The Southern Bank

Chapter 5

I started to go to therapy. I knew if I was going to look after a child I would have to get over the death of my last. They last maybe two hours, I tried to explain how I feel but it was getting really difficult. But luckily my therapist is a nice person and helps a lot. I have yet to tell him that my son was murdered and I have a trial with a kid I might adopt but his story didn't add up to the police which I find suspicious. I just babble to him about random things and keep on track of trying to get over my son's death since it's been almost two months since he died. I have been working on a painting because Dr. Brown, my therapist had told me it might help since it helped his other patients dealing with death. Personally, it's been okay. Ivan thinks it's a bit weird how I'm painting it.

I walk out of my bedroom letting my painting dry, I see Ivan working on a piece of art himself. I walk behind him and look over his shoulder to see what he had drawn. I saw two people and two arrows pointing at both of them, one saying 'Me' and the other saying 'Bradley'. I look closer and see Bradley as I found him the day he died, had no legs in his drawing. When I looked over at Ivan he was holding an ax. "Hey Ivan, what are you drawing?" I say in a suspicious voice. I looked scared looking up at me, he covered his work and said "Nothing, Just Drawing." I walk over to the sink to clean out the dirty paint water and paintbrush. When I look back at Ivan he is continuing to draw. I turn around resting my hands on the counter behind me, something seems odd. I walked toward the bathroom but took a sharp left to his room, I started to look through some of the drawers to find anything odd. I looked under his bed, under the mattress, under the dresser, and in the closet, and found nothing. I start to walk out of his room to see him at the end of the hallway just standing there and staring at me. I looked back at him, "What are you doing." He asked his voice emotionless as if it was a void. "I lost a piece of clothing and thought I mixed it up with your stuff." I lied and walked down to the hallway and smiled at him as I walked back to my room. I didn't slam the door behind me, if I did he would know I was unsuccessful at something. I fell face first onto my bed onto the covers and sat in complete darkness. I lifted my head and I see the bright sun shining through my windows, I looked at the clock and I had only been there for six minutes. I feel a breeze of airflow through my room and I see a window open. One that I haven't opened since I bought this cottage. I look around the room to see if anything is off. I look at the painting in the corner of my room. Paint, that I had not put there was painted all over the canvas. I rub my eyes because I thought I could be imagining it, but when I open my eyes it was still there. Then I was able to read what was written on it.

You're Next

I over to the canvas to feel the paint. Still wet, recent. Someone had recently painted the words onto the painting. But who? I look out the window and saw no one. I slowly open my door to see if there was anyone there. No one.

If no one is there then where is Ivan?

I run out into the living room to see Ivan washing his hands, "Hey Ivan, you okay?" I asked. He looked over to me and replied "Yea, just trying to get this stain off my hands." I walk over to him and look at the stain. It was a red stain, "How did you get that?" I murmured. I looked from his fingers to his face. "From some markers," he noted. I don't remember I owned markers. I slowly nodded as I walked away to sit in the living room. I turned on the TV which was already turned to the news. A family a town over was murdered last night. I don't know if any of the recent murders were connected. I wasn't wanting to find out, I turned to look at Ivan to see if he still is watching off the stain.

He was gone.

 I start to think I'm just a bad parent. I lost Ivan so many times because of how quiet he was. I had two kids killed at my house and everything just seems possible when it comes to me. "Ivan," I yelled out. Silence. Odd Silence, too quiet. I get up and walk into the hallway, "Ivan?" I spoke, I start opening doors in the hallway hoping to find him. I knocked on the bathroom door, I knocked on his door, opened it, and still, he was nowhere. I walked out of the hallway and into the messy dining room, crayons scattered all over the table and a bunch of different drawings on the table. I walk over and pick up a few, I never knew a twelve-year-old had a mind quite as messed up and bloody as Ivan's is.

The drawings are of murder scenes, I see Bradley's death in a drawing form. But it looks different, that's when I realize it's from a first-person point of view. I started to shuffle through them and see they were all in a first-person point of view. I keep shuffling until I see one. A small-looking body lying face first in the mud with hay all over the place. Without a head. With dark brownish-blackish hair in a tiny ponytail on the top of the head. Blue eyes looking lifeless.

William.

I take a sharp breath and look at the other drawings. They all look like families and kids murdered in brutal ways. One looks like the whole family hanging from a tree only by a rope wrapped around their necks. Another looked like the kid was turned inside out with all her guts hanging out. A mother and her child are cut up and have other body parts. I felt a tear run down my cheek. It had to be all fake and he is just drawing nightmares. I look up from the drawings and look out the window. I see out in the far distance Ivan walking back toward the house, I put the drawings back on the table so it looks as if I didn't touch them. I run into my room and lock the door behind me. I start to cry and tear at my hair. There was no way that Ivan did that on purpose. There had to be at least ten drawings all different and all from a first-person point of view. There was no possible way, but then I started to think "It could be possible." I stood up and walked out my door to find Ivan drawing again. "Does he draw his murders?" I whispered to myself, I know I should ask about it but I think I should talk to him about it. There's not anything about those drawings. I'm worried, really worried. I walk passed him to get to the front door and as I walked past he covered them up as if there was nothing to see. I have no clue what I should do. It's either talking to someone about it or staying in a house with a possible serial killer.