by Jon Athan
Stanley huffed, then he slowly twisted the blade. Blood squirted from the wound as the laceration widened – spurting like a garden sprinkler. The gushing puncture splattered Stanley with droplets of blood. The blood stained his face and his clothing, spattered across his body like red paint. He was unperturbed by the savagery as he continued to twist the blade.
Through his gritted teeth, Stanley said, “Fuck you.”
Stanley stumbled back as he yanked the blade out with all of his might, like if he were pulling a legendary sword from a sturdy stone. He gazed at his brother, memorizing each twitch and moan. He wanted to remember the vivid portrait of death – a portrait painted by his own malign hands – a masterpiece.
With bloodshot eyes, Daniel returned the gaze. He was shocked and bewildered by the violent attack, trying to catch the slightest breath of air. He stared at his murderous sibling as he held the grisly puncture on his throat. He knew he could not stop the excessive bleeding, but human instinct told him to try. With one final exhale, Daniel passed away.
Stanley smirked as he stared into his brother's eyes. He watched as the life vanished from his body. Although he physically remained the same, he could see the energy – the soul – depart from his body. He had seen death in hollow eyes before, but he was finally able to savor the experience. He killed him on his own and he was proud of it.
The violent teenager said, “Maybe we'll see each other again someday, Daniel. If it really exists, both of us can play video games and... and try smoking cigarettes in hell. It's where we'll both end up, but you knew that already, right? We're... We're bastards.”
***
Stanley stood towards the center of the hallway, staring at his parents' bedroom door. His father's sputtering snores reverberated through the home. A drop of blood occasionally plopped on the ground, like water dripping from a leaky faucet. The floorboards groaned beneath his feet, echoing like the cries of a beaten man. Despite the ruckus, Michael and Anna continued to sleep.
Stanley whispered, “I didn't want to do it. I really didn't mean it, but I... I have to finish the job. I don't want to go to jail. I want to live free. I'm not bad, I'm just... I don't know what I am. I just know I have to finish the job.”
Stanley trudged down the hallway, plodding towards the master bedroom. He slowly turned the knob, then he shoved the door open. He grimaced as the hinges squealed like a pig in mud. He knew about the squeaky door, but he didn't realize it would be so obnoxious during a silent night. To his utter surprise, his parents did not awaken.
The young teenager couldn't help but smile smugly as he stared at his parents. His parents slept on a queen-sized mattress towards the center of the room. There was a nightstand to the left and right, each with a matching lamp. The couple were veiled by a thick crimson comforter – darker than Daniel's blood.
Julia slept on the left side of the mattress. Her hair was tied in a tousled bun, strands protruding every which way. She was knocked out on her stomach, likely tranquilized by sleeping pills. The sleeping pills were not used due to Stanley's bad behavior, though. The pills were part of her nightly routine. In her current condition, the woman could sleep through a ruinous earthquake – or her son's violent death.
Michael slept on the right side of the mattress, laying on his back. He snored like a bear in hibernation. Each croaky snore crepitated like a struggling engine. Unlike his beloved wife, the man was simply exhausted – a hard day's work took a toll on him. He didn't need sleeping pills to aid him in his quest for a peaceful slumber.
Stanley stood beside his father, staring down at him. He felt powerful towering over the man. He could see the saliva dripping down his father's cheek, soaking the comfy pillow. He was as oblivious as Daniel before the young man's brutal death. Like Ed said, Stanley knew their vulnerabilities. Sleep was their unfortunate weakness.
Stanley inhaled deeply, then he thrust the knife into his father's neck. Michael bounced on the bed as the blade penetrated his jugular. Wide-eyed, he stared at his son in utter disbelief. Stanley yelped as his father tightly gripped his forearm. The violent teenager tried to stagger away, but his father refused to release him. Even with a blade jammed into his throat, the man was strong.
Stanley sternly said, “Let me go. Let me go. Let me go!”
Michael grunted and groaned as blood oozed from his mouth, foaming with his saliva. He slowly blinked and shook his head, dazed by the loss of blood. In an effort to save himself, he flung his arm at his slumbering wife. She didn't awaken from the strike. He slapped her bottom with all of the energy he could conjure – three consecutive spankings.
Without lifting her head, Julia groaned, then she asked, “What do you want?” She could hear a gurgling sound and she felt the bed trembling. She furrowed her brow and asked, “What are you doing, sweetie?”
Julia sniffled as she nonchalantly reached for the lamp – she wasn't in a hurry. As the dusty bulb illuminated the bed, Julia glanced over at her husband. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, then she gasped – a loud, raspy inhale. She trembled as she watched her husband, shocked. Upon spotting her bloodied son, she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her shrill shriek echoed through the home, reverberating through the neighborhood.
Distraught and fidgety, Stanley pulled the knife from his father's throat. As Julia tumbled off the bed, Stanley leaped onto her. He held the knife over his head, then he stabbed his mother's back. The knife penetrated Julia's spine at the small of her back. Wide-eyed, Julia stopped and wheezed, breathing throatily as she tried to cling to life.
Stanley pulled the knife out, then he flumped onto the bed. He sat at the corner of the mattress, watching his mother's hopeless movements. He could see her insufferable pain as she violently convulsed. The floorboards groaned as she writhed in agony on the ground. I have to finish the job, he thought, I have to put her out of her misery.
As she crawled in reverse, dragging her limp legs, Julia stuttered, “Pl–Please... Please don't... D–Don't...” She wept hysterically as her arms gave out. She could not crawl any farther. Teary-eyed, she said, “Don't... Don't do this. I love you, sweetie.”
Stanley's bottom lip quivered as the words struck him like the jabs from a heavyweight boxer. His emotions were uncontrollable – from blind rage to sincere love. Although he sought to finish the job, he struggled to murder his mother. His mother may have been an enabler, but she genuinely loved her children. She never meant any harm. Does she deserve it?–Stanley thought.
From over his shoulder, a raspy voice whispered, “She does...”
Stanley quickly staggered to his feet and glanced back. There was no one behind him. He glanced down at his father, pondering the possibility. Michael barely squirmed on the bed. He tried to move, but he was enfeebled by the stabbing. With the gaping hole in his throat, he couldn't possibly be the source of the voice.
Stanley stared at the wall behind him and asked, “She does deserve it, doesn't she? Th–This is her fault, right?”
As her teeth chattered, Julia stuttered, “Wh–Who are you talking to, sweetie?”
Stanley glared at his mother, piercing into her soul. He huffed and puffed as he marched towards Julia. Julia cried as she tried to wiggle away, but she was immobilized by her spinal injury. Stanley lifted his knee to his stomach, then he stomped on her neck with all of his might. Julia was silenced with her crushed throat.
The young teenager whispered, “I love you, too.”
***
Stanley gazed into his mother's hollow eyes. He smirked as he glanced down at her throat. He left an indentation the size of his heel on her neck, like a wide dimple. The teenager deliriously giggled as he stared at his father's mutilated throat. The brutality of the murders was oddly amusing. His parents were dead and he could not stop laughing.
He shook his head as he walked out of the bedroom. He strolled down the hall, then he peeked into Daniel's bedroom. His brother's death brought a smile to his face. He skipped through the house, capering like a child
at the park. He rushed into the basement and grabbed two red canisters of gasoline. He remembered his father's explanation – this is only for emergencies.
As he spilled the pungent fluid through the house, Stanley whispered, “This is an emergency, dad. I have to make sure no one ever finds out about it. I have to finish the job. I'm sorry for using your gas. I'll make sure to pay you back when I get a real job.”
Although he had a limited supply, the home was successfully doused in fuel. He was not a professional arsonist, but he often spent time playing with fire. He knew the flames would spread in time, so he focused the fuel on key areas. He drenched the hallways, the doorways, and any flammable furniture. He made sure to soak his brother's carcass, too. He wanted to burn the most significant evidence – the bodies.
As he returned to the master bedroom, Stanley said, “I know we were supposed to... to get better, but I can't. I know now that I'm not like all of you. I'm free and you don't like that. So, I'm going to set you free, too. Okay? It's better like this.”
Stanley sniffled as he poured gasoline on his father's body. He lugged the canister towards his mother, then he dumped the remaining fluid. He glanced at the floorboards, making sure the flammable trail was well-defined. His preparations were far from perfect, but the plot seemed feasible. In the teenager's mind, fire meant destruction – and destruction would leave nothing in its wake.
Stanley glanced at his mother and whispered, “I really did love you, mom. I'm sorry...”
Stanley sobbed as he ran through the house, lunging over the trail of gasoline he meticulously crafted. He wept from his mixed emotions. He felt sympathetic due to his actions and happy due to his liberation – an unnerving contradiction. He stumbled into the kitchen, then he retrieved a matchbook from a drawer. Since he was a child, he preferred matches to action figures. Why pretend to shoot a flamethrower when you can play with real fire?
He whispered, “This is it. This is how I finish it. This is what Ed and Kat were talking about.” He glanced at the ceiling with despondent eyes. He shook his head and whispered, “No, no, I can't stop it. I have to finish it. There's no turning back. I'm sorry.”
Stanley staggered towards the front door. From the porch, he lit a match, then he tossed the burning stick into the house. He watched as the flames quickly spread through the home. He waited until the crepitating flames danced up the stairs. Stanley wiped the tears from his cheeks. He continuously glanced back at the house as he slowly walked away. He could see the flickering flames through the windows. The fire began to swallow every room in the house.
Although he wanted to wait until the house crumbled, he knew he would have to depart before the fire department and police arrived. A lone survivor and a suspicious fire never looked good. He refused to be taken into custody – as a victim or a suspect. Barefooted and in his pajamas, Stanley ran down the street, sprinting towards the woodland.
Chapter Fourteen
A New Man with a New Family
Stanley shivered as he stared at the abandoned house – a new home. He crossed his arms and rubbed his shoulders as he strolled towards the remote building. Although he had visited the house many times before, he couldn't be more confused and frightened. His barbarous actions tainted his mind and crippled his psyche. Uncertainty reigned supreme.
The young teenager shoved the front door. As expected, the door was left open. The couple didn't see the need to lock their doors or hide their dastardly deeds. They proudly took refuge in the abandoned house, displaying their deviant activities for the world to see. The pair were a paradigm for modern serial killers.
Standing at the archway, Stanley gazed at the filthy couch in the living room. Ed and Kat shared the sofa, sleeping peacefully on the grime. Ed did not utter a sound, sleeping as stiff as a board. Kat's snore vibrated like a cat's purr – appropriate. Stanley loudly coughed and grunted, purposely trying to wake the pair.
Ed glanced over his shoulder, then he narrowed his eyes. He gently shoved Kat and said, “Wake up, girl. It looks like we've got some company.”
Kat lightly slapped Ed's sturdy chest and said, “Five more minutes...”
“No, no. I think you'll want to see this. Come on, get up.”
Ed staggered to his feet as he quickly lifted his jeans to his waist. He grabbed his white wife beater from the floor, then he tossed the garment over his head. As he sloppily dressed himself in his victims' clothing, the killer carefully examined Stanley's peculiar demeanor. Through the midnight darkness, he could see the blood on the teen's face and pajamas.
Ed asked, “How are you doing, boy?”
With glum eyes, Stanley responded, “I... I don't know.”
Kat's eyes widened upon hearing the teen's tender voice. She hopped up from the sofa, smirking as she turned towards the archway. Her devious grin was wiped from her face as she spotted the blood. She could see the teenager had been through a harrowing experience. Doused in blood, he wreaked havoc and escaped his chains.
Stanley, on the other hand, anxiously smiled as he watched Kat. Kat slept in her white brassiere and a flimsy thong. In his eyes, she was practically nude. From her bosom to her crotch, he couldn't help but ogle. He had murdered his family only moments ago and the view of Kat's body was the best stress reliever.
Ed snapped his fingers and said, “Hey. Listen, you don't have to talk about it. You understand me? That's one of the benefits of being a free man. You don't have to talk about it. I'm here to listen to you, boy, but only if you want to talk. It's your choice.”
Stanley nodded and said, “I... I don't know why I did it. I don't... I don't even remember what I did, Ed. It's all messed up in my brain.”
Ed clenched his jaw and glanced at Kat – the pair communicated through their eyes. Ed said, “I know what you did, boy. We both know what you did. And, if I may be a little sentimental, I must say I'm proud of you. You finished the job. You liberated yourself, son. You broke the chains without anyone's help. You're free. Shit, boy, you're my hero.”
Kat giggled, then she said, “You're my hero, too, Stanley. You're... You're amazing. I've never met anyone like you before. Well, maybe one person...”
Stanley's eye twitched as he smiled. The praise and acceptance caught him by surprise. He wasn't criticized or punished for his wicked actions. The couple welcomed him with open arms, showing more affection than his own blood. Defending himself against bullies brought nothing but trouble to his family. In the abandoned house, he felt appreciated.
Ed said, “Let's get you cleaned up. We've got to get that blood off of you. Go out to the backyard and undress yourself. I'll be out in a minute.”
The teenager bit his bottom lip and gave a slight nod. He was nervous about disrobing in front of the couple, but he trusted Ed. As far as he could tell, he was not led astray yet. He needed to wash his family's blood off his body – it was undeniable. He walked out of the back door, stopping near the barbecue pit. Peering into the pit, he could see it was recently cleaned. The bodies are gone, he thought, where's Richie?
Stanley sniffled as he slowly unbuttoned his flannel shirt. He tossed the shirt on the edge of the pit. He dropped his pants to his ankles, then he gasped. He knew Kat was watching from the door. Her leering made him nervous, but she didn't bother him. The urine stain on his boxers was humiliating, though. Although he was nervous to strip in front of the murderous woman, he did not have many options on the table. He quickly tossed his boxers down the pit, then he turned away.
Stanley whispered, “Shit, shit, shit. Did she... Did she see it?”
As he walked towards the back door, Ed glanced at Kat and asked, “What are you doing, girl?”
Kat simpered, then she said, “Well, he's putting on a show out there. What do you expect me to do? Miss it?”
“I expect you to give him some privacy after what he's been through. You know better than that.”
“I know, I know, but I think he likes it. I think he wants me to watch. If he's feeling bad, you know
I can make him feel good. It's my specialty.”
Ed huffed and shook his head as he walked out of the house – this woman is something else. He held two buckets brimming with water in his hands. Upon spotting the teen's pale buttocks, he couldn't help but chuckle. Stanley shivered as he glanced at his mentor.
Ed said, “I'm going to dump some water on you. Don't worry, it's clean. We got it from the creek. Might be a little cold, though. Rub yourself down 'cause I ain't doing that for you and I still don't think you're ready for Kat. She's over there ready to claw into you, boy. I mean it, too. That woman will claw into you.”
From the doorway, Kat said, “I can hear you.”
“Good. You should start a fire. The boy's going to have to warm up in a minute. Find him a blanket or a towel, too. We'll be finished soon.”
Kat sighed, then she said, “Alright, alright...”
Stanley shuddered as the cold water was poured onto his head. The water streamed down his face and neck, quickly coursing down his entire body. He vigorously rubbed his body, trying to clean himself while also conjuring some warmth. His family's blood was washed away with the second bucket, blending with the mud. Kat strutted out of the home, still in her undergarments. The cold didn't bother her very much.
With a bulky fur coat in hand, she said, “Here. This should warm him up a bit.” As Ed wrapped the coat around Stanley's shoulders, Kat stood on her tiptoes and ogled the teenager. She whispered, “Not bad...”
Stanley nodded and said, “Thank you.”
***
Ed led Stanley to the living room. A fire crepitated in the dusty fireplace, conjuring some much needed warmth. As Stanley flumped into the sofa, Ed pushed the couch closer to the fire. He wanted the teenager to feel the warmth of the flickering flames. Like if his maternal instincts had kicked in at a moment's notice, the killer was caring for the child.