced around the modest chamber with a furrowed brow, like if he were unfamiliar with his own bedroom. The room belonged to an innocent teenager.
From the horror movie posters clinging to the walls and movie cases stacked beside a flat-screen television, he could see the room belonged to a young man with a love for horrifying fiction. Yet, he couldn't tell for certain if the room belonged to him.
The traumatized teenager sank into the bed at the far end of the room. The smooth navy bed sheets swallowed his body with comfort. The sunset sunshine piercing through the neighboring window caressed his body with a gentle warmth. He rested on a fluffy cloud, floating away from the sick and depraved world.