Mind Hemorrhages: Dark Tales of Misery and Imagination

by Dane Hatchell

  “Thank you for the food, Mikey. You are a good and trustworthy person.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Manatee. You’re the only one that tells me that. No one else does, even though I try to be nice to everyone. I want them to be nice back to me. But I don't get treated nice all the time. Mr. Sand crab wasn't nice when I met him. I gave the gulls bread the other day and they still pooped on me. Why can't others be nice all the time?”

  “Unfortunately, you can't control how others treat you. You can only control your actions. Actions have consequences. You know that, don't you?”

  “Yes. If I do bad I get in trouble.”

  The ocean bubbled near the manatee, and a large triangular shadow appeared on the water. The shadow turned out not to be a shadow at all. A giant devil ray emerged to the surface. His black skin glistened in the sunlight. The harpoon-like tail floated to the top, drifting on the waves of the Gulf.

  The devil ray swam by the end of the pier and lifted his mouth above water. His cephalic lobes drooped down. His pectoral fin measured twenty-five feet from tip to tip.

  Mikey retreated a step or two. He had never seen such an ominous creature before in his life. The ray’s mouth opened and closed like it was chewing air. Mikey worried that it wanted to chew on him.

  “I wondered how long it would take you to show up,” the manatee said to the devil ray. “Where have you been?”

  “From going to and fro in the oceans, and from swimming up and down in it,” the devil ray said. “What do you think I was doing? Whacking off to porn? Jeeze.”

  “Ray, this is, Mikey. There is none on Earth as true as he.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mikey. Please, call me, Ray.” The devil ray lifted his right cephalic lobe and gave a sort of salute.

  “Hel-Hello, Mr. Ray,” Mikey said, uneasy with the new acquaintance.

  “Say, Mikey, ol’ Manatee here tells me that you're a real straight shooter. That right?”

  “Well . . . yes. I guess so,” Mikey eked out.

  “Come lad, don't be so shy. Now, you say that you’re good to everyone, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “But not everyone is good back to you, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you considered that if you act badly to those who act badly to you, that they might in turn act good to you?”

  Mikey’s mouth opened a little wider. The wheels in his mind spun in confusion.

  “Think lad, think! If you want to get bad people to act good, you must treat them like they treat you. You must treat them badly.”

  “But, but I don't want to be bad to anyone,” Mikey whined.

  “Mr. Manatee said that you can't control other people's action. He's wrong. He's just a big pussy. You can control how other people treat you.”

  The devil ray made a silent command. The pier vibrated from the pounding of three pairs of running feet.

  “Touch not his life,” the manatee said to Ray.

  “I know the routine.” With that, Ray disappeared into the depths of the dark blue waters.

  Three boys in their pre-teens tanned by Florida sunshine scuttled up the pier. One carried a fishing rod, one a pail of bait, and the other proudly brandished a speargun he held onto tightly with both hands.

  Mikey knew the three boys. They too lived nearby. Sometimes when they were playing on a boogie board by the shore, they would let him take a turn. Try as he might though, he was never able to successfully glide on top of the thin layer of water between the board and the sand. Instead, he would slip backward and land on his backside, or tumble forward and scrape his hands and elbows in the sand. The boys would laugh and laugh, and egg him on to try again.

  Sometimes they would walk together to the gas station. The boys would give him money and he would go inside and buy energy drinks and cigarettes. Each boy had brought him a note signed by their mothers, so Mikey knew they had permission to smoke.

  Kenny, Kyle, and Blaine sped toward Mikey with evil grins contorting their faces. After slowing to a fast walk, the three came to an abrupt halt a few feet away.

  Something was different with his friends. Mikey felt tiny fingers of fear crawl down his neck.

  “Look guys, it’s the ’tard,” Kenny said, who was more or less the leader of the bunch.

  Mikey had his feelings hurt instantly. He hated being called a ’tard. He didn't know why his friend would call him that name. “Don't call me ’tard. I’m not a ’tard!” he lashed out.

  “Oh, you’re a retard, all right. I bet you say it wetard,” Kenny laughed. "You have a big, goofy face, short arms, short legs, and short fingers. I bet it’s true that your momma slept with a manatee.”

  Mikey started to cry. His face turned crimson as the anger swelled.

  “Look, in the water. There’s his daddy now.” Blaine pointed to Mr. Manatee by the end of the pier.

  “Mikey, is that your dad down there? You came here to see your dad, didn’t you?” asked Kenny.

  “Why are you being so mean to me?” Mikey cried. “That's not my daddy!”

  “Okay, Mikey, if that's not your dad, then I’m going to use him for target practice.” Blaine pointed his speargun at the manatee and said swoosh as he pretended to pull the trigger.

  “You leave, Mr. Manatee, alone!” Mikey screamed. Snot dripped from his nose down his chin.

  “No, he's going to do it, unless,” Kyle thought a moment, “unless you eat all of these shiners in this bucket.” Kyle held up the bucket.

  “I don't want to eat them.”

  “Then I'm going to shoot the manatee.”

  “But, I don't want to eat the fish bait!” Mikey screamed.

  Blaine lifted the speargun and took careful aim.

  Mikey yelled, “Wait, wait! Don't shoot, Mr. Manatee. I'll eat the little fishes.”

  Kyle stuck his hand in the bucket and managed to capture three. He held his hand out dripping smelly water. Mikey begrudgingly opened his hand and Kyle dropped them in.

  Mikey opened his mouth and raked the shiners off his open palm, making an awful face as they squirmed on his tongue.

  “Eat ’em. You've got to eat ’em,” Kenny demanded.

  Mikey bit down. A salty-fishy-funky liquid squirted into the back of his throat. He gagged and heaved two times before he fell to his knees and threw up on Kyle's shoes.

  “Gross, you stupid ’tard,” Blaine said. “Looks like you lose.” Blaine raised the speargun and pulled the trigger. The CO2 cartridge propelled the arrow at several hundred feet per second and pierced the side of the defenseless giant.

  The manatee let out a cry of pain and anguish like none of them had ever heard before. The massive mammal of flesh and blubber went limp in the water. A ribbon of blood trailed into the Gulf.

  Mikey started to hyperventilate. Mr. Manatee floated in the ocean, dead! His friends had killed him. Why? Why had they been so mean? Mr. Manatee didn't hurt anyone, ever!

  The three boys danced and gave high fives to each other.

  Mikey shivered, still on his hands and knees. Before his eyes, a revolver materialized next to his right hand.

  Words from nowhere spoke in his ear. To get bad people to act good to you, you must treat them badly.

  Mikey knew about guns, and something inside told him this one was real. Not like the plastic guns his mommy bought him to play policeman with.

  The boys had shot Mr. Manatee. They were bad. If he shot them, they couldn't do any bad things to him anymore, Mikey thought.

  The irreverent celebration of the boys made him angry. They had killed his friend and rejoiced over it. He slowly reached out his hand and gripped the butt of the revolver. He studied the long, sleek barrel, cocked back the hammer, and thought about shooting each one in the chest, and then throwing them in the water for the crabs to eat. But something in the back of his mind reminded him of what his mommy had told him, ‘Two wrongs don't make a right.’

  His anger turned to confusion. Mikey tossed the revolver into the deep of the
Gulf and wiped the vomit off of his chin with the back of his hand. He felt scared and like his soul had been violated. He wanted to run home and tell his mommy, but the three boys stood menacingly between him and the shore.

  “Looks like the ’tard’s got his sea legs back,” Kenny said.

  “Yeah, but he smells like puke. He needs a bath,” Kyle surmised.

  “He’s the son of a manatee, he belongs in the water anyway,” Blaine said, and the three charged into Mikey. All four went over the side of the pier.

  Mikey hit the water on his back side and swallowed a mouthful of Gulf as he went under. He flipped himself around and floated to the surface, struggling for air.

  “I'm going to ride Mikey the manatee to shore,” Blaine called.

  Mikey held his own, just barely able to keep his head out of water, and finally got enough air to breathe normally. Blaine caught up with him, grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him back down.

  Mikey's head went completely under. He kicked his legs frantically and paddled with his hands in desperation. His lungs ached for air and was about to take an involuntary breath when he and Blaine were lifted from underneath to the surface.

  The devil ray had them both on his back. Mikey coughed and gasped while Blaine looked on in confusion. With a flick of the ray's pectoral fin, Blaine went flying through the air and splashed into the Gulf. With a supernatural act that defied explanation, the ray lifted out of the water and deposited Mikey back on the pier.

  The three boys treaded water in the Gulf, looking at each other for direction. Kenny was the first to turn and swim for shore, the others followed right on his heels.

  Mikey stood by the edge of the pier. His glasses and hat that had been lost in the water materialized in his hands. He put them on.

  The three boys rapidly swam toward shore. As Mikey watched, a pod of dolphins broke into view and formed a circle around them. The gulls from the beach hovered above as the circle tightened.

  The shrill calls of gulls mingled with human screams as the dolphins fed in a frenzy, ripping meat off bone with their tiny sharp teeth. The water boiled blood red. The gulls dipped to the surface for scraps of sweet flesh and gulped them down, then went back for more.

  “Well, Mikey, things sure did get out of hand here,” said Ray.

  The water's calmed and the dolphins disappeared back into the deep. The seagulls headed back to shore.

  “They killed Mr. Manatee. They were going to kill me.” Mikey looked down at the pier, and then back at Ray.

  “Let that be a lesson to you, lad. Life is simply not fair. You, my boy, were born a little . . . slow. Was that fair? Of course not. So, you see, the key to happiness in life is to take advantage of others before they can take advantage of you. Now, what would it take to make you happy in life?" Ray asked slyly.

  “I want Mr. Manatee to be alive again.”

  “Heh, well, resurrections are not my department. But, there you go, thinking of others first. Now it's time to think of yourself. What would make your dreams come true?”

  “Well, I want to be captain of a ship and sail the world and search for treasure,” Mikey said, feeling selfish.

  “Yes, oh yes! A ship! With three large sails and seven canons on each side. A crew to swab the deck and mend the sails, and an endless keg of rum,” the Ray exclaimed.

  With a motion from his tail, a sixty-foot two mast schooner appeared, floating majestically behind Ray.

  Mikey’s eyes lit up. A broad smile exposed his jack-o’-lantern teeth. It was a real Pirate ship just like he had always dreamed of captaining. The Jolly Roger flew high from the deck and a parrot sat preening itself on the bowsprit.

  “How would you like this to be yours?” Ray asked.

  “I would like it very much, Mr. Ray.”

  “Obviously. But you see, treasures such as these come with a price. Are you willing to pay that price?”

  “How much does it cost? I don't have a lot of money.”

  “Oh, pish-posh. Money can’t buy such treasures in life. This is one of those opportunities that only come around once. And it can be yours if you do just one little thing for me,” the Ray teased.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Kill your mother,” Ray said coldly. “I want you to kill your mother.”

  “Kill my mommy? I'm not going to kill my mommy! You're crazy, Mr. Ray!”

  “No, I'm just trying to protect you. Your mother is unfit. She will be the death of you in time.”

  “She won't kill me. She loves me. She says so all the time.”

  A large black void appeared in the water next to Ray. Images of Estelle in various stages of inebriation flashed like pictures on a movie screen.

  “She's a drunk. Just look at her. Every day and every night she lives in a bottle. She’s not caring for you properly. One day she could get so drunk that she could give you the wrong medicine and kill you. Or be so drunk out of her mind she’ll cut your throat while you sleep and won’t even remember it the next day.”

  Mikey stood speechless, but shook his head no.

  “Your mother is certainly popular with men, isn't she?” The void displayed Estelle in all sorts of sexual positions with a countless number of different men. “Quite the hose beast I would say. That's what she does when you go to bed at night. Right after she gives you your medicine to sleep. Look at her, she really likes it doggy style on the couch. I warn you that if you find any deflated wet balloons lying about, don’t pick them up and play with them,” Ray said sarcastically.

  Mikey watched in silence.

  “What if, what if she meets a man that wants her and not you? A few extra pills before you go to bed and you never wake up. That's why you must kill her. Not just for the ship, but for your very life.”

  “No! No! No! Why do you say these things? You’re mean, Mr. Ray. You’re mean!" Mikey said, pulling handfuls of hair out of his head.

  “The truth hurts doesn’t it? The truth hurts.” The void switched again, with Estelle in a collage of images, and in her own voice saying, “He’s such a retard . . . Mikey’s a retard . . . so fucking retarded . . . retarded is as retarded does.” Over and over again she said those words to his friends and neighbors. Retard this and retard that; retard, retard, retard!

  Mikey closed his eyes and let out a wail from deep within his soul. When he looked up, he was standing on the deck of the Pirate ship, a two-foot silver saber in his hand. He wore a puffy-ruffly white shirt and a long black leather jacket. His black boots came up to the knees on his black pants, and a triangular captain’s hat adorned his head. A mirror of polished silver hung on a mast. Mikey admired himself in it.

  The Ray swam up to the side of the ship. “You’re so close, Mikey. So close to all this being yours.”

  A table materialized on the deck. His mother lay on it bound at her hands and feet, unconscious.

  The black void appeared above her. The images and words repeated the word retard over and over again.

  “She’ll kill you, Mikey. You better get her before she gets you. Do it! Kill her! Kill her now!”

  Estelle’s eyes opened wide. Her lips moved and mouthed the word retard.

  Mikey's anger grew to the point that his sanity was now in question.

  “Retard . . . retard . . . ,” Estelle spoke the words aloud now. “You fucking retard. Do it! Do it! You fucking retard!”

  Mikey cried out and raised the blade high into the air. Estelle spat like a rabid animal demanding him to kill her.

  Mikey closed his eyes and screamed at the heavens; then turned, and jumped off the side of the ship, plunging the silver blade into the head of the devil ray.

  *

  The ship in all its historic glory returned to the time from which it was stolen. The devil ray swam unharmed over to the manatee.

  The spear that had been in the manatee's side blinked out of existence. The manatee up-righted himself in the water. “I told you there was none more true than Mikey.”

 
“Yada. Yada. Yada. You win. I get it. You don't have to rub it in.” Ray sighed. “I guess my rein for winning in the Garden of Eden will end soon enough now. Imagine, a whole new world with eons of peace and happiness; no disease, or hunger, or malformation. How dull, how overwhelmingly, utterly dull . . . ."

  “You'll get another chance, one day. To the victor go the spoils. We’ll do my thing for a while,” the manatee said. “That is, after we erase the slate.”

  *

  Mikey woke flat on his back on the beach not far from the pier. The sun neared the horizon and appeared like a giant orange ball descending into the Gulf. His shoes were gone, and his feet with the unusually large gap between his big and second toe were wet from the reach of the waves. His hat partially covered his eyes. When he sat up to adjust it, he realized his glasses were on his face too.

  He stood cautiously waiting for full command of his balance and walked out into the water to wash off the sand. His glasses had an oily smear coating, so he dunked them in the water and wiped them with his shirt. He waved the glasses back in forth in the air and dried them as best as he could as he trudged back to shore.

  When he put his glasses on, and as his eyes focused, there she was. The girl by the water. The mysterious, beautiful young woman that had taunted him throughout his life; his beloved Princess.

  He was afraid to move. Afraid that if he did one thing wrong—had even one wrong thought—she would disappear again. Mikey so wanted to meet her this time. He forced his eyes open as wide as he could, and ran toward her. He didn't look down to see where to place his steps. His did not blink, for in a blink, she could go away. His heart raced faster as he neared.

  She gazed directly into his eyes. His heart jumped a beat when she gave him a smile.

  He was nearly out of breath and in somewhat disbelief that she had not disappeared.

  The girl held a Triton shell in one hand and stretched out the other to receive him.

  He trotted to a complete stop before her. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but was afraid. Afraid of doing something wrong. It was a feeling he couldn't explain. His genetic gift of a protruding tongue felt dry and sticky in his salt dehydrated mouth. He wanted to speak, but he didn't know what to say.