Chronicles of the Living

Chapter 3

     The next thing I remembered was screaming. Horrible blood curdling screams. The screams of a dead woman. I could see her, staring into my eyes like she was searching for something. Searching for a soul maybe? I'm unsure if I believe in the concept of a soul, but when I see her face I have to believe it to be true. Her eyes slice through, past my flesh and through bone. I can feel her in my soul.

     Help me! Please help me! Some one please!

     God the screaming. Begging, pleading for life.

     I see you.

     The screaming stopped suddenly, like a train coming to a screeching halt. I was relieved for only a moment before the whistling started. I know that tune. I swear I know that tune. It's like it's engraved into my mind like stone hieroglyphics.

     Oh Tommy what happened?

     A calming voice enters my screaming mind.

     I'm scared momma.

     Oh my sweet boy, there's nothing to be afraid of. God has a plan for all of us. There's no fear in heaven sweet boy.

     I don't wanna go to heaven mommy. I wanna stay here with my friends.

     Ittle be ok sweetie, you won't have to worry about that for a long long time.

     Promise?

     Another voice finds its way in. A voice I do my best to never hear again.

     Christine!? Where the fuck did you put my bottle.

     Stay here sweetie I'll be right back.

     I'm so scared momma.

     The voices ceased for a short time. Only to be replaced by a familiar whistle. I can see him now. Pacing my hallway. Back and forth and back and forth. He would stop outside my door, lean in as if to say something. He says nothing, only the whistling continues. Then darkness, not complete darkness. No the darkness of a hiding place. A place my mind goes to when I feel true fear.

     Where the fuck is he!?

     Leave him alone Darryl!

     Shut the fuck up bitch!

     A loud slap rings in my mind then a loud thud, and crying. I see the door swing open and hear it crash against the drywall.

     Tommy, Tommy boy where are you I just wanna talk buddy.

     He doesn't wanna talk. I know his tricks by now. 8 years on this earth with him I know him well enough to know he never wants to talk. I can smell his intent on his breath.

     Then a hand, lifting the bed by the frame.

     I see you.

     I'm sorry poppa.

     Sorrys only count as admission of guilt. Saying sorry to him is like poking a bear with a stick.

     Where's my bottle buddy?

     I don't know poppa.

     The bed flies toppling upside down in the middle of the room.

      Dont you fucking lie to me boy!

     Darryl stop!

     I said shut the fuck up! Don't tell me how to deal with my fucking son! You coddle him! You baby him like he's a precious child while this little shit makes my life hell!