A little Halloween tale: The Proof
Launching mags has kept me nice and busy over the last few weeks - hence the lack of posts - but I thought I'd drop by and leave a little Halloween tale.
Hope you enjoy and remember, don't have nightmares...
By Cavan Scott
Jackie winced as the spittle splashed against her face. Alan had worked himself into such a lather. She had never seen him like this, not even in the darkest times. His eyes were stretched so wide that a more imaginative mind would have ventured that tiny, invisible clamps had drawn back his lids. But Jackie didn’t have the time, or the inclination, to be imaginative. She was more concerned in controlling her bladder. After all, she’d never been tied up at knifepoint before. Or was that screwdriver-point. Either way the correct terminology was academic. Blade or household-tool, Jackie knew that in his present state of mind – or lack of it for that matter – Alan could inflict catastrophic damage with whatever he laid his hands on.
“And you all said I was being paranoid,” Alan screeched, waving the screwdriver perilously close to Jackie’s face. “You all wanted me carted off to the funny farm didn’t you?”
“No, Alan. It wasn’t like that.” Jackie whimpered in reply, “You have to believe me…”
“I don’t have to do anything you say anymore you little bitch,” the lunatic snapped, a fresh glob of saliva swinging from his stubble-flecked chin. “I used to do what you told me to. Oh yes. Always listen to big sister. Always follow her lead. She just wants the best for you, that’s what Mummy used to say.”
“We just wanted…”
“You just wanted to throw me into a god-forsaken hole and forget about me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Alan’s voice cracked with rage. “So Father didn’t sign the form that gave them permission to marinate my brain in mind-altering drugs? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Jackie’s head fell forward, tears stinging her eyes. Amazing. She really thought she’d sobbed herself dry this evening. No more tears left. Just cold, paralysing fear. There wasn’t even any point arguing with him anymore. Not when he was in this state. Her only hope was that someone would hear his shrieking. But could she really expect a Good Samaritan in this day and age. It was more likely that they would walk by on the other side, thanking their lucky stars that their life didn’t involve a raving maniac. Well lucky old them. If she survived this she would make sure she did they same when they were the ones strapped to a dining-room chair with spark-leads. They’d be the ones with a busted lip and a swollen eye and she’d be skipping down the road safe in her apathy. If she survived.
But she didn’t hold out much hope. Tonight she would die at the hands of her brother. And tomorrow they would take him away and throw him in the dark abyss he feared so much. And there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all.
There was nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all. Alan giggled, wiping his wet lips with the back of his hand. He could taste the metallic hint of her dried blood on his skin. Did she have any idea how pathetic she looked, weeping tears for her miserable life, trust up on that chair like that? Well, she wouldn’t be in this mess if she’d wept tears for him? She wouldn’t be here at all if she had stood up to father, if she had believed him.
But tonight Alan would have his proof and she would be his witness. Oh, he knew his sister believed he would kill her at any second, but she’d also believed he was insane. Now she would know how wrong they’d all been about him. Parents. Doctors. Social Workers. Telling him he was delusional. Telling him that the devils weren’t out there. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The devils were everywhere, and tonight he would prove both their existence and the fact that all his screws were in tightened and in place, thank you very much. Not long now.
Not long now, Jackie thought. He’d strike any minute. It was amazing how calm she felt, despite the tears. Perhaps she’d merely accepted the inevitable. If anything she wondered where he’d do it. Her chest? Her head? How long would it be before the blackness overwhelmed her? How long did it take to die when you’re being stabbed by a screwdriver? Please Lord let it be quick. If this was the end she didn’t want it to be drawn out, didn’t want it to be too painful. And to think she’d only popped in this afternoon to see if he had enough milk. Who would have guessed that a pint of semi-skimmed would see her killed by her brother’s hand?
They should never have let him out. Care in the community? What care? A pat on the head and a stern reminder to take your special pills. Yeah, like that worked. They thought he was doing so well, and now look at him, wide-eyed and seeing them everywhere. The pills that were supposed to keep the demons at bay were probably at the bottom of the sink. They should never have trusted him to take them by himself. She had argued with Father saying that he wasn’t ready, but the stubborn old goat had rejected the idea with his usual bluster. “Nonsense. Give the boy some responsibility and get him out in the real world, away from the nuthouse. If we leave him there he’ll become institutionalised and then where will we be?”
Then when will we be? That’s what it boiled down to. A son locked safely away in a psychiatric ward was an embarrassment. A son back in society proving he could claw his way back was a credit to the family. So the lad thinks that the populace of hell is conspiring with the government to take over the world. A few pills will sort him out, plus a little discipline. Soon have him back to normal.
Well Dad, here’s a news flash. A few pills and a little discipline will have you burying your daughter at this rate. How’s that for the name of the family eh? And she would never be able to say ‘I told you so’.
“This will be my chance to tell them I told them so,” Alan bellowed, arching his arms wide as if to receive rapturous applause from an unseen audience. Jackie wasn’t listening anymore. She was just sitting there in her chair, pissing herself. His wonderful, oh-so-perfect sister with her wonderful, oh-so-perfect husband in their wonderful, oh-so-perfect flat was soiling herself there in front of him. It didn’t matter. She’d never listened to him before. He’d tried to warn her. Oh yeah, he tried all right. They were flesh and blood. He didn’t want to see her devoured by the hell-spawn.
But would she sit up and take notice from her tidy, little suburban life? Hell, no. They said he was bonkers and threw him to bedlam. Thank heavens he’d been able to talk them into letting him out, convincing them that he was ‘healed’. What good could he do strapped to a bed when they were out there? No one else could see them coming, scraping across the walls with their infernal fingers, ready to pounce. But he’d got out just in time, because tonight was the night when they were about to show their demonic hand. Oh yes, old Scratch was making his move with his own brood of weapons of mass destruction but he could be silenced by just one scrap of proof. That’s all Alan needed.
“The key to His plans is our ignorance,” Alan explained, waving the screwdriver to emphasis his point. “You see, while we deny His existence He can run riot. That’s the problem Jackie. People just don’t believe in the Devil any more. And if folk do believe, do you know what they do to them? The doctors and therapists?”
Alan glared at his sister, expecting a reply. When none came, he drew back his arm and swung a devastating back-hander across her face. The chair flew back under the force of the blow and screaming, Jackie crashed to the floor. A yellowing tooth landed in the pool of her blood with a plop.
“Do you know what they do to them?” he yelled, now inches away from her rapidly bruising cheek. Jackie whimpered that she didn’t. “They say they’re nutbars and force them to ingest drugs that make them forgot everything. To toe the company line. And so He wins another battle. Well, not tonight. Tonight everything changes.”
Alan sprung up and spun towards the door, his eyes aflame. “And shall I tell you why Jackie? Tonight everything changes because I’ve seen them on the street. They’re everywhere.”
‘They’re everywhere’. Jackie had forgotten how many times she’d heard her loon of a brother claim that Satan’s little helpers were swarming up from the sewers of hell and sweeping through our shadows. Yet, this was more. She could tell from the dead look in his eyes that he’d finally snapped. There was no going back from this. For either of them.
Through the red haze that danced before her eyes Jackie strained to look up. Alan was standing with his back to her, his entire body tensed like a cat ready to pounce. He really did believe the demons were on their way. What would he do when they didn’t show up? Perhaps that was her role in all this. Dear god, was she a sacrifice to entice Alan’s phantom devils? The tears began to flow again, mixing with blood from her ruined nose and lips. What had she done to deserve this?
For a moment all was quiet in the house, the drama paused to the soft sound of her sobs and her brother’s ragged breathing. And then Jackie heard footsteps through the thick, wooden door. Someone was coming.
Something was coming. Alan’s mouth had gone dry, hairs standing to attention all down his spine. This was it. He’d sent one of his agents to silence Alan once and for all.
But Alan was ready. He’d outsmarted the Prince of Lies. He’d spotted His foul servants in the streets this morning, running here and there as if they owned the place. Laughing. Playing. And now they’d been sent to finish him off. Well, sorry Nick old thing, the best laid plans of mice and fallen angels eh? The trap was set and Alan would finally get the proof he’d longed for all his life.
Feet scuffed along the path, crunching through the decaying blanket of autumn leaves. The arrogance of the creatures, not even bothering to mask their arrival. So confident that they would get what they came for. Oh, they would get something all right.
Alan’s ears pricked. He couldn’t even hear the whimpering of his sister anymore. No, now he was completely focused on the sounds from the other side of the door. How many of them were there? Two? Three? No-matter. He only needed one. They were almost upon him, ready to strike. His hand came up, the screwdriver glinting in the glow from the porch bulb. In his mind’s eye he saw them halt, evil, piggy eyes darting left to right as the leader of the pack reached for the door.
Time to meet the enemy.
With a flourish Alan leapt forward and violently yanked the door open. For a moment his blood froze in his veins at the very sight of them, exactly how he’d always seen them. Skeletal dwarfs, covered head to toe in the blood of the innocent, forks held aloft in their scrawny, cursed hands. Devils on the doorstep.
All at once the creatures released a banshee wail that could burst a man’s eardrums but Alan wasn’t going to be scared off. Not when he’d come this far. Not when he had his proof at last. With a frantic cry of triumph he flung himself on the disgusting form of the first demon, feeling its brittle bones crack beneath his weight. Its companions turned and fled yelping like wounded dogs but Alan held on as the slippery horror twisted in his grip. Alan was stronger. Alan had right on his side.
The screwdriver slashed through the air as Jackie screamed at him to stop. What was the matter with her? Couldn’t she see that this was the evidence they needed? Or was she one of them too? Had his own sister been a spy in the midst, a changeling left by the Lucifer Himself?
Claws raked at his forearm and yet he continued his attack, striking again and again. A fountain of black ooze erupted from the wound in the thing’s neck, splattering its vile mess over Alan’s face, unholy cries cutting through the oppressive air. With a final grunt of exertion Alan rammed the screwdriver into the ragged gash, feeling inhuman flesh pop as it sunk into the gore to its hilt.
The creature lay still.
Tears cut paths through the muck on Alan’s face. It was over. He had his prize. Surely, they had to listen now.
Rocking softly back and forth, Alan hugged the vanquished demon as if it was a gift from on high, licking its foul blood from his own lips. From behind him he could hear the running footsteps and shouts coming from the street. They were coming now. They would see for themselves.
They were coming now. They would see for themselves. And they would release her from her bonds, of that Jackie had no doubt. Any other day she would have been worrying about her appearance but not now. She couldn’t even twist a hand free to wipe away the string of vomit from her mouth but she didn’t care. Not now she saw what her brother was hugging in the doorway. It was over. He had his prize.
A passer-by was the first to arrive, clasping a hand over his ashen face as he took in the scene. Then the police came. They were yanking Alan away from the butchered form that tumbled from his arms, warning him to shut it as he babbled how he had slain the demon. As he finally released his grip, the corpse hit the floor with a sickening, wet slap and for a second Jackie was staring directly into the sightless eyes of the child. His blood had soaked through his costume and the sweets he had collected from Alan’s neighbours rolled across the grime of the carpet, collecting by his fallen, plastic devil’s fork. As her eyes rolled up into their sockets and the world began to fade away, the sound of Alan’s high-pitched shouts of joy broke through the ever-darkening gloom.
“Did you hear what it said to me Jackie, before I ripped out its throat?” The room faded to black. “Trick or treat Jackie. That’s what it said. Trick or treat!”
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posted by Cav at
9:33 PM
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