The Horror in Smithville - Part Thirteen

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[caption id="attachment_2489" align="aligncenter" width="500"] The Horror in Smithville[/caption]

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Welcome back My Dear Readers to The Other Shoe. This, too, is a big heartfelt welcome to the 13^th episode of my horror story ‘The Horror in Smithville’. Today, I present to you the single most graphic and… intense episode of this story, to date. Whereas, I usually write a bit of an introduction this time I will be brief. It is 5:50 AM Saturday June 21^st, 2014. I have not slept, since Wednesday night. I am having some real problems getting any sleep. As well, whenever I eat? I have problems with the food staying down.

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So, tonight, instead of sleeping? I sat down a wrote… the single most terrifying… graphic and intense bit of writing I have ever put to paper in my entire life. While writing this bit (as it usually happens with me) I have envisioned the major events of the next three to four episodes. My Dear Readers, this chapter is not the high point. No, rather, after this episode passes, in episode 14, even more death and destruction is joined.

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This is just the way it is happening, My Dear Readers, just the way it unfolds in my head. Honestly, I am as surprised by what I write as you are surprised by what you read. I will not give away any teasers, that is just not how I roll. I will say this.

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If you find this episode too disturbing, too violent, too bloody or what-not? Then, what is to come will, most certainly, curl your blood. While writing this (prose? Did you hear this episode? Could you feel the beat under the words?), I got a glimpse of many of the chapters to come. This. My first venture into the genre of horror, is going to be far more horrific than I first imagined.

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For anyone that is bothered by this, I apologize. However, once written the hand moves on, never going backwards. I do hope that everyone DOES READ THIS episode. It really is some of the best writing I have done in… decades!

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ENJOY!
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Part Thirteen

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Barry appeared to loose interest in pounding his fists into Timmy’s face, rather quickly, when he suddenly proclaimed.

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“What am I doing? I wanted to see this gaywad’s head bounce on this here concrete!”

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As if taking a command from some inner ‘lizard’ part of his brain (buried deep under years of; torment, humiliation and abuse) Barry stopped pounding the daylights out of Timmy’s face. Only to grab Timmy by the ears… and proceed to (as he eloquently stated, just moments before) to bounce Timmy’s head against this here concrete. Gripped in horror, shock and fear Archer stood (limply) by and watched as his best friend in the world’s head bounced, time and again, against the cold hard concrete. Not that anyone was noticing, but the snow hard began to fall; harder and faster with every passing moment.

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“Awww, YEAH!!! Gaywad’s little fat head… it bounces GOOD!”

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Time and time again, with all the force Barry could muster, Timmy’s twelve year old head, was thrown against the cold hard concrete. With each downward thrust, his head bounced right back up. Still grabbing him, by the ears, Barry would thrust Timmy’s head against the cold hard concrete below. The first couple of times, it did not make much noise. However, by the third or fourth… bounce, you could hear the crack of cranial bone and the soft sound of his blood-matted hair sticking to, then being pulled up from the pooled blood. The combination of cracking bone, and sloppy sound blood-matted hair adhering to, then being pulled away from, the now pool of Timmy’s blood forming under his head… was enough to make any grown man vomit.

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“Bounceity, bounceity, bounce, bounce bounce! You ain’t so smart now, are you Gaywad!?!”

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From Timmy’s point of view, this had all happened so fast he was not really sure it was happening… at all. All Timmy knew was that everything around him…. Was bouncing, like a ball. It would stop, for a second, and then it would bounce, again, really really hard. He felt sharp pain, in the back of his head. Like a thousand and one nails being driven into the back of his head… all at once! Timmy was having problems focusing his view. For a moment he could see Barry’s smiling imbecilic face, and then it would turn into a blurred view. Clear, so clear he could see that Barry was so enjoying something that it was making him drool!

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Long strings of his salvia, drooled down onto his face. Timmy was not bothered by that, nearly as much as the growing darkness… and cold. Timmy couldn’t figure out which bothered him more, the thousand and one nails being driven into his skull? Or the cold, wet, disgusting drool that was dribbling all over his face. It didn’t really matter, Timmy could now tell. The darkness and the cold would soon take him away. As if in a tunnel, Timmy’s vision did grow smaller… and smaller. Frantic voices he heard... was that Archer he heard screaming? He hoped he was all right!

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When, no longer could Timmy keep his focus, anymore. Just as Timmy noticed the snow falling from the sky, everything around him went gray…. Then black. Under Timmy’s head a large pool of warm blood had formed. The blood looked ever darker, darker than anyone could have imagined, as it formed there surrounded by the white falling snow. Directly under Timmy’s head, the blood was dark as crimson. As the blood feathered out into the freshly fallen white snow, it faded in color. At the very edges of the pool of blood the snow turned a bright pink, almost festive in its color and design. Almost.

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Archer stood just a few scarce feet from Timmy and Barry, with tears forming in his eyes, shock and fear painted over every inch of his face. As Archer’s tears feel to the ground, they dropped, as if in cadence, with blood coming out of Timmy’s ears. Children, teachers, bus drivers all stood in the now heavily falling snow. Transfixed with horror, and with fear, they stood and watched as Barry extracted his brutal revenge. Some crying, some screaming in fear and handful had fallen to their knees either praying or throwing up their recently eaten lunches.

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Many of the teachers had moved to the very front of the crowd, almost like they had initially felt a responsibility to act. Only to, either, be transfixed by their fear of what they bore witness. Some, halted in their advance to help by their own gnawing fear that Barry night well do the same to them, too. Either way, nobody was moving stop Barry or come to Timmy’s rescue. There must have been more than thirty; teachers, students and bus drivers all gathered just a few scant feet away from Timmy’s, now, deformed head.

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That was what shocked Truman the most, as he approached the back of the gymnasium to start his daily chore of ‘Bus Monitor’. He had, admittedly, been late to arrive for his duties, today. He had been called to the Principal’s office shortly after the last bell. Principal Marsch had been called to the Carnival job site, and Roger wanted Truman to ‘take over’ while he was off campus. He had taken a few moments to talk with Betty Sue, an action that he now would regret for the ret of his life. It was just that Betty Sue was so needy! With Principal Marsch off campus Betty Sue demanded that she confirm Truman’s cell number, home telephone number, and assure her that “If I call you will answer, right Truman?” The moments he had spent giving assurances to Betty Sue, could well have been better spent saving Timmy Marref’s life.

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Truman knew something was very wrong when he had come around the corner of the English building. He had a clear line of sight to the buses, and the bleachers behind the gym. He could not make out who, but somebody was sitting on someone’s chest… was the larger boy bouncing the head of the other… into the concrete? Truman’s steps now turned into a slight run. With every passing moment, and every foot decreased between him and the ‘fallen child’ he could make out more and more of the scene ahead of him. When Truman was within thirty feet… he thought he was going to loose his lunch! Truman’s gallop now hastened to a fast run!

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Just as Truman was able to make out the face of Barry Gartuska, two things happened… nearly simultaneously. First, Truman heard a boy’s scream. Second, he saw Mr. Marref break into a run towards the two boys engaged in the fight. Truman thought ‘fight’ but even at the distance he was, he could clearly see there was no ‘fight’. Obviously, this was one (much larger) boy beating the punk out of another (smaller) boy. Truman was overcome with nausea… and anger! Red HOT anger! Truman rarely felt angry. He had worked very hard, over the past two decades, to overcome his anger(s). What he saw, that day in the snow, made Truman more angry than he had been… in decades. Truman did not know if he would make there ‘in time’ to save the beaten boy’s life, but he was certain he would make sure that the other boy paid for his… violent and bloody BEATING!

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Archer was gripped in fear… and then… there was the guilt. If he had come around the corner before Timmy… it would be him, Archer on the ground and not Timmy. If they had stopped by their lockers… put away books they would not need over the ‘Three-Day Weekend’… maybe… just maybe Barry would have grown bored and gone off to smoke a cigarette. Archer was not moving because he was very afraid of Barry. Archer was not moving… because… all that blood! The concrete was soaked in it… Timmy’s blood. There was so much BLOOD! It was matted in Timmy’s hair. It was pooled under Timmy’s head. It spread out, from the spot where Timmy’s head continually returned, right before it (again) bounced back up! The pool of blood must have been three feet in diameter.

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There was just so much BLOOD! It was mixing with the snow, now, with feathered edges it turned from deep crimson to brunt pink, and everything in between. Then, there was the sound. The dull crackling sound, that was made when Timmy’s head made contact with the cold hard concrete below. The dull crackling sound, that made Archer feel like he was going to throw up. The dull crackling sound that his friend Timmy’s head was making was so unnatural. The sound… the blood… the crying children… the crimson snow… Archer was not sure just how much more of this scene he could take, without going mad. Then, he head footsteps, behind him. Fast heavy footsteps, directly behind him. Was someone coming to make this madness stop?!?

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When Archer, not one more moment of this horror take, he screamed out at Barry, from a deep dark place.

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“Stop it… STOP ITTT!! You are KILLING him! You are KILLING my FRIEND!”

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These words would have moved a normal human to habituation if not halt. On Barry these words had the opposite effect. On the Barry, sitting on Timmy’s chest bouncing his head against the cold hard concrete, snow falling all around. ON Barry these words seemed to have the very opposite effect. Without halting, even for one second, his “bouncity, bounce, bounce, bounce” Barry turned his blood speckled and smiling face towards Archer, and said.

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“I got no bone to pick with you, Gaywad two. Just stay where you are… and I won’t have no need to see how your head will bounceity, bounceity, bounce, bounce, bounce on this here concrete!”

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Those words sent a chill, to their very bones, to everyone close enough to hear. On Archer… something inside did snap! Not one more moment could Archer stand idly by, and watch as life left his best’est friend. With blood now flowing from his ears and eyes. Archer gripped his finger into his hand… so hard into his hands, that curved holes formed and blood then dried. Archer’s fingers were gripped into bone tight fists of anger and rage! Archer knew, full well, that if he made a move on Barry… then, soon, it would be Archer on the cold hard concrete with blood flowing out of his eyes and ears. But, it would be worth it! Every moment Barry spent pounding Archer’s head into the cold hard concrete, was one moment less Timmy would be robbed of life. Archer was ready! Ready to put his life in jeopardy to save Timmy’s life.

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Truman was now close enough to smell the blood. At first, it made Truman’s stomach twist and turn. Then something else happened. It started out the way it always had before, an emptiness deep in the pit of his stomach… followed by a rising ire… an anger, red hot inside his head and his stomach. Truman knew this feeling all too well. He stopped, dead in his tracks, and remembered his mantra. ‘Turn away your anger… least your anger turn to hatred… then your hatred turns to actions. Actions out of hatred only lead to suffering. Only lead to the suffering of OTHERS!’ Truman said the (old and rote) mantra, and his blood cooled. Barry, little did he know, could ‘Thank’ Truman’s mantra for Barry ending up in the Principal’s office… alive! Not with his neck snapped in twain… which Truman’s hands were totally capable of doing. Truman opened his eyes, just in time to see a bluish blur…

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Just as Archer was about to take a running jump at the animal that Barry had become? A bluish blur came into view. From the very edge of his peripheral vision, to the left, came a large blue denim blur. The blur did not halt as it flashed over Barry, removing him from little Timmy’s chest. The blur did not stop there, but went on to the right some more. When the bluish blur finally came to a stop, Archer could clearly see… Mr. Marref sitting on Barry’s chest!

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From where he came, Archer did not know. What he saw was this: Mr. Marref had bolted over Timmy and grabbed Barry from off his chest. He was now sitting on Barry’s chest, the exactly the same way Barry, only moments ago, had sat on his son’s chest. Mr. Marref was a strapping man of six foot six. Sinewy in build, his arms were thin but with muscles as hard as steel. His muscles were not the bulky type, the kind for show. They were long and hard and thin, like those made from decades of long hard work.

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With his left hand Mr. Marref held Barry’s neck down to the cold hard ground, now becoming covered more and more with snow, all around. Mr. Marref’ right hand? Well, it was drawn far over his head. Drawn back like the firing arm of an old revolver gun. Held directly over Barry’s smiling face. Yes, Barry was still smiling… and, later, some claimed to hear him laughing, still! Mr. Marref’s arms had sinewy muscles that looked to be made of steel. The veins, in his arms, stood up high on his muscles, as if standing at attention awaiting a command. Right now, both arms and hands were cocked and ready to fire! Fire, directly into Barry’s smiling imbecilic, and hate filled, face. Mr. Marref did not move, not one centimeter. Now, if you had gone round… after the incident was all over… if you had gone around and asked all the people… all the boys and girls… all the teachers and drivers… If you had gone around and asked them all? ‘Would you have blamed Mr. Marref for splattering Barry’s head all over the cold hard concrete? Not one would have begrudged Mr. Marref. Not one would have said… “No”.

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Mr. Marref’s hands were large and hard from decade upon decade of back breaking work. His right hand was clinched so tight, the knuckles, they were all white. With his right hand held up that high, his right fist gripped like steel so tight. One could easily image… that it Mr. Marref… left go? His darn hand just might go straight through grinning Barry’s face.

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Mr. Marref was shaking, and quaking, while sitting on Barry’s chest. Barry looked, as if to speak (which would have been a big mistake), when a calm and strong baritone voice spoke.

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“Mr. Marref? Tom? Tom, your son… Your son, he needs you, RIGHT NOW! Mr. Marref… TOM! I know what you want to do… None of us here, would blame you one bit, too. You hold this boy’s life in the palm of your hand, Mr. Marref… Tom. Show him the mercy; he failed to show your son. Show all these people… all these children that you are the better man. Tom… lower your right arm. Get off this boy’s chest. Grab up your boy, and get him to help. THE help he so desperately needs. Tom… do this now, and I will make sure to the authorities this boy will go!”

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Right then, just seconds before Tom let go. A large, warm, strong hand Mr. Marref felt on his right shoulder. It was the hand of Mr. Dunahoo. All this time, it had been Mr. Dunahoo talking Mr. Marref… down. Now, with Truman’s hand gripped firmly on his shoulder, Mr. Marref… Tom found the strength to not do what Barry had done to his son. He lowered his right hand, to his side, and shook all over as if with great fright.

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Tom Marref looked up at Truman’s warm eyes. Tom stood up, over Barry’s laughing form. Mr. Marref turned to Truman and said.

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“Truman, I am trusting you to get this… boy to the Sheriff. Take him to the Principal’s office; there he can wait, till the Sheriff can take him into custody.”

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Truman nodded, that was all. With his left hand he patted Tom on his shoulder and spoke.

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“Tom… you best get your son to the hospital. With the coming storm, you will be able to get him there faster than waiting here for an ambulance. Now… Tom? I want you to look over at your son. I have your shoulder… and if need be you can grab my arm. Now… Tom? Look over at your son, Tom, but not for too long. Remember, you have to get him to the hospital, now, Tom… as fast as you can.”

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When Mr. Marref got up off of Barry’s chest, Archer stole a look over at his best friend lying stone cold still in the snow. The funniest thing happened, right then, something that would haunt Archer… for many years to come. When, at first, he did glance over at Timmy’s cold still form, he could have sworn he saw another man there, too! For just a moment… Archer could have sworn… he saw Mr. Champion, David, leaning over Timmy’s form. With both his hands he had Timmy’s head cupped, a golden glow! A golden glow that had engulfed them both! David’s face was obscured from view, his long blonde locks hung all over his face. It seemed like several moments, and then David did look up.

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Archer saw his kind hazel eyes look into Archer’s, then he spoke. Without making a sound, without moving his lips, Mr. Champion told Archer just one thing. “Do not worry, kind Archer, Timmy will be fine… just give him some time. Time and stand by him, give him your strength. For right now you best friend Timmy needs all the love he can get.”

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In Archer’s eye, a tear did form. He lowered his head, so no one would see, as he wiped the tear from his eye. Then he looked up! No longer was Mr. Champion, David, stooped over Timmy’s motionless form. No longer did his long blonde locks cradle Timmy’s still face. No longer did Archer see that warm and incredible golden glow. In just a matter of seconds, it all just vanished, as if it was never there, before.

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As Archer was getting to his feet, to go to Timmy’s side, he felt the large strong hand of Mr. Marref, rest gently on arm. Archer looked up, into Mr. Marref’s steel gray eyes. He thought, just for a moment, he saw a tear in his eye, too. Then it went away. Then, Mr. Marref spoke to Archer, for the first time since he arrived.

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“Archer, we need to get Timmy to the hospital. I need to beat this snowstorm. I might be abledo it alone, but I would like to have you help me… us. Will you do that for us, son?”

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Mr. Marref did not have to ask, twice. Archer looked directly into Mr. Marref’s eyes and simply said.

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“Whatever I can do, Mr. Marref, you can count on me, too!?

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With that, in silence, the father and best friend approached the still body of their friend and son. With father cradling the head, and friend lifting his feet, the father and friend team lifted Timmy into the backseat of the waiting truck. Mr. Marref grabbed some blankets from behind the back seat. Placing Timmy’s head in Archer’s lap, he wrapped the still form, that was his son, in blankets to ward off the coming cold. As Mr. Marref closed the door to the rear cab, snow began to fall harder, in great large cold flakes.

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The snow was now sticking everywhere it landed, on the truck, on his clothes, on the road. He had to move quickly, to get his son to safety, before this snow made the roads unsafe and impassable. With the utmost sense of urgency, Mr. Marref got behind the wheel. Never the kind of man to ‘displays of speed’ today Mr. Marref saw just what his truck… could do. He turned the key in the ignition, as the engine burst into life. His foot, now lead on the peddle, pressed down.

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The rear wheels, of his truck, burned and , as if calling out in terrible pain and grief. As they did, they created great white and gray clouds of smoke. These clouds of smoke did billow and form. Form up along and on the two sides of the bed of the truck. Great plumes of white and gray smoke, billowing out larger and larger, taking shape and form. They did form like wings. Like wings on a great Pegasus, the clouds of smoke did form, and away did they take. A man. A boy. A son.

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End Part Thirteen

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Yeah… That is what I was talking about. Honestly. My Dear Readers, while I was writing this episode… and when I went to correct this episode. I cried! Tears just kept coming down my cheeks.

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As well, I really did know that I had this inside me. I had no idea that I had the ability to create the images, and emotions, that I conjure up in this episode. I do not know if I can repeat this… I am in extreme pain, in my neck it is like a 15 out of 10. I haven’t really slept, for more than an hour at a time, for more than two days. I haven’t eaten, and held it down, in a couple of days. I have golf balls under my arm pits, and a headache that would blind and elephant, for going on ten days.

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My Dear Readers, it is what it is. I found it to be moving, touching, violent and disturbing. EVERYTHING that I wanted it to be, and everything that one would want from this type of horror story. I hope that people enjoy this work, and can see past the extreme violence to see the friendship, kinship, love and… the magic that is all woven into this episode.

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Till next week! ENJOY and I hope to see you right back here, soon!

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Adieu!
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Thank YOU!

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