Alex and The Gruff (A Tale of Horror)

by C. Sean McGee

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “You disappoint me.”

  “What did I do wrong? I did what you asked.”

  “You know you’re not doing it right. You haven’t even touched him.”

  “I don’t know. I did everything you said.”

  “Everything? You brought chicken.”

  “That was all that we had.”

  “I told you steak. I specifically said, two pieces of juicy tenderloin. And what did you bring me?”

  “Chicken sir.”

  “Don’t call me sir. You I know I don’t like that.”

  “I’m sorry Mr. Gruff.”

  The Gruff sat in his arm chair smoking a cigar that looked more like a gorilla’s big toe and it was almost as big as his forearm. Beside him, on one of the armrests, was a glass of whiskey and beside it, rolled in a ball, a dirty magazine.

  “Why do you want the boy?”

  The Gruff inhaled. His cheeks puffed out as he swirled the smoke in his mouth and then twirled his tongue in circles so that when he exhaled, the smoke came out in giant circular clouds that carried in the air, up near the roof before they puffed away into thin air.

  The Gruff didn’t answer him. Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he didn’t know the answer. Maybe he was just mean and he didn’t care. He didn’t even look at The Man, who was now kneeling down in front of the arm chair with his two hands placed on his knees and his eyes wide, like two great planets, hoping that a single stare might gravitate towards him.

  “I don’t want them to find us.”

  “Nobody’s getting caught. Stop sounding so defeated.”

  “But we can’t just keep doing this. The last time…”

  “The last time was your fucking fault!” shouted The Gruff.

  The Man lowered his head. He was ashamed. The Gruff was right. The other boy, he didn’t have to get hurt. It didn’t have to end the way that it did. If he’d only followed the rules.

  “He tried to run. He was going to tell someone. I had to do it. I did it for you.”

  The Gruff snorted and he grumbled. He inhaled again on the cigar and he stared off towards the ceiling as he blew smoke rings into the air, one after the other. He even managed to blow one smoke ring through another.

  The Man crawled on his knees into the shower. It was too small for him. The shower head was too low. It was made for a small boy, not a big man like him. But it was the only shower there was.

  The Man took off his clothes. He wasn’t acting tough or mean like he was before. He looked like he was being made to do it, like he didn’t want to. But The Gruff had said nothing. He had made him do nothing. He was sitting back in his chair, smoking his cigar and taking large gulps of whiskey and swishing it round in his mouth before he swallowed it down. He wasn’t even looking at The Man.

  The Man crawled into the shower and tucked himself into a tight ball so he could fit under the running water. There wasn’t much space. He couldn’t even soap himself properly. He did the best he could, though.

  “Do you still love me?” The Man asked.

  The Gruff didn’t respond.

  He was focused on making a giant smoke ring and then shooting off as many small smoke rings through the center as he could. He managed to get six before he ran out of breath.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt that boy. I promise. I just… I didn’t want you to go away.”

  The Man reached his hand out of the shower. He was still curled in a ball. It was the only way that he could fit. He reached his hand out so that his fingers were touching the crystal that The Gruff was drinking from. He petted it lightly with his index and middle fingers as if he were petting a small kitten; gentle and slow so as not to frighten it off.

  The Gruff took the glass and laid it down on the opposing arm rest. He clenched his fist and smacked down on The Man’s fingers.

  “You used to laugh,” he said.

  The Man looked up, but water was spilling into his eyes. He couldn’t see The Gruff properly. He couldn’t see that The Gruff was looking at him. And he couldn’t see that The Gruff was upset.

  “His name’s Alex,” said The Gruff.

  The Man already knew that. He had watched Alex every day for two weeks. He had followed him to school. He had watched him from across the road as he snuck out of class and ran down along the wall and hid around the corner. He was even thinking about taking him one of those days, but his brother came along.

  The Man had spent every night sitting in an old tree outside Alex’s bedroom window watching him tossing and turning under his blanket and listening to the sound of rusted springs squeaking. Even in the strong wind that was blowing, he could still hear the sound of the springs squeaking as Alex turned his body back and forth all night long, unable to get to sleep.

  He even leaned forwards one time, trying to get a peak of an album Alex’s brother had bought. He liked the same kind of music. He leaned on a big old branch and he must have leaned too far or too heavy cause the end of the branch, it scratched against the window and it sounded like someone’s nails, scratching against a blackboard. It made him jump back straight away and that was what made the whole tree shake and that was what made Alex look out from under his covers and almost see him. All he wanted was to see the cover of that album.

  The Man knew his name was Alex. He saw it on his school bag when he followed him and his mother home and he heard it from under Alex’s bed, when his mother shouted his name, calling him to dinner and when she woke him up and asked him to brush his teeth for the tenth time.

  He knew his name as well because Alex had told him, last night, just before he pushed him into the boot of his car. He didn’t like the name, though. He didn’t like the sound of it. It was a short name, but it didn’t sound short. It made him feel like he had broken glass in his mouth when he said it.

  Some names you can say them and it’s real quick. Other names are like chewing gum and it’s hard to get the ends of them off your teeth and they make your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth.

  Alex was one of those names.

  “Alex,” he said. “That’s a nice name.”

  “He laughs with me you know,” said The Gruff.

  The Man put his head back under the water. He tucked his body back into his legs. His hair was stuck to the sides of his face as the water cascaded down on top of him. It rushed into his eyes and it rushed into the corners of his mouth and he titled his head slightly so it rushed into his right ear and it sounded like the whole world was flooding and for a second. He couldn’t hear The Gruff grumbling between puffs on his cigar.

  “You used to laugh,” said The Gruff.

  He was swirling the ice in his glass.

  It sounded like teeth grinding.

  “You don’t do that anymore.”

  The Man wanted to cry.

  He couldn’t.

  The Gruff hated crying.

  “I can’t believe you brought me chicken,” said The Gruff.