Craaven

Chapter 1: Watford, England 1977

*TW: NON DESCRIPTIVE MENTIONS OF S*IC*DE*

I paced back and forth in my cell-like bedroom. The pale skin around my eyes had turned lavender from the lack of sleep and stress that plagued my mind. My ears pounded with blood and my heart raced. Sweat calmly dripped down my forehead and neck. My eyes suddenly darted towards the door when the sound heavy footsteps approached.

"Edgar," a low raspy voice calls, "Come on out, I want to speak with ya," My brain screamed at me to run and try to escape through the nailed window, but my legs stayed frozen in fear.

As the man's patience drained, he barged into my room. I'm suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and it let me know this talk wouldn't be a kind one.

My Dad's eyes were weary and dull; they have been for years now. I used to see that comforting twinkle in his eyes, but now, I see nothing. Those eyes used to be the most comforting thing to me. The arms he wrapped around my Mum and me were the safest place I could be. But oh, how it has changed...

"Edgar! What the hell did I just say!? Why do you never listen!?" My father bellows, knocking me off my feet with a hard shove. I land on my back-side with a grunt, my voice high-pitched and scared. Tears formed on my eyelids and soon, the reminiscence of the trail those tears created are tracing my cheekbone and dripping onto my crimson t-shirt.

"I-it's difficult to listen with all your shouting!" I reply, my voice was steadier than anticipated. Dad growled angrily and picked me up off the floor, before pinning my shoulders against the wall. He looked deeply into my eyes, examining every single thread of hate sewn in them. Dad growls.

"You're not my son..."

I felt a chord strike in my heart at the sound of those words. I knew right then and there that I was being forgotten, abandoned, disowned. Any of those was what summed up Dad's odd, abrupt intentions.

"You're nothing but a trapped demon inside my boy's body!" Dad yelled, letting me go and retreating to the middle of the room.

He looked me straight in the eye after yelling. His eyes were filled with tears.

"Dad," I say simply, my voice shaky and quiet. I was confused by his motives. I knew he had always held some level of disdain for me, but he's never done this before. He holds up a hand to silence me. "I don't wanna hear it, freak," He sniffles as he talks.

"Dad... " I start, "What are you doing?" Of course, he didn't answer. All my father did was stare at my face with horrid loathing. Dad sighed as if he made a decision he didn't want to, before reaching into his pocket and suddenly pulling out a pistol.

I gasped loudly, almost screaming. Dad pointed the weapon straight at my head, the barrel merely inches from my eyes.

"Get out before I send you back to hell, demon." My so-called "father" snivelled. Only to avoid getting shot, I scrambled to get my red backpack and head out the door, all the while tears poured from my eyes like a kitchen sink. I just couldn't believe what was happening... This can't be happening! What's going on inside my father's head?! He's never done this before! Why!?

I walked speedily down the hall with my Dad behind me, ready to shoot. At one point I tried to say something to reason with him, hoping I could manipulate his drunk mind into lowering his pistol and letting me go, but once I said "Dad" he cocked the hammer back and shoved the barrel into my scalp.

Once I was outside, Dad gave me one last tear-filled glance before slamming the door. The rain pattered softly on my head as I stood frozen in the front yard, staring blankly at the darkened windows and wondering what had convinced that man to do something so rash to his own son. But suddenly, the sound of a gunshot shook the house with a deafening bang and knocked me out of my trance. Without even thinking, I ran straight back into the house, yelling for him. I went straight to his room and opened the door... he wasn't in there. So I went to every other room in the house.