Demented

Prologue

The house was at the end of the streets, away from all the chatter and gossips and lurked in solitary. The previous owner had been a florist and an interior decorator so there was no question towards the beauty of the place. Not so huge but the house was a thing to admire for passersby.
A young boy stepped out into the morning sun accompanied by his father. The boy was about to reach his teenage but possessed a kind of sheen in his eyes that comes with understanding of life. His father, a heavy built man with a stern yet elegant face of dark complexion, blue eyes and dark brown hair walked lithely alongside him.
"I hate that punk..." The boy finished through grated teeth.
"Hmm..." The man nodded with a smile, "Brawl him if he ever disrespects you again, alright?"
"But he's strong, and besides, I'll be restricted from school," The boy answered with dying spirits.
"Don't you worry about school, just give it a good fight. You can stay at home until I find a job again," The man replied.
"Really?" The boy had his spirits back ablaze, "Thanks Dad. I love you."
The man smiled. That smile had always made the son feel strengthened. It had always conveyed that he wasn't the last fighter in the world. The smile was of a warrior who could assure protection until he made you into one yourself.
"I'm gonna stay at home today. Let's go out, I'll pick you up from the school."
"Sure dad, but I guess I'm going to be a bit late today. We've got extra classes."
"Call me when you're done. Here, take my cell phone, call me on the landline telephone," The man placed his glittering silver phone into the kid's open palm.
"It's saved as 'Home', right?" the kid fumbled through the contacts with enthusiasm.
"Nah, that used to be my home's phone number back in Minnesota, the number here I saved with the name 'Michigan'," The man soberly said.
"But Grandpa and Grandma are dead, aren't they? Why do you still keep this number?" There was a tone of exasperation in the kid's voice.
"It's not sentimental in any way son. It's just that I never bothered deleting it."
"Why do we have to keep moving dad?" The juvenile face broke into gloom. "We only stayed five months in the previous town and only eight in the one before that. Why can't we just stay?"
The man placed a reassuring hand over the kid's shoulder which was crooked under the weight of schoolbag.
"When things don't move, it means they're dead."