The Punished

by Peter Meredith

  "What do you want, ugly? George ain't here," the boy with dirty blonde hair and dull grey eyes spoke loudly in an offensive manner.

  The volume of his voice stopped Curt for a second and then he responded as if he were in church, "I wanted to thank you for last night."

  "Are you saying I'm gay?" the boy asked, again with anger in his whisper.

  Confused Curt could only shake his head at first, "No...I meant thank you for saving my life."

  "No, I won't fucker," the blonde boy suddenly hissed at his dresser. "I won't, George, and you can't make me." Paul had his head swiveled away from him and it was a mental strain on Curt not to look over at the dresser. The air in the room was fast becoming thick and Curt's head began to pound with Paul's craziness. He started to leave, but Amber strode up close to Paul and knelt in front of him.

  "What did George say?" she spoke so low that Curt had trouble hearing her.

  "None of your..." he began to say to her, but paused for a second looking back to the dresser, "I'm handling this, so shut up George, you fucker. I won't say it...I won't ...Your welcome? No, that's the last thing..."

  With the air becoming charged, Curt grabbed Amber by the arm and pulled her out of the room, leaving Paul to argue with himself. At least on some level Paul had heard his thanks, but he worried that the boy was seconds away from paying a heavy price for hearing it. They hurried back to Curt's room and knelt there, sweating in fear, feeling the floor, trying to figure out if the creature was coming. It wasn't. Paul must have felt the air as well and dead silence reigned throughout the house.

  Curt went back to pacing, glum at the near disaster he had almost caused.

  3

  Two very long hours later, dinner was served.

  It was served to everyone but Curt. By this point, he had gone nearly two days without eating and his body was starting to get the shakes. He sat down at the table hoping Amber would have the guts to give him a bite or two. She earned a series of unpleasant glares from Miss Feanor and Matt when she gave up most of her spam and carrots to Curt.

  Despite the monotonous blandness of the food, he ate ravenously and the dirty looks only made the food go down easier. After dinner, he took Miss Feanor's advice and ignored his cleaning. Instead, he warmed up and then began stretching. This was a habit he had begun a year before, just prior to a break-in of a home that he had been casing for a number of days.

  Traveling back and forth to a middle school he had been living in, he had noticed that a second floor window of a particular home was always left open day or night. After sitting on the house, or watching it in common parlance, he saw a routine develop.

  For an hour every Thursday evening, the house was left vacant as the owners went in various directions. That was the good news, the bad was that the second floor window only sat open by about ten inches. Coming in feet first, the only angle that he could make his entrance was going to bend his back considerably. In preparation, he spent the next week doing back bends and it paid off handsomely. Over three hundred dollars worth of handsome, which for Curt was a lot of money.

  Since then, he had increased his stretching routine from just back bends and now, there were very few people outside a gymnastic school who were more limber than the little thief.

  That night waiting for his slim opportunity, he took his time, allowing his mind to focus on the many small things he'd have to make sure would go right for the night to end well. He was risking much. More than he had ever risked before. It was not just a punishment that was on the line, there was a chance that if things went terribly wrong, his life would be taken from him one bite at a time.

  Forcing a smile onto his swollen face, he decided against allowing himself to think down that line of ghastly pessimism. No negative thoughts. That was his motto right before attempting something dangerous such as this.

  Finally, when he had stretched all he could, he took the stake and put it into his bed. Turning off his light, he climbed in as well, wearing his pajama top; below that, he had left his jeans on. Despite his ban on negative thinking, he felt the jeans a better protection against biting that his thin pajama pants.

  Thinking down this line of positive thoughts gave him an idea and he hopped up quick from his bed as the first of the lights went off down stairs. With barely a minute to get ready, he hurried, but it proved to be plenty of time. There were three sets of pajama tops in his drawers, and he put them all on, one over the top of the other.

  Now he had a bit more protection...just in case. He was glad for it and this simple idea made him smile despite his mounting anxiety.

  Curt was not immune to getting a touch of stage fright, though he had never frozen up because of it. His problem was quite the opposite, he became keyed up or overly excited, which under the wrong circumstances could be just as dangerous. This was one of those times. His plan demanded a delicate touch, right off the bat and his hands would have to be quick and smooth.

  In order to calm his nerves, he began breathing in slow and deep, waiting for the arrival of Miss Feanor, which would mark the opening move in his gambit for freedom. She would say something, probably a nasty something and just then, that would be preferable to something nice. If she were to suddenly apologize, he didn't know what he would do. A smirk in the dark came to his face, he had rarely heard Miss Feanor say something nice, at least not when she wasn't being watched over by a caseworker. No, it would be a snide remark and it would only put steel into his spine.

  Another light went down and Curt took a big breath and slipped beneath his covers, giving himself an extra big tunnel to breathe through. The layers of pajama shirts were making him sweat already and he didn't want to overheat. He squirmed suddenly. The layers of shirts had ridden down his back and were choking him, forcing him to pull down hard at his collar.

  Just then he heard his door open, it was too early for Miss Feanor by at least fifteen seconds, so he popped his head out. The very white face of Amber seemed to shine in the growing darkness. She stood in his doorway for just a moment until another light, a closer light went out behind her. Upon her face, she wore a tight worried smile and her eyes were filled with fear for him, but her lips held something else and she leaned in to kiss him.

  "Good luck," she whispered and then she was gone. The feel of her warm lips stayed on his, they had been so soft and they had spoken to him soundlessly as they kissed. They told him of the love she held within her. The feeling made him slightly giddy and he was slow to duck beneath his covers when the final light went down. It didn't matter though. Miss Feanor was going to have him punished, a torture that would slowly drive him insane over time. What more could she do?

  His mind started to go down all the nasty things she could do, but luckily, she interrupted his dour thinking.

  "You won't be getting out of your punishment tonight. I've made sure of this and for your own sake, don't get out of bed. Take the punishment right here," she advised in a rather loud voice as if she weren't particularly worried about the creature coming for her. "And do me a favor; try not to scream to loud. I'm a little tired and need my rest. Sweet dreams." The last words she added with fake syrupy insincerity.

  Curt just nodded under the covers, feeling the welcome burn of his anger. Good, he thought to himself. It would make everything that much easier to do with his hatred for her running high.

  Now he pulled back the covers and listened intently as the lady of the house went from room to room. When she made it to Paul's he slipped from his bed sticking his pillow beneath the covers, just in case. And when she left the blonde boy's room three seconds later, Curt stepped out into the darkened hallway.

  Chapter 24

  The Thief Of Life

  1

  Being out of bed after the lights were down was a perverse thrill. Curt felt it and fed off it, knowing few kids his age in all the world would have the guts to attempt his audacious plan.

  A second after Miss Feanor left Paul's room, Curt was ghosting down the hallwa
y towards Amber's door. He moved fluidly, silently, the stake clutched in his left hand, his mind a whirl of What ifs. What if she were to turn around just then and see him plain as day out of bed? What if he were to trip or simply knock the wall with the stake and make some noise? What if instead of going straight away to the attic as he counted on, she went to his room for a last snide remark and saw him out of bed.

  What if...

  What if...

  Curt ignored these nagging questions and concentrated on what was. Miss Feanor, who lived her life with more routine than a ticking watch was moving right on schedule. Good. The house seemed aware of him being out of bed, he could feel it in the air and in the floorboards through his white socks. Not good, but expected. This was only the second day of the fifth week, as Curt reckoned the days, and the creature wasn't even moving yet. Better than average.

  All in all, he felt good as he made it to Amber's room without alerting Miss Feanor. Of course, this was the very simplest part of his plan and if he had been caught just then, he would have added a great deal of shame to the pain of his punishment. But he had learned to make his plans in stages and enjoyed the small feeling of triumph that accomplishing each afforded him.

  Now he would wait eight seconds.

  That was how long it would take Miss Feanor to get to the attic door. In the interim, he glanced back at Amber. She looked tiny under her covers. It was a shock to see her so small and vulnerable. And like a child afraid of the dark, she quivered and shook in silence. Oddly, considering what he was about to do, he felt sorry for her, empathizing with her fear. He wanted to go to her and tell her that everything would work out and that she wouldn't have to be afraid any longer. But he couldn't spare the seconds nor could he risk the noise.

  Feeling hard hearted, he turned away and peeked from her slightly opened door. Miss Feanor came into view just then and now he cast aside all thoughts of Amber and waited ready to dart forward. The attic door came open with the tiniest sound of metal, something Curt hadn't expected. She had a key. This he hadn't realized before. He had assumed that like the rest of the doors in the place, the house had just let her in and out of the attic as it pleased.

  It was interesting, yet not worth dwelling over, especially not just then. Curt had literally but one second to get from Ambers room to the attic door before it closed. As soon as Miss Feanor stepped past the door, Curt darted forward. Moving as quickly and silently as he could, he pushed off hard with his left leg and slid forward across the hall his right arm he held outstretched.

  With the knob a bare inch from the frame he caught it and twisted it, letting it close, knowing the lock wouldn't engage. In fear of what the house was capable of, he strained at the knob, holding it far over to the right to keep it from locking, however the feel of the house was distant in the knob. Curt stood there in a glaze of fear induced sweat and counted silently to ten.

  In a perfect world he would've waited longer, letting Miss Feanor get comfortable but he knew the creature would be up and about soon and he figured he'd have a minute at the most to accomplish his grizzly tasks. When the thief got to ten, he pulled back on the knob and looked up into the attic. Compared to the shadow struck hall, it seemed bright up there, almost cheery and stepping in, he let the door close behind him. Now he shouldn't have let anything delay him, but a sight just to his right made him pause.

  The baseball bat that Miss Feanor had used against him sat leaning against the wall. Laying the stake aside, he took up the bat, liking the feel of it, the heft. He felt a heavy sense of revenge go through him as he held it. He made no effort to quell the cruel feeling.

  There was a sound from above him, somewhere in the attic. It was a voice that at first he didn't recognize. It got him moving up the stairs, like a cat, attuned to everything about him, ready to run or pounce without the slightest hesitation. Curt, in his ultimate thief mode slunk around the stacks of ancient rubbish, moving stealthily, until he hid just feet from the circle of light.

  From there he could see Miss Feanor moving about the two people lying in their beds. She spoke softly to them, practically crooning to them in a motherly way, but they remained as he had seen them before, unmoving and maybe not truly alive. It sickened Curt to see her acting this toward them, while she had been perfectly content to starve him and have him tortured, not to mention allow all the other children to be driven insane by pain and fear.

  It burned him up inside. And the feeling made it easier for him to do what he came for. When next she turned away from him, he gauged that it was time to pounce and he stepped boldly forward. Bringing the bat back, he let it fly in a snapping arc aimed at the back of her head.

  2

  Even in his extreme anger, Curt hadn't been able to commit murder. At the last moment, he pulled his swing so that he only sent Miss Feanor sprawling to the floor, dazed.

  One of her eyes came open, blinked unfocused for a second and then closed. Curt knelt out of reach of the woman, feeling the floor. The house was aware and focused on the attic, but wasn't greatly angered yet. The creature he could barely feel at all, it seemed still to drowse far away.

  He took that as a good sign and straitening up he moved around Miss Feanor, in a wide arc heading for the nearest bed, the one that held the young man. This unknown person would have to die first.

  The man with the thin brown hair looked very peaceful lying there. Curt brought the bat up and grimaced as if he were the one in pain. The bat went further back. Further. A pause. Further back.

  And Curt slumped his shoulders.

  He kept picturing the man's head exploding under the impact of the bat. It left him weak and gagging, forcing him to pull down once again on his pajama top. It kept sliding back up for some reason, choking him. A noise behind him caused him to jump around quickly. It was Miss Feanor groaning slightly. Her hand moved around the floor as if searching for something. He would have to kill the man quickly, either that or brain Miss Feanor again. That thought had him pulling on his collar once more, sickened that he was being forced to do any of this.

  But it also gave him an idea.

  In a second, he pulled off the first of his three pajama tops, spun it quickly as if he were in a locker room and was going to snap somebody's bottom with it and turned back to the man. This would be far less messy.

  "I'm sorry," Curt whispered and then leaning over the sleeping figure, he wrapped the spun top around the man's neck and after another moment's hesitation, he pulled tight.

  The man's very white face went from pink to red in seconds. After half a minute it was a deep magenta and Curt began to wonder how long he would have to keep it up. He didn't think he could for very much longer, both for physical and mental reasons. His straining arms were already getting tired and his soul ached with what he was doing. But still he held on.

  "Uhhn." A soft groan from Miss Feanor. Turning his head, he saw that now both her eyes were open. However, they were unfocused and her face was slack without understanding of where she was. There was still time.

  Turning back to the man, he honestly couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. Curt bent his head and listened at the man's chest. There was nothing, no sounds at all. With a distressingly empty feeling inside, he released the grip on the shirt and watched as the man's head went limp over. With only a single look back at Miss Feanor, he then dashed to the girl.

  With his arms already tired he worried that he would not be able to hold and pull the ends of the shirt for long enough to kill her; he was right. Curt barely had the make shift noose on her for thirty seconds before he had to stop feeling weak and feeble.

  "Wha...?" Miss Feanor mumbled.

  This caused Curt's heart to pound in his chest and he went back to the noose. Wrapping it around her once again, he pulled, but saw that if he were to twist it, the noose would stay very tight against the girl's throat. When he did this, it was with sadness that he saw that he could now kill her one handed.

  Already he was a more efficient killer.


  The thought bothered him greatly, making it so he could barely look at the girl as he killed her.

  "Huh?" Miss Feanor slowly crawled up the side of the man's bed, using it to support her weight. She looked very confused and at first didn't see Curt and didn't seem to notice anything unusual. Finally, her eyes drifted over towards him and went wide in shock.

  Curt had frozen in place, still holding the strangling noose, but now he reached over with his free hand and plucked up the bat. Miss Feanor looked at it in confusion for only a moment and then ran to the girl.

  "My baby!"

  Her what? His mind screamed as he backed away from the dead girl, brandishing the bat. Miss Feanor ignored both the bat and him, having only eyes for the girl, her daughter. She yanked away the pajama top, looked into the girl's empty eyes and immediately began crying.

  "Why? Why? Why would you do this?" Miss Feanor wailed at him. Her grief was heavy and loud, so much so that out of habit, Curt knelt and felt the floor. The house was more aware all of a sudden and beginning to become angry too.

  "That's not right," he muttered to himself. There should have been no feeling left in the house. An unexpected pain erupted in his stomach and then he felt his throat tighten up so that he couldn't swallow. It was dawning on him that he had just killed two innocent people.

  "Doesn't she control the house?" he asked Miss Feanor, who sat rocking back and forth crooning to the girl dripping tears upon her face.

  "No! No, Susan is too sweet...she's so sweet, she's so, so sweet."

  "And what about him? Does he have anything to do with the monster?" Curt pointed to the man, instinctively already knowing the answers. Miss Feanor looked over horrified at seeing the odd unnatural tilt to the man's neck.