Psycho

Prologue 1

Craig lifted the chair and placed it next to the drawer, careful not to wake his parents, it was heavy and unstable with his small arms and his hands could just barely fit around the legs. He climbed on the chair and opened the drawer before picking out the perfect knife. After climbing off the chair he snuck back into his bedroom. He slowly closed the door and it clicked into place. Craig turned on his night light and put the knife to his fingers, slowly and carefully he scraped away at the sides of his fingernails. It felt good, the sound it made satisfied him and the feeling made his toes curl. He scraped at his nail until it was as sharp as it possible could be, admiring his work Craig put down the knife and rubbed his index finger of his right hand along the now sharply curved edges of his fingernail. It was a coarse feeling that would make most people feel uncomfortable, but Craig... He enjoyed it. He lifted the knife and ran his finger along the edge, the blade shimmered in the dim radiance of his night light. He smiled at it and continued to transform his nails. On his last finger when he had already switched hands and finished the left hand, the blade slipped off his nail and cut the flesh of the opposite finger wide open. A tear then two then three began to run down his face as the pain began to reach his nerves. Ouch, that hurts or at least daddy said it would, but... Craig lifted the knife to his middle finger of his right hand and deliberately slid the blade across his finger, blood soon followed. Craig again felt the pain, he looked at his cut fingers and ran his hand across them, feeling the slit in his skin. Seeming almost unsatisfied at the pain it caused he began cutting the flesh of the rest of his fingers, continued to slice them until eventually the cuts covered almost all of the visible flesh of his hands. The blood from his fingers lightly coated his skin as though he had dyed it with food colouring. He dropped the knife and it landed on one of his toys making a horrible cracking sound. His eyes were instantly attracted to the toy tractor. He picked it up and examined the damage caused by the knife. His fascination bred a smile as he ran his now coarse fingers across the cracks, feeling each individual movement. His cuts left a thin streak of blood following his fingers as they caressed the toy. I did this... I can create this. He threw the toy to the ground with hopes of destruction, he wasn't disappointed. Sure enough the tractor crashed to ground and the exhaust broke off. He smiled again lifting his blankets. "WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING!?" his father demanded from Craig. He seemed more afraid than angry when he saw Craig's fingers covered in blood and cuts and the kitchen knife lying on the floor. He rushed to the knife and snatched it away, "Are you insane? How the heck did you get this?!" Craig only looked at his father with empty eyes. I was curious. I was just curious. Craig dared not speak. He knew better than to speak or try argue and he knew he would never be able to explain to his father what he had been doing. "Martha! Get the first aid!" Craig broke his father's gaze and looked to the floor, thinking about what he had done, what he had created, but he felt no regret. Craig felt a fist form as he glared at the knife his father now possesed. I don't need that. He looked at his nails. I have these. Martha, a red haired women with pink pajamas and puppy slippers, appeared in the doorway with a small red bag and handed it to Brad with a shocked fear on her face. "What happened here!" she seemed concerned instead of angry at the sight of her son's injuries. In a second she was at Craig's side investigating his injuries thoroughly. "I told you we should take him to the institution... He needs help." "And I told you we weren't going to do that Brad." Craig withdrew himself from another of his parents arguments and took refuge within the beautiful wastelands of his mind. Craig summoned forth a paper with which to experiment with, great work, now you don't need the knife. Craig looked around, searching for the residence of the voice he had heard. There is no use looking for me. You will not find me... While I am hiding. Craig was fearless behind the safety of his mind. "Who are you?" Craig inquired with a high pitched and childish voice. I am you. You are me.

Martha led Craig by the hand through the dimly lit hallway. They stepped carefully between the toys and train tracks that lay dispersed across the white and blue tiles.
"We will have to pick these up tomorrow." Craig looked at his mother and nodded. "I want you to sleep by daddy and me tonight. Ok?" Craig again nodded in approval.

Craig was woken by the sound of his mother's hushed voice. She was talking on the phone with someone with a sad look. "Ok... thank you... looking forward to it... bye." Martha put the landline down and looked at Craig solemnly. "A man is coming later... daddy wants him to talk to you." Craig barely heard her words through his trance, but he nodded anyway. Martha held out her hand calling for Craig's. Slowly he crawled out from under the brown fuzzy sheets and stepped on to the warm, sun striken carpet before taking his mother's hand. The room was brightly lit as the curtains had been drawn to allow the sunlight to take residence within the room. Craig could see his red hair in the low hanging mirror to his right, as well as his blue and red Spider Man pajamas that were stained by the events of the previous night. "What do you want for breakfast?" Martha didn't even seem to remember the previous night, it was as though it had been completely wiped from her mind. The memory, hidden behind a veil of disbelief. Craig looked up at his mother with the eyes of a careless child. "Krispies please." All Craig could think about was the sound of the Rice Krispies crackling and popping. I enjoy the sound too. It's gives me goosebumps. "I know, its great isn't it?" "What was that?" "Oh, nothing." Craig remembered that his mother couldn't hear him, the boy in his head and scolded himself silently for speaking aloud.

After eating breakfast a man with a short beard, sideburns and a moustache arrived. He was wearing a very professional black suit with a red tie and a fedora lay atop his perfectly shaped head. The man walked into the living room taking note of every household element, he seemed unimpressed at the living room's light purple almost blue wall paint and the brown and cream coloured rug that lay on the floor. He sat down on the dark grey couch in the center of the back wall that lay directly across from the TV and he asked Craig to sit on the couch next to him. The man shifted through a file before revealing a coffee clipboard. "Ok Craig, my name is Dr. Maclbee. I am just here to have a short chat with you." The man's voice was deep but kind and welcoming. "Did you do that?" The man gestured to Craig's hands and he immediately withdrew them from sight. "It's ok, I'm not going to hurt you." The man mistook the action for insecurity, but Craig didn't like strangers, he didn't like people. "Can I see?" Craig only looked at the stranger with a blank face. "Craig... Let the man see." Craig obediently showed Mr.Maclbee his art. He made a few observational sounds as he felt and studied the markings on Craig's hand. "Why did you do this?" "I was just... Curious." The man scribbled something on his clipboard, "Didn't it hurt?" Craig remembered the tears that ran down his face when he had made the first cut. "It hurt for a little, but only for a little." Again the man wrote on his clipboard. "If it hurt, then why did you do it again?" The man seemed to show no emotion to Craig's answers. "Because... Because-" Don't tell him. He won't understand. You can't tell him why. "-Because I-" Don't tell him. Craig's hand turned into a fist and his nails cut his leg leaving a red streak. "Craig, calm down." I won't let you tell him.