Some Kind of Cu*t
Author: Matt Shaw
Date: 2014-12-29 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Abuse
Description: WARNING: THIS IS AN EXTREME HORROR. There is gore. There is bad language. There are scenes of a sexual nature. But hidden underneath it all is also a chilling story. Please do not purchase this book if you are easily shocked, disgusted or offended. This book is not for you. From Matt Shaw - the author behind Sick B*stards, PORN, Whore and Rotting Dead F*cks - comes another horror in the black cover range which, once again, pushes the boundaries of horror to uncomfortable new levels of depravity. "Some Kind of Cu*t" is the story of one man and his family; all of them willing to do whatever thei

©Matt Shaw

The right of Matt Shaw to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.

The characters, and story, in this book are purely fictitious. Any likeness to person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

www.mattshawpublications.co.uk

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The following book contains scenes which some readers may find distressing.

The book is intended for a mature horror audience.

You have been warned.

SOME KIND
of

C U * T

M A T T    S H A W

Present Day:

A Place in the Family

I was sitting in a chair expressionless.

He was standing in front of me.

He has no name yet. He has not earned it. Tonight, maybe, but for now he is nameless.

Another man was present. He was on his knees, tears streaming down his face like the pathetic little shit that he is. He does have a name but it is not important. He is on borrowed time. His friends - not that he had many - called him Mr. Markson. A man in his seventies enjoying what retired life had to offer. He has had it explained to him how he became chosen for tonight’s entertainment. He protested, of course, but that was nothing new. They always protested against the facts presented to them.

The nameless one patted our mutual friend on the shoulder - for why I don’t know. A sign of reassurance that everything was going to be okay? Everyone in the room knew that to be a lie; me, him, Markson and everyone else watching from the other side of where we were sitting. All of them with clear anticipation on their faces; high hopes for what was to come. I watched as Nameless looked towards the black leather bag sitting on the coffee table. He picked it up. I hoped he liked the contents. The group and I had picked them out especially for him to show off his skill to us. He undid the zip - which previously kept the bag sealed  - and opened the bag; various tools inside of there including a hammer, pliers, metal wrench - even a handgun that one of the group managed to procure not that anyone ever used a bullet. A bullet proves nothing other than being able to squeeze a trigger. It doesn’t prove you have the stomach for this game. It doesn’t prove you belong. The Nameless one looked at the contents and pulled them out, one at a time, placing them on the table. Each time he pulled something from the bag, our mutual friend squirmed that little bit more. And so he should for he is The Chosen One and tonight is his night.

The night in which he gets to meet his maker.

“Which one?” he asked.

“Your choice.”

He looked down at what laid before him. He looked lost. I looked over to the group watching. I looked at each of their pretty faces in turn. They knew if he didn’t step up then they would; not just for our mutual friend but for him too. Looking at them, I knew none of them would have a problem with completing the task to hand. I turned my dwindling attention back to the two before me; him and our mutual friend.

“Sun will be up in a few hours.”

“I can’t decide.”

“We can’t decide for you. It doesn’t work like that.” I shifted in my seat. “If you’re not comfortable then you can step down. No harm, no foul.”

“I don’t want to step down.”

“Time is of the essence,” I reminded him. “We need to move things along.”

He had a couple of minutes now, not that he knew this. If the deed wasn’t done - or started at least - within the next couple of minutes I’d give the nod to someone else to step forward. There would most likely be a little argument as to who got to step forward; each of them enjoyed it so there’d be no shortage of volunteers. Maybe I would let them all take a turn at sticking the two men before me?

The timeline didn’t mean the job needed to be finished in a couple of minutes  - no - for once it was started, he had as much time as he wanted with which to really enjoy himself. But the task had to be started at least. I watched - eyebrows raised - as I started to place bets with myself as to whether he was going to see it through. I swayed towards no.

“This one.”

He held the hammer up. A popular choice among the group - most of whom cheered. A fair few of them had chosen the hammer too, when it was their turn. Some just hit the target enough to ensure the job was done. Some really went to town and turned skull to shattered bone fragments and mush. I could sense some of the voyeurs were hoping Nameless was going to back out so they could re-live their own moment by hammering Markson’s head in.

“This one?” he said again, confused by my lack of response. It’s not my place to give them a yes or a no. It has to be up to them. It has to be their choice. Their decision. With a shaking hand he picked the hammer up and turned to Mr. Markson. Markson looked at him - an obvious fear in his eyes. He shook his head from side to side and mumbled through the rag stuffed into his mouth (held there by tape). Nameless stood in front of his mark. Even his legs were shaking. I still don’t think he is going to do it. Another glance over to the people in the corner - watching and waiting - and they were licking their lips in anticipation. Some of them had even stepped forward in order to get closer to the ensuing mayhem. Nameless raised the hammer high in the air and held it there, his hand wavering. Markson shook his head. A tear rolled down his pale cheek. I leaned forward. I still don’t know. It could go either way… He brought the hammer crashing down onto Markson’s head with a solid crack; his head slumped forward, an obvious split in the skin of the forehead. He’s moaning through the stuffed rag; nothing that makes any sense. Clearly dazed. Nameless looked over to me to try and see my reaction. He saw nothing through my expression but I was both surprised and glad that he stepped up. One step closer to becoming one of us. He raised the hammer again and brought it crashing back down on Markson’s head; another loud crack. The force of the blow knocked both Markson, and the chair he was bound to, onto his side - a crumpled heap on the floor. That hit definitely splintered bone. The group cheered. Markson said nothing, nor did he move other than a twitch from his fingers.

Nameless raised the hammer up for a third time. No hesitation as he brought it back down onto the skull; the same place the first and second hit connected with. The skull folded in on itself revealing the inside of his head to all those close enough to see the finer detail. Nameless turned and vomited onto the floor just behind the twitching body of Markson as the others cheered once more. The foul stench of stomach-lining and blood spilling into the air yet it didn’t dampen the mood. I stood up and walked across the room to Nameless. I took a hold of the hammerless hand and lifted it high in the air like the Champion he was. Other members of the group moved closer, forming a circle around us whilst shouting and cheering for Nameless as Markson continued to twitch at our feet. One group member walked to the stereo-system which rested on the side. A flick of the switch and music blasted from the speakers as the bass shook the windows. As the music filled the room and drowned out the screams of joy, I pulled Nameless closer to me and hugged him tight, one arm around his neck pulling his head to mine. I whispered in his ear that he’d earned his place. He’d earned his name. He was one of us.

There wasn’t much of a night left, certainly not as long as we’d have liked to have for our celebrations, but it didn’t stop us from welcoming a new member to the family. Some of us danced, some of us drank bottles stolen from Markson’s expensive cellar, and some of us took it in turn making love to Markson’s pregnant granddaughter as she lay dying on the stairs.  Blood seeping from the gouged out hole in her stomach - caused when she came to investigate the noise of her late grandfather being hit on the head when we first broke in. At least I presume it was his granddaughter. For all I know it could have been his wife. After all - the dirty old man did have a taste for the younger model by all accounts.

Considering I wasn’t sure our New Son was going to go ahead with it, it turned into one hell of a successful night.

I stepped away from Markson’s granddaughter as she was being anally fucked and turned to survey the rest of the scene. I hated to be the one to break it up but time was beginning to turn against us. The sun would be up soon and - even though the house was out in the middle of nowhere - people could well be milling around before we’d had a chance to disappear back into the safety of the shadows that hid us in our Summer of Love. I hesitated before calling to my children. I just wanted to breathe the scene in a while longer as I stood there with a smile on my face; I am a proud father to many.

Our family continues to grow.

36 years Earlier:

Flesh & Blood

The man held up a steady hand and knocked on the trailer park door with a heavy thud. He patiently waited; listening to movement from within the cabin. The door creaked open, illuminating the dark night with a bright light from within, and the man was confronted by a tired-looking waitress still in her uniform from the diner she worked for minimum wage.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

The man nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black and white photograph. The picture was that of a young boy. The waitress recognised it immediately.

“I’m here for the boy,” the man said.

“You social services?”

“I’m his uncle.”

“A deal was done, he’s my son now.”

The man shook his head. He’d travelled a long way to collect his nephew and he wasn’t about to get into arguments over who the boy belonged to. He was of the same flesh and blood, he claimed right of ownership. The waitress was nothing to him or the boy; just some desperate woman unable to have children of her own.

“Can I come in? It’s cold out here.”

“You can’t take my boy,” the waitress said.

The man sighed and forced his way into the trailer, pushing passed the woman in the process. She screamed for him to get out but he didn’t budge. He stood there, to the side of the entrance, with his arms held firmly by his side.

“Where is he?”

“Please don’t. He’s all I have.”

“He’s not yours.”

“I bought him fair and square,” the waitress started to cry.

“Where is he?” the man asked again - growing impatient in his tone.

“You can’t take him.”

The man looked from side to side, looking down his nose to the surroundings. The trailer home wasn’t much to look at from the outside yet the outside was infinitely better than what was inside. The place was rancid; rubbish on the floor, dirty clothes piled up in the corner of the hallway, and a stink hanging in the air that made him want to gag. He turned back to the woman - her black make-up running down her cheeks as tears continued to spill from her green eyes.

“You think this is a good environment for a child to grow up in?”

“I bought him fair and square. His mother…”

“His mother isn’t very well. Which is why I am here and she is not. He won’t be going back to his mother nor will he be seeing her… I’ll ask again, do you think this is a good place to raise a child?”

The woman looked around at the mess, “I was going to clean up tomorrow. I’ve just come off a double shift.”

“A double shift? How many hours was that? Sounds tiring.”

“Please just get out. Leave us alone.”

“Not without the boy.”

“You can’t have him.”

The man sighed heavily and put his hands in his pockets, “Money? You want reimbursement for what you paid? Remind me again what that was? How much you valued ‘your’ boy at…”

“His mother didn’t have any cash for the drinks she wanted. She was the one who made the offer.”

“You saw the state she was in. Tell me - was she under the influence or did she have the shakes from her withdrawal.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Of course you don’t.” The man smiled at the woman. He always found it amusing when people didn’t recall things that made their position weaker. He looked over his shoulder, towards what appeared to be the living room. He walked through and the woman followed. He hesitated in the middle of the room; even worse than the hallway. Newspapers piled up on the floor, pages scrunched up. One paper open on a stained coffee table seemingly in the middle of a crossword puzzle. A television in the corner of the room with some gameshow playing; colours all wrong giving the impression the contestants were all bright orange. The man shook his head and looked back to the woman. She didn’t say anything but her embarrassment was clear. He looked round again and saw a sofa, buried under a small amount of rubbish; crisp packets, wrappers, more dirty laundry. He walked over and cleared a space with his foot before taking a seat. The woman didn’t move from the doorway. She waited for the man to speak again. “Tell me what happened, step by step.”

“If you don’t leave, I’ll phone the police.”

“No you won’t. You see - as I previously mentioned - I’m flesh and blood to the boy. You’re nothing. You merely took advantage of his alcoholic mother. You sold her booze in exchange for her child. You honestly think the police would let you keep the boy? I’m not sure but - what you did - is that even legal? Could there be a court case? A prison sentence? Community service? I don’t know about any of that. What I do know though is that, if you wanted to adopt children through the correct channels, in the future, then it will be a definite no. Those doors will be well and truly closed to you.” He hesitated a moment, “Media might be involved too.”

The woman continued to cry. The man paused a moment to let his words sink in a while longer.

“I wanted a baby so badly. When I found out I couldn’t have them - it cost me everything. It cost me my home, my partner, my job. My life started to crumble around me. Before I knew it, I was rock bottom; I was here working extra-long shifts in this restaurant just to try and make ends meet.”

“You’re breaking my heart. Where’s my boy?”

“If you take him away from me, I don’t know…”

The man quickly interrupted her, “You don’t know what you’ll end up doing? You don’t know how you’ll go on? Something like that?” He sighed. “I can help you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. The woman saw that it was bulging with notes of various denominations. The man set the wallet to the side of where he was sitting, resting it on the arm of the well-worn sofa.

“You’d help me?”

The man nodded slowly. “This sort of life isn’t nice for anyone. Clearly you’re not afraid of hard work, I respect that. You’ve just had a run of bad luck. Events forced you down this path.” He paused, once again letting his words sink in, “Did you want me to help you out?” He looked at the woman, waiting for her answer. Her eyes were fixed upon the wallet. “I take the boy, I help you out. But that’s how it has to be. You don’t get to keep him. Either you let me take him back - and I’ll keep him safe - or we get the police involved and everything gets messy for everyone. The first option obviously being the one where I’m more inclined to help you.” He paused again.

The woman was leaning against the door-frame before she collapsed to her knees and openly wept.

The man asked again, “Did you want me to help you?”

She nodded. Slowly at first and then more sure of herself. The man stood up and walked over to her. His wallet was left on the side of the sofa. He helped her to her feet and pulled her close to him with his arms around her. He held her close to his body and told her that everything was going to be okay. He released his tight hug a little and she moved away from him; a genuine look of gratitude in her eyes. The tears were still falling but she was at least smiling. The man smiled at her and then punched her hard in the face sending her crashing back against the wall of the trailer with a loud bang. Before she had a chance to slide down to her arse, he grabbed her by the throat and pinned her there. Her nose was bloodied already, a crack across the bridge of it showing it to be broken. Tears streamed uncontrollably from her eyes from both fear and pain. He squeezed her throat hard, stopping her from screaming, as he continued to rain punch after punch, hit after hit, down upon her once pretty - if not tired - face. Each hit getting more blood on both himself and her own face. By the time he released his grip of her throat, letting her slide down the wall to the floor where she slumped over, she was unrecognisable as the woman who’d answered the door minutes earlier. Bubbles of blood were coming from her mouth as she wheezed through crushed wind-pipes, possibly slowly suffocating. Her eyes were black, nose splintered, teeth caved in - one absent from her mouth entirely, stuck in the man’s sore knuckle. He pulled it out and threw it to the floor where it bounced a couple of times before sliding underneath the coffee table. He looked down at the woman and watched her a moment, struggling to breathe, before lifting his foot high in the air and bringing his size twelve boot down upon her already broken face. The ensuing crunch echoed round the small living room of the trailer despite the gameshow’s end credits playing loudly in the opposite corner. He stamped down and continued to do so until her face was flat about the floor; skull crushed and squashed into a shape not recognisable as human. He took a step back, looking at his handiwork, and turned to retrieve his wallet from the sofa where he’d left it. When he turned round again, a small boy of six years old was looking at him from the doorway with the body; his legs were trembling and a wet patched had formed on his already dirty pyjama bottoms.

“Hello boy,” the man said, sliding his bloodied hands into his pockets. “Don’t be scared, I’m your uncle. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” He walked over to the boy and knelt down so that he was face to face with him. “You look like your mother,” he said. “A shame - probably could have narrowed down the options as to who your father was had you looked like him.” He laughed to himself. The boy shuffled back ever so slightly. “What’s your name?” The boy backed up a little further. The man didn’t move from where he knelt. “What’s the matter, boy? You don’t need to be scared of me. We’re family.” The boy froze on the spot. The man tried reassuring him with a smile. The boy didn’t smile back. He looked down to the body of the woman and up to his uncle. His uncle had followed his gaze. “You don’t need to be scared. She was a bad woman. She took you away from your home. That’s why I’m here. I’ve come to take you home.” The man stood up to his full height and took a step closer to the boy. “You do want to come home, don’t you?” The boy didn’t move. The man watched him for a while. For the most part the boy held eye contact with him but occasionally he’d turn to the cold corpse lying on the floor. The man noticed this. “You don’t have to come with me,” he said. “You can stay here with the lady if you’d prefer?” he pointed to the body. The boy followed his pointing finger and didn’t take his eyes off of her. “Well - okay then - if that’s what you’d prefer.” He waited a moment to see if the boy was going to say anything. He stayed silent. The man nodded, “Suit yourself,” and walked towards the trailer’s door. He opened it and stepped out into the cold night air. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes; shaking one out in the process. The man pulled it from the packet with his mouth. Dropping the packet back into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a lighter and sparked his light. He took a deep drag on it and breathed it out into the clear night’s sky. He took a step towards the car he’d parked up next to the driveway and smiled as the boy called out from within the confines of the trailer, begging him to wait.

#

The man was driving the car back. The boy was sitting in the back looking out of the window watching the world pass them by at forty-three miles per hour. The man tossed the remnants of his cigarette out of the car before closing the window with a touch of the electric button. He glanced in the rear-view mirror at the child seated in the back.

“How old are you anyway, boy?” he asked.

The boy didn’t say anything.

“I’ve been away for eight years. So I know you’re younger than that. Your mother - your real one, not the lady she sold you to - didn’t stay in touch with me much when I was away so not entirely sure when she got pregnant. Truth be told, I only found out about you when I came home yesterday. I was round her place and there were pictures of you on the side. I was pretty shocked when she told me you were her kid. Even more shocked when she told me where you were. What’s your name? Seems I could get pretty much everything but that from your mum before she passed out,” the man asked.

He looked into the rear-view mirror again. The boy shrugged.

“My name is Chris. Uncle Chris. You want to tell me your name?”

The boy didn’t answer.

“Not a mute, are you? You know what a mute is?”

The boy said nothing.

Chris looked in the rear-view mirror again; the boy was still looking out of the car window seemingly lost in his own little world. Had it not been for the fact he’d cried out - back at the trailer - he’d have honestly believed he couldn’t speak.

“This is your mother’s fault. If she spent more time looking after you and less time drinking her life away…” he shook his head. He knew he wasn’t in a position to start judging others. He pulled the car to the side of the road, mounting the kerb in the process. He turned to the boy, “This wasn’t the plan but you’re coming back to live with me. I have a small apartment. It’s not much but it’s better than what you’re used to. Your mother’s not well enough to look after you. Hasn’t been for a while. Until she’s better this is the best thing for you. Could be for a week, could be on a more permanent basis - all depends on your mother. You like the sound of that?”

Again, the boy didn’t say anything.

“Sure you can’t talk?”

“She called me Rabbit,” the boy said without taking his eyes from the world outside of the car.

“Your mother called you Rabbit? Your real mum or the lady in the trailer?”

“My real mum,” he answered.

Chris hesitated a moment, unsure of what to make of the name. He turned around in his seat so he could talk to the boy face to face as opposed to face to rear-view mirror.

“You like that name?” he asked.

The boy shrugged; still with his eyes fixed beyond the confines of the car.

“Should I call you Rabbit or did you want a different name?”

The boy turned his attention from whatever had caught it outside of the car. He looked at his uncle’s face. So far Chris had seen fear on the boy’s face, a little confusion, and a lot of blank looks. Now, sitting in the car, he saw what he believed to be a glimmer of hope.

“What name would you like?” Chris asked.

“I like Tom.”

Chris nodded, “Well then… Tom it is.”

Chris extended his hand into the back of the car. The boy (Tom) looked at it. Dried blood splattered on it from the beating he’d laid upon the waitress earlier in the evening.

“When people extend their hand to you, it’s polite to shake them.”

Tom nervously reached out and took his uncle’s hand in his own. Chris gripped it firmly and smiled before giving it a shake.

“Pleased to meet you Tom.”

He released Tom’s hand and turned back to facing forward in his seat. He put one hand on the steering wheel and one on the gear-stick. He selected the first gear and pulled off of the kerb.

“Tom’s a good name,” he said. “It’s strong.”

He looked in the rear-view mirror. The boy was looking out of his window again; a faint smile on his face.

#

“Are you insane?”

Tom was sitting in the living room of his uncle’s small apartment. Alexis, Chris’ partner, had told him to wait there whilst she went and talked to his uncle. From the sounds of it - she didn’t want to talk, she wanted to shout.

“Well?” she pushed for an answer.

“Me? I’m not the one who sold him for booze! My alcoholic sister - who we will get to in a minute - is the one who is fucking insane. I go away… I asked you to look out for her… I come back and find out she’s drowning herself in a bottle but, wait, that’s not the best of it. She’s so low, so desperate that she sold her kid to an equally desperate woman for a taste of alcohol! You think I am insane because I went to get him back? He is flesh and blood! I did what any sane person would do and now you’re having a go at me?”

“Where’s he going to go? Look at where I’m living…”

“We. Where we are living.”

“We? You got out today. Eight years. You think you’re just going to move straight back in?”

“You’re kicking me out?”

There was silence.

“I didn’t say that,” Alexis said after a beat. “You’ve been away for a long time. It would be nice if we could have a little time for us - to adjust to having you home - before you start bringing people to live with us.”

“And I get that - I do - but what choice did I have?”

Tom heard his uncle sigh heavily from where he waited in the living room.

“One night and then I’ll take him back to his mother’s. But, Alexis, why didn’t you tell me about her? Not once did you mention what had happened to her nor did you mention the fact she was pregnant! Where’s the dad? Who’s the father?”

Tom got up from the settee and walked across to the window. He looked out. It had started to rain outside. The dark road stretching up into the distance seemed to glimmer as the streetlights shone down onto the wet shimmery surface. He tried to ignore the voices in the other room as they continued to discuss what should be done with him and what’d happened to his mother.

“She didn’t know who the father was. She was putting it about a bit…”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You went away, she fell apart. We all did.”

“You know he doesn’t even know his proper name? She calls him Rabbit!”

Tom didn’t know his mother as anything but a drunk. She’d been drinking for as long as he could remember. Part of him wondered whether he was the reason for the substance abuse. He’d not settled on an answer before the voices in the other room had gone quiet again. He turned back to face into the room and waited for the couple to reappear in the living room doorway. His uncle Chris was the first to appear, a thin blanket tucked under his arm along with a stained pillow.

“You’re on the sofa tonight,” said Chris as he tossed the blanket onto the settee. “We’ll sort something a little more permanent tomorrow morning.”

“Are you hungry little man?” Alexis asked from the doorway. Her arms were folded and it was clear from the expression on her face that she hoped the answer would be a no. Tom shook his head despite the rumbling in his stomach begging him to tell her that he was. Alexis walked back into the bedroom satisfied that at least she’d offered. She closed the door behind her. Chris sat on the settee. Tom didn’t move from where he was standing.

“Tomorrow I’ll get in touch with your mother and talk to her. See if we can start to get her life back on track.” He hesitated a moment, “I’m sorry I wasn’t really there for you but I’m here now.”

Tom crossed the room and sat on the sofa. There was a clear gap between the two; neither one of them wanting to close it.

“Where were you?” Tom asked.

Chris looked at him, unsure of what to say.

“I was away.”

Chris had served eight years for grievous bodily harm. He’d managed to convince the parole board that he was a changed man but he knew - as did the waitress in the trailer home - that was far from the truth. For as long as he could remember he had a temper; quick to flare at the slightest of slurs against him or someone he loved. Sometimes he’d flip just for the fun of it and to see the expression of his victim change. He wasn’t necessarily proud of what he was yet - at the same time - he wasn’t embarrassed either. A small part of him even liked the fact he had a reputation as being slightly unhinged as he felt it gave him an easier time of things. Especially when he was inside. Whilst other inmates would try to fight and fuck their way to the top - he’d sit back safe in the knowledge that most of them knew of his reputation. Regardless, he didn’t want this little boy to know the truth. Not when he’d already been through so much. Chris knew there was little to no hope for himself but there was still a chance the boy could turn out okay.

“Listen, it’s getting late,” Chris changed the subject. “I’ve got some stuff to sort out with your Aunt Alexis but tomorrow morning we’ll talk. Try and work a way of getting things fixed up for you. That sound good?”

Tom nodded.

“You’re more than welcome to watch some television if you can’t sleep. I know it can be strange sleeping in new places,” Chris realised how stupid that sounded as soon as it left his mouth. The boy had been sold to a stranger for a crate of alcohol. He was probably used to stranger situations than sleeping on someone’s sofa. Chris walked over to the small television in the corner of the room and lifted the controller from where it rested on the set’s top. He pressed the red button. A picture slowly rolled onto the screen as Chris handed the controller over to Tom. He ruffled Tom’s dark hair with his left hand and said goodnight before walking through to the bedroom where Alexis had retreated. He closed the door behind him.

Tom leaned back on the sofa and started flicking through the four channels on offer. He could hear the muffled voices of his aunt and uncle through the paper-thin walls. It wasn’t clear enough to hear what was being said but it sounded as though it were heated. It wasn’t long before there was silence, followed by the sound of a sudden creak from what must have been a bed-spring. He could hear laughter. Another muffled voice followed by more laughter, accompanied with the sound of the bed-springs creaking again. Tom turned the television right down. On screen the person’s lips were moving but no voices was coming from his mouth anymore, nor was one coming from any of the people on screen with him. Laughter, muffled voices, bed-springs; the latter being the most frequent of the noises. Tom stood up and walked across to the door separating the two rooms. As quietly - and carefully - as he could, he pressed his ear up against it and listened to what was happening within. His expression was emotionless.

The following morning Chris walked into the living room and found Tom sitting up and the television still on. He noticed the blanket hadn’t been moved from where he’d put it earlier, nor had the pillow. Tom didn’t look at him, he kept his eyes fixed on the television. Chris frowned. The boy looked vacant. He couldn’t help but wonder whether he was even taking in what he was seeing or whether he was simply staring - unfocused - at the moving pictures on the screen.

“Good night sleep?” Chris asked.

Tom shrugged.

Alexis came into the room with a smile on her face. She went to say something but stopped herself when she saw Tom sitting there. At the same time, the smile faded. The initial enthusiasm brought about by the first night she’d spent with her man in eight long years suddenly snatched away from her when she remembered the nephew neither of them knew sitting on the settee. She tried to be friendly, “Morning.”

Tom jumped to his feet and turned to them, “Am I going home today?”

Chris looked at Alexis who - in turn - completely avoided his gaze. He turned back to Tom, “Well we’re going to go and have a chat with your mum. See if we can sort something out. Does that sound okay?”

Tom shrugged again.

Chris turned to Alexis and muttered, “Convicts are easier to deal with than this.”

Alexis wanted to snap right back at Chris and remind him that the only reason the boy was there was because he’d gone to collect him. For all either of them knew, he could have been perfectly happy (and safe) living with the woman who’d purchased him for the lowly price of booze. She bit her tongue and changed the subject, “I’m going to get some breakfast.” She walked from the room towards the small kitchen.

“That sounds great,” said Chris. “What have we got?”

“Cereal,” she called back.

Chris turned to Tom, “How’s that?” he asked.

Again, the little boy shrugged.

Alexis called through to the living room, “The phone is in hallway! Phone your sister!”

Present Day:

A New Name

“Remind me… Your name?” I asked the new family member.

He was sitting opposite me in my private study on the ground floor of the mansion we’d been given by one of our well-to-do family members. It was just him and me; the first time we’d been left alone. Until family members prove themselves they do not get a private audience. This is done for my own protective.

“I was thinking - can I be whomever I want?” he asked.

“It’s the start of your new life. We want everyone in our family to be happy so - in a word - yes. Did you know I chose my own name once upon a time?” He looked at me as though he wasn’t sure whether I was just saying that to make him feel better about his own request but I wasn’t - it was the truth. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked to go with a different name as opposed to the one given at birth. For a lot of the family members this was a new start for them; a chance to be a part of something they’d only ever dreamed about.

“James,” he said.

I waited a few minutes, half-expecting him to turn around and pull another name from the depths of his imagination. It wasn’t the most original of names and certainly not the most exotic. Previous chosen names have been things like Skylar, Seth and even one member calling themselves Zowic.

He continued, “I’ve always liked that name.”

“I had a friend called James,” I told him. “In my old life, that is.”

“Same.”

I smiled. And just like that I knew more of his character than he’d actually told me himself; a loner in life, probably didn’t have the best of childhoods. He knew someone called James. Whether they were friends or not I don’t know, but I do know that he was envious of this ‘James’. James had the life that the new James wanted for himself but never had. Until now anyway. A new name for his new life with us, in this house.

The house is a mansion. A large stately home in the middle of the country. We did not steal the house. We were given it as a present from one of the more well-to-do family members; a rich man who ran a double-life between his real family and this family. He gets away with it because he is both generous with this home and his money, ensuring we wanted for nothing. He is part of our family for the buzz of it. The other family members are not quite as fortunate as he; most of them coming from broken families or from a life of complete solitude from where they’ve been left alone and failed to make friends. Social skills lacking, no doubt further dampened by their lust for the darker side of life’s offerings; murderous impulses and other supposedly anti-social desires. Sides which I encourage them to indulge themselves in so long as it benefits us as a group.

There are ten large bedrooms on the upper floor. With the exception of one of those rooms - my own room - the other rooms have two sets of bunk beds in each one. We started out with most rooms empty but now every room has at least one occupant and we continue to grow.

“Well then,” I put him out of his misery, “welcome to the family James.”

He smiled, “Thank you.”

“Tell me, James, where are you presently sleeping?”

“I have a corner in the dining room.”

“Doesn’t sound very comfortable.”

“It’s okay.”

He was being polite. No doubt he didn’t want to upset me - not that he would have. I don’t get upset when people speak the truth; only when they lie.

“You don’t need to lie to me,” I told him. I hope he takes what I said onboard. The next time he lies will be the last, no matter how small the lie or what the purpose of it. A lie is a lie and can only lead to more.

He smiled, “It’s not too comfortable.”

“We’ll find you a bed. No family member sleeps on the floor like an animal.”

I stood up and James followed my lead. I walked to the study door and opened it, stepping out into the hallway. I held the door open for James and he was soon standing by my side. He thanked me as I closed the study door and locked it with the key in my pocket.

The whole house is open to one and all - family members that is - with the exception of two rooms; the study and my personal bedroom. Both rooms, when I am not in them, are locked. I walked down the hallway keeping one eye on my new Son. He seemed suitably impressed with his surroundings as he took them all in for the first time. No person gets to see the real house until they become a tested family member. This is done to protect all those who reside within. Until they get to this stage in our relationship; they only get to see the apartment.

“You like the house?” I asked him.

“Very much so.”

“My bedroom and my study are off-limits unless I am in there. The rest of the house is yours to do as you please.” I stopped walking and turned to him a moment to really stress the next point, “We only ask you to keep things respectful.”

“Of course.” He nodded.

“Don’t be nervous either. You met a fair few of the family members yesterday obviously. They’re nice people. We all share common interests. You’ll fit in and feel at home in no time.”

I carried on walking down the hallway towards the main hall. The main hall was just as impressive as the rest of the house. Four hallways on the ground floor leading to yet more rooms. Stairs in the centre of the hallway leading to the second floor; the bedrooms.

“I think you’ll be happy here.”

James smiled, “I will be.”

We walked up the stairs to the second floor and I led the way down one of the four hallways. A row of doorways on either side; bedrooms, a bathroom, a secondary office used for planning events such as the one we just held for James. I stopped at the far end of the hallway before it looped back round to the join the second hallway on this side of the house.

“And here’s your new room,” I said. I knocked on the door. It wasn’t locked and I had the right to go into any of the rooms I so chose whenever I felt like it. I expected respect from my sons and daughters and I wouldn’t get that if I didn’t respect them too. The door opened and one of my younger sons appeared there in nothing but boxer shorts. “You could have at least put a dressing gown on.” I walked into the room. James waited in the doorway until I motioned for him to come in too. He entered. “This will be your room.” I introduced him to one of his new room-mates, “This is Charles,” I said. “Charles, you remember James from last night?”

“You were fucking great,” Charles shook James by the hand. “Sorry I didn’t get to welcome you last night. I couldn’t get anywhere fucking near you…”

“Son, swearing is a sign of low intelligence,” I reminded him. He apologised to both me and James. Charles was younger than James. He was in his late twenties and still had a lot to learn but he was keen at least and sometimes that is just as important as experience. I preferred to try and keep people of similar ages in the same rooms but James is one of the older ones here - in his forties, closer to my own age.

“It’s fine. Good to meet you.”

“So which bunk do you want then?” Charles pointed to the two sets of bunks. “At the moment there are two of us in here. Me and Seth. We both have the top bunks but if you’d rather that - I’m cool to swap.”

“Bottom is fine,” James said.

“I think James will just be grateful not to be on the floor for a second night,” I interjected before turning to address James himself, “Get your things up here and make yourself at home. Charles can fill you in when we have dinner and what happens. If you have any questions - and you feel as though your new roommates can’t help - then by all means come and find me and we’ll address them together.”

“Thank you,” James said again. He held his hand out for me to shake. I looked at it and looked back at him. He pulled his hand back with an apology and slipped it into his pocket. I do not shake hands, other than when I first welcome them to the house. No one is allowed to touch me unless it is something I arrange as a night-time treat for both myself and - obviously - them too.

I turned to Charles, “Help him with his stuff and look after him. Any problems, let me know. I shall be in my bedroom.”

I turned and walked from the room, closing the two of them into their bedroom. I returned to my own bedroom and reached into my pocket for the key. I put it into the lock and let myself in. My daughter was still on the bed, star-fished with arms above her head and restraints binding her to the foot of the bed as well as the headboard. Clamps biting down on her nipples and pussy exposed to the warm air. I closed the door and locked it shut, dropping the key into my pocket, with a smile on my face. As I said before - no one is allowed to touch me unless it is something I arrange. She asked me, politely I might add, and I obliged despite having different tastes to what was on offer. It was her reward for being one of the most pro-active members of the family; offering to clean, cook and even helping organise events such as last night.

I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, running my fingers up her bare leg. Her body twitched at my touch and she sighed, widening the gap between legs and lifting her pert arse off the bed giving me better sight of her vagina.

“How have you been?” I asked her.

She didn’t answer me with words. She was sighing, and groaning, playfully fighting against the restraints. I didn’t move from where I was sitting; just kept stroking her bare skin with the tips of my fingers, watching her face for her reactions.

“Did you want me to do it?” I asked softly.

She was begging me with soft moans. I didn’t need to tell her that what happened next was between her and I only. If she were to speak of it outside of the room she’d be cut from the family for good; little girl lost to both us and society. Damaged goods. She understood this and despite being only seventeen years old - she had a smart head on her shoulders. Speaking of which. I reached under the bed and withdrew a cardboard box, placed there earlier this morning before I went to meet James in the office. The flaps were folded together to keep the box contents from being seen but it was easy enough to open with one hand; the other hand still stroking her - edging closer and closer to her pussy.

She craned her neck to see into the box. I tilted it slightly so she could get a better look.

“Do it,” she begged me.

I placed the box on the floor and - with both hands - reached in and pulled out the severed head of Markson. His face was an off-grey colour and the blood and tissues at his neck, where his head had been sliced off, was nothing more than a congealed mess of ‘whoops’. His eyes were open - staring ahead yet seeing nothing. I held him up for the girl to see and she pulled harder on the ropes binding her to the bed as she tried to crane her head further up away from the pillow. I repositioned my hand so that I was holding the head by a scruff of its dark hair and I moved it closer so that it was face to face with her own pretty face. She leaned into it and kissed its dead mouth. I watched on as her tongue forced its way into his mouth before exploring it passionately. I teased her by pulling the head away.

Its mouth was open, from where her tongue had forced it so. I reached into it and pulled out the tongue so it was hanging from the mouth. It was dry from where his mouth had stopped producing saliva now. Didn’t feel human. Regardless I left it there and ran the head (and tongue) down her neck, her breasts, her stomach - right down to her throbbing snatch. I hesitated a moment there as she tried to squirm into a position which got the tongue rubbing against her. I laughed at the sight of how much I was teasing her. She looked at me and then back to the head and begged me to do it. I re-positioned myself on the bed and pushed the head against her cunt. She ground into it too, adding to the pressure the dead tongue hit her clitoris with. She groaned out loud as the pleasure started to overcome her. I reached up to her mouth and pressed the palm of my hand against it to stifle her moans as the orgasm started to brew. I didn’t watch what I was doing with the head - I didn’t need to - instead I concentrated on the look on her face. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her cheeks turned a nice shade of red as her legs started to shake uncontrollably.

I liked to watch.

36 Years Earlier:

A Dysfunctional Family

“You had no right!” Tom’s mother screamed at Chris as soon as she walked into the apartment and saw Tom sitting there, on the sofa, in front of the television.

Alexis immediately stepped in and lead Tom through to the bedroom. She closed the door to try and drown out the coming argument from the living room. Tom sat on the bed and she went and sat next to him, fully aware that the voices could be heard pretty clearly through the thin walls thanks to the shouting.

“You had a son and you sold him for alcohol. Do you know how messed up that is?”

“He was my son to do with as I saw fit!” the mother screamed.

“So you fucking sold him?”

Her name was Samantha. Her friends called her Sam. She was in her thirties (looked older) and wasn’t likely to see forty given the amount she’d regularly drink. Even before Chris went inside - after beating the man he mistakenly believed sold his sister drugs - she was a heavy drinker but, without her brother around, she got worse. If it wasn’t alcohol flowing through her veins, it was other substances. If it wasn’t booze passing her lips in some low-end establishment, it was erect cocks in some dodgy back-alleys. Forty-pounds and they went in uncovered or twenty if the horny fucks didn’t mind wrapping them up first.

“I never wanted him!”

Alexis looked at Tom, hoping he hadn’t heard. He looked to the floor. He had heard.

“You know she doesn’t mean it, don’t you?” Alexis said. Tom didn’t answer. She got up and walked through to the living room and shouted at Chris and Sam to keep it down; reminding them both that Tom was in the other room and could hear everything. Sam didn’t care. She said she wanted him to hear. Chris grabbed her by the arm and dragged her from the apartment out into the grotty looking hallway. Alexis walked back through to where Tom had waited. “They’re just talking things through,” she said. “Everything is going to be just fine,” she said, despite knowing she had no idea how this was going to end up. Tom looked at her but didn’t say anything. There was a coldness in his eyes which made her feel more than just a bit uncomfortable; a distinct lack of humanity when looking into the windows of his soul. She carried on speaking in order to try and kill the awkward silence, “My sister has a son about your age,” she said. “Maybe you’d like to meet him sometime? I’m sure you two would get on like a house on fire.”

“What’s his name?” Tom asked.

“His name is James. They live about thirty minutes from the town; a nice house on the outskirts of the country,” she said - waffling for the sake of filling the silence.

Tom interrupted her, “Does his mum want him?” he asked.

Alexis didn’t know what to say. She looked at the boy and genuinely felt sorry for the position he was in, but it didn’t change the fact she thought it was a bad idea that Chris had gotten involved and brought him to their home. Maybe she would have felt differently had their relationship been different or - more to the point - it wasn’t his first night home from being inside.

She hesitated a moment before finding the words she believed to be correct, “Your mum does love you. She loves you a lot but she isn’t very well. She needs help. Now Chris is out, he’s going to try and give her the help which - in turn - will help you too. But never think she doesn’t love you because it’s simply not true.”

“She says she doesn’t love me.”

Alexis would have found it hard to believe that any mother would tell their son that - even in their darkest hours - but she’d heard it herself from the living room. Not in so many words but for Sam to say she never wanted him… Alexis tried to think of something reassuring to tell the lad but drew a blank.

“She told me before now that she’d wished I’d never been born.”

“She didn’t mean it,” Alexis said, despite knowing it was most likely the truth.

A door slammed from beyond the bedroom which made them both jump. They turned to the bedroom door. Chris appeared there. He looked upset. Angry even. Alexis stood up but didn’t move closer to him. He had that look in his eye she’d seen so many times before. He had that look in his eye which had gotten him in trouble in the first place all those years ago. Tom didn’t get up. He looked back down to the floor.

It was a stupid question, Alexis knew this before she even asked it, but she had to speak up - if only to try and stop him from seething. “Did you get things sorted?”

“My sister is a cunt,” Chris hissed.

Alexis shot Tom a look, worried about his reaction. He hadn’t moved. He didn’t even look as though the word had registered with him; eyes fixed upon the stained carpet floor. At this stage, she realised she was being over-protective. What the boy had heard up to now - although certainly not as rude - was so much more damaging than a word deemed bad by society. Chris looked at the boy. The expression on his face said it all; he was bitterly disappointed he hadn’t been able to help him but there was more to it than that. He didn’t know what his next move should be. He shook his head and walked through to the living room.

Alexis turned to Tom, “Wait here, okay?”

Tom nodded.

Alexis walked through to the living room and closed the bedroom door despite having firsthand experience that it did nothing to really stop the voices from travelling.

“What happened?” she asked although it was pretty obvious.

“She won’t take him.”

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

“She wants him to be put into a home. She said that if she ends up taking him home from here she’d get in touch with Social Services and tell them to take the boy from her. She’d tell them she is an unfit mother with a drug problem… Have you seen her arms?”

“I told you, we haven’t really spoken much.”

“It’s not just booze she has a problem with.”

Out in the hallway Chris had seen the state of Sam’s arms. Needle marks on both of them from where she’d been injecting God only knows what into her system. It had made him feel sick. Not just because of what his own sister was doing to herself but because he had given eight years of his life trying to put a stop to the problem. He sat down on the sofa and put his head in his hands. He hesitated a moment before looking up to Alexis.

“He’s flesh and blood. I’m not letting him go into a home. He has to stay with us.”

Alexis didn’t move from her spot. She knew Chris was wound up but also knew they didn’t have the space - or the money - to be looking after someone else; especially someone who’d not be able to pay their way.

“We can’t,” she said with a shaky voice, despite her best intentions to keep it sounding strong. “This is my apartment and we do not have the room. My job barely pays the bills and puts food in the cupboards - even if there was room, how are we supposed to feed him?”

“I’ll get a job.”

“Where? People won’t exactly be lining up to employ you yet and those that do won’t be paying top wages, because they’ll know you won’t have a choice but to take them.”

“I have some cash at the moment. Earned it inside. It will keep us going for a little while.”

“That’s not good enough and you know it isn’t. It just means we get through it faster than if it were just the two of us.” Alexis paused a moment, “Maybe it’s better that he does go into a foster home or something? At least he will be looked after.”

Chris jumped up and grabbed Alexis by the throat. He squeezed so hard that her eyes started to bulge. She clawed at his hands with her long finger-nails but he refused to let go; a rage seething from every pore of his skin. After what seemed a lifetime to Alexis but a few seconds in reality, he released his grip and she fell to the floor, hacking and wheezing as she struggled to get some oxygen back in her lungs. Chris hadn’t backed away though. His hands were by his side, clenched into tiny balls of hatred. Alexis looked up in time to see him bring one down hard upon her face. She fell onto her back with a pain shooting through her whole head. Chris lifted her from the floor and hit her again; a second and third time with the fourth following closely. He let her go and her head fell back against the hard-floor. Chris took a few steps back - a look of shock in his eyes; surprised by his own actions but there it was again, that damned uncontrollable anger.

“No, no, no!” he cried out as he rushed to Alexis’ side. He hadn’t meant to lash out. Not at her at least. The conversation with his sister had wound him up so tightly he was like a ticking time-bomb. Alexis should have known better than to continue the conversation. She should have remembered what his temper was like. Before he went inside, she was the only one who’d been able to calm him down. Laying on the thin mattress in his cell, he often wished she had been there on that night where he lost it. If she had been - chances are he’d have calmed down enough to realise he had the wrong person and never have lost those eight years. Yet here he was again, kneeling next to another innocent victim in his continued struggles with violence. He pressed two fingers against her neck in search of a pulse. There was one there but it was weak. He looked up to the ceiling as though looking to thank a God watching down on him. He jumped when he realised Tom was standing in the doorway - once again looking at his uncle close by to a body. “It was an accident,” Chris said. “Move out of the way…”

He scooped Alexis up into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom, placing her down carefully on their bed. Her face instantly bloodied the pillow as it touched the white case. Chris kept telling her, whispering in her ear, again and again how sorry he was and how he hadn’t meant to hurt her. Tom appeared behind him, standing in the doorway again.

“Fetch me a bowl of warm water and a flannel. Can you do that?” Tom nodded and walked from his sight. Chris turned his attention back to Alexis. He lifted her limp hand from where it laid next to her side and gave it a tender kiss before apologising once more. By the time he carefully placed it back on the bed, Tom reappeared with the requested bowl of water and flannel. Chris took it off him as soon as he was close to do so. He set the bowl on the floor, next to where he was kneeling, and started to mop the blood away with the flannel; turning the bowl’s water red within seconds - all the time saying how sorry he was.

Tom sat on the edge of the bed.

Present Day:

Look After our Own

I was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at Fred. His face was battered; bruised and swollen. A few of his teeth had been knocked out. His jaw clearly broken (although in the process of being ‘fixed’) and it was looking likely he’d lose the sight in his left eye. He was mumbling something as Charles tried to feed him some soup through a straw.

“Try not to say anything,” Charles told him. He pulled the cup of soup away from his mouth and waited to see if Fred gave any sign of wanting it back within reach.

James was watching from the corner of the room. He hadn’t even been here a day yet and here he was being confronted by an injured family member. Hardly the best of welcomes but it does prove one thing to him.

“We look after our own here,” I told him.

“What happened?” James asked.

“We’re not sure. He just showed up on our doorstep like it. Been a long-standing family member for over a year now. Went out one day, came home like this.”

“Shouldn’t he be in a hospital?”

I smiled at James. His concern for his fellow brother - even at this early stage - was nice.

“He’s in the best place, surrounded by his family. Two of your sisters are nurses; they bring him the pain-relief they’ve managed to get from their place of work and have made him comfortable. The rest is down to him and the miracles of the human body fixing itself. Progress is slow but - and I’m sure your brothers and sisters will agree - he is looking a lot better than when he first showed up.”

Charles caught my eye with a little wave, “I don’t think he wants anymore of this.”

“You need to eat in order to keep your strength up,” I said to Fred. He shook his head at me. “Well we can’t very well force him to eat it,” I told Charles. “Take it away. Maybe he will want it later, we can always reheat it.”

Charles walked from the room as one of my daughters came in. Chantal; one of the nurses. A pretty girl with long blonde hair and a look that could seduce many a man without much hassle. She smiled at James as she walked past, the two hadn’t been formally introduced, and checked on the patient. I gave her a wink as I stood up and walked over to James.

“If you haven’t guessed,” I told him as I led him from the room to give nurse and patient some privacy, “we all do our little bit to help out around here. We do not have any dead wood. Each person has their own ability - or trade - that they bring to the family. We have electricians, plumbers, nurses, mechanics… Name a trade and there’s a good chance we have someone who knows it. The question is,” I stopped and looked at him, “where do you fit in?”

“I don’t really know yet.”

“Something for you to think about,” I told him. Each person had to pull their weight. We were a close family with much love for one another but that didn’t mean we tolerated freeloaders. At this stage, a few years since we started this family, we haven’t had anyone try and take us for a free ride yet but I was always conscious of the fact there could be a first time. It was important to lay the law down before it reared its ugly head. “Perhaps we could have a meeting in the morning and you could let me know what you think,” I finished.

He nodded.

“I’ve been called a Jack of all trades before.”

I smiled at him, “The full saying is a ‘Jack of all trades and a master of none.’ Whoever said that to you clearly didn’t appreciate your efforts. There is no need to give me an answer now. We shall talk in the morning. Until then you can walk around, do whatever you choose, and get to know the rest of your family.” I stopped, “But not too intimately. We’re not incestuous here. We found that, in the past, it complicates matters. If you’re feeling the need - longing - for satisfaction you must speak to me and arrangements will be made. Do you understand?”

He nodded again.

He’s going to fit in well here.

“Shall we say nine in the morning?”

“That’s fine.”

I smiled at him before walking away, leaving him to his own devices.

#

The next morning, I was sitting in the office going through the household expenditures in my little red book when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

The door opened and James walked in nervously. I had forgotten we’d arranged a little chat this morning. I closed the book and set it into the top drawer of the desk, shutting it away from unwanted prying eyes.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning.”

“Please take a seat.”

He sat down opposite me and I feigned a smile. The accounts didn’t look after themselves and - truth be told - I’d sooner be figuring them out than having this conversation right now but it’s not his fault I am busy. It’s entirely my fault I had forgotten inviting him to come and see me. I can’t appear rude - certainly not to a new member of the family whilst they’re trying to get their feet under the table, so to speak.

“How did you sleep last night?” I asked him as he took a seat on the other side of the table.

“Well. Thank you.”

“The bed was comfortable?”

“Certainly more so than the floor,” he said.

He smiled at me and I smiled back. A silence filled the air for a couple of minutes.

I killed the silence.  “About what we spoke of last night? Have you had any thoughts as to where your strengths are?”

“I haven’t had many jobs,” he told me; a look of uncertainty on his face. “I was talking to Charles and he said the same but he explained how he managed to make something from his passion of cooking.”

“Indeed he has. He’s a good cook too. Certainly considering his lack of tuition in it. Some people just seem to have a knack for it. Just as well really. I can’t cook even if my life depended on it. When I was younger, if I was alone, I tended to just go without or eat something simple like toast and pasta. Thank God for people like Charles. I think you’ll be saying the same come the traditional Sunday Roast.”

“Well I can’t cook either. My wife - before she left me - she tended to do that kind of thing. She went and I ended up living off takeaway or microwave meals.”

“No proper nutrition in those.”

“Well no.”

“So what do you do? You said you haven’t had many jobs - let’s start with them… What jobs did you do?”

“I’ve worked in retail.”

“Not many tills dotted around the house,” I smiled at him.

“Customer service, I did some telesales.”

I shook my head, “We don’t have many outgoing calls. As I’m sure you can appreciate, we’re pretty much off the radar out here. As I told you before - we like to keep ourselves to ourselves.”

“Yes.”

“Anything else?”

The look on his face suggested he was starting to draw a blank. I looked at him and mentally started questioning what he had been doing with his life. I can understand that not everyone had it easy and some people are forced down paths not filled with many opportunities but - from where I was sitting - he was literally a waste of a bed. Killing one man is not enough to keep you living within the family. Everyone - as mentioned before - needs to play their part with no exception.

“I really don’t know.”

I watched as a tear fell from my Son’s left eye, rolling down his cheek. My mood was conflicted; on the one hand, one of my sons was upset and yet, on the other hand, here was a forty-something year old who had nothing going for him. No wonder he was desperate to become a part of this family.

“Where did you live?” I asked him, offering an olive branch.

“I’m sorry?”

“Before here. Where did you live? Did you live in a house, an apartment, on the streets?”

“All of the above.”

“I see. Well then - in any of those accommodations - did you ever own a garden?”

He nodded, “Yes.”

“Did you maintain it?”

“I did. For the most part.”

“So there is a skill you have; you can garden. A lot of the younger members of the family have no love for gardening. I’m sure you’ve seen we have some fairly extensive grounds around our home that need tending. How would you feel about that?”

“Would it be enough to earn my keep?” he asked.

“They’re fairly large grounds. I’m more than positive it will be enough.”

He smiled at me.

“Is that a yes?” I asked him. I needed to hear the words from his mouth. If this wasn’t good enough for him then he would have to go; one way or the other.

He nodded, “Yes. Please. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. And if that’s the case you can start today. I have a little job for you out there,” I told him. The accounts can wait a minute until I get another little problem dealt with. I walked from the office with him following close behind me. We walked down the corridor, into the main hall, and out the front door before circling around to the back of the house.

He stopped in his tracks when he spotted where we were headed.

A handful of family members were standing around a mound, to the side of the garden and next to a row of trees. The mound being Fred, covered in nothing but a white sheet - the same sheet that had been on his bed the previous night.

“What is this?” James asked.

“This is Fred,” I told him, “the unfortunate chap you met yesterday.”

“I thought he was getting better?” he asked.

I shrugged, “Apparently not.” I turned my attention to the family members standing over the body, paying their last respects; specifically to Steve as he was the one who had the shovel. Steve paid his way in the house by being the mechanic for our fleet of small cars. Because they’d been running smoothly recently and he hadn’t had much to do, I had tasked him with the job of putting Fred to rest. No need now we have a gardener. “Steve!” I called out.

Steve turned to me; a strapping grease monkey in his early thirties. “Boss?”

“I’ve told you before - don’t call me that. Steve meet James. James meet Steve.” The two nodded to each other seemingly incapable of actually saying hello to one another. “Steve you will be pleased to hear that James is our newly appointed gardener. You may hand him the shovel and go back to doing what you do best - nothing.” He knew I was teasing him. He was good at looking after the cars. We knew this because there weren’t any problems with them. He deserved the luxury of laziness occasionally. Besides - with Winter coming up - I’m sure he’ll soon have his hands full.

Steve grinned as he handed the shovel over to James, “There you go mate.”

“Thanks.”

I turned back to James, “Now we get a lot of foxes out here, and badgers. Rats too. You’re probably going to want to bury him quite deep. And once that is done, why don’t you see if you can fashion the poor man some kind of headstone too? Nothing fancy - can throw something together with whatever wood you can find in the surrounding trees.”

James nodded and looked back to the body.

I thought it prudent to mention, “He is the first we’ve lost here but - with the world we live in - I’m sure he won’t be the last so it would be nice if we could perhaps think about some sort of burial area. That way, if we lose anyone else, they can at least be together. I think that’s important.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you James. You’re a good man.” I smiled at him and headed back towards the house leaving him with his task. Those damned accounts won’t do themselves.

36 Years Earlier:

A Guilty Man

The telephone was ringing from the apartment’s hallway. Tom was sitting on the sofa watching the television. It was a Tuesday morning, around 8am, and most children his age were already at school or - at the very least - on their way to their classes. Tom had never been enrolled in the educational system though and, even if he had, he hadn’t been taken in. He looked towards the ringing telephone, unsure as to whether he should get up and answer it. His uncle was in the bedroom with Alexis- the bedroom door shut.

Tom had woken up, during the night, and presumed everything was fixed between his aunt and his uncle now. It had only been a couple of days since Chris’ temper had gotten the better of him yet - last night - he’d heard his uncle whispering once more, along with the sounds of the squeaking bedsprings. No wonder he had slept in this morning, Tom thought, must be tired.

He hopped up from the sofa and walked towards the doorway leading through to the hallway; his eyes fixed upon the constantly ringing telephone. He looked over his left shoulder to the bedroom door. He approached it and opened the door with a twist of the handle. He expected to see his uncle in bed with Alexis - both of them peacefully snoozing despite the piercing shrill of the phone but - to his surprise - he was sitting on the floor with his back against the bed; a pile of money to the side of him and several notes clutched in his hands. Alexis looked to be sleeping.

“Telephone is ringing,” Tom half-whispered. “Should I get it for you?”

“No. You leave it. It’s not important. Okay?” Chris didn’t look up from the money he was counting out.

Tom sat down on the floor too with his back against the doorframe. The phone continued to ring. Chris didn’t know who it was but suspected it was Alexis’ work place calling her to find out whether she was going in for the day, or not. Chris hadn’t called in sick for her. For all he knew she wasn’t in the same job she was back before he had been incarcerated.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked.

Chris ignored him. In the hallway, the telephone finally stopped ringing.

Chris finished counting the money and stacked it all up in a neat pile. It was just under one thousand pounds in denominations of tens and twenties. He jumped up and put it on the side before going over to where Alexis laid upon the stained sheets. He watched her as she quietly wheezed through her bruised mouth. Her face looked terrible and scared Tom. The bruises had all come out now and looked angry. Her lip was split, nose cracked and there was a cut across her eyebrow which didn’t look good either. Chris stroked the side of her face and a bolt of pain shot through her. She opened her swollen eyes - not that it was obvious she had done so - and looked directly at him. She coughed, and flinched, before trying to say something.

“Wait a minute,” said Chris. He grabbed a glass of water from the bedside cabinet before carefully lifting her head from the pillow so that she could take a sip. She took a sip. He put the glass back on the side and lowered her head back down on the pillow. “How are you feeling today?” he asked her. He knew it was a stupid question. It was obvious from the sounds she made with each breath that she was in pain. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid question.”

She tried saying something but her voice was quiet. Chris leaned down close to her mouth.

“What’s that?” he asked. “I’m right here baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

He strained to hear as she whispered again, “I fucking hate you.”

He sat upright and looked at her, unsure of what to say. Deep down he deserved the comment, he knew he did, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to hear it.

“I am sorry,” he said. He’d lost count the amount of times he’d said as much to her. “I can make things better. I promise. And it won’t happen again. I swear to God it won’t.”

“I want you out of the house,” she whispered; her voice raspy and broken.

“We can fix this,” Chris reassured her.

“I want you both out of the house,” she whispered again.

Chris turned to his nephew. He was watching from the doorway. A look of worry etched onto his face. Chris wondered whether he’d heard what Alexis had whispered. He stood up and walked over to the boy, extending his hand down to where he leaned on the wall in order to help him up to his feet.

“Let’s get you some breakfast,” he said.

Tom stood up without taking Chris’ hand. The two of them left the bedroom with Chris closing the door behind him.

#

Chris walked into the apartment with a bag of shopping in each hand and a newspaper tucked under his arm. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and blue tie; the tie was loose around his neck as though he’d tugged it away in a hurry. The shirt was untucked with the top button also undone. Considering he had left the apartment looking smart, he’d come back in a state. Tom met him in the living room doorway. He too looked a mess with his hair ruffled up and bags under his eyes from where he’d not been sleeping properly on the sofa. His clothes, the same he’d been wearing since his uncle collected him from the trailer.

Chris went into the kitchen and dropped the bags on the floor muttering something about them being heavy and that - of all the days he decides to grab some food - the elevator wasn’t working. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change which he placed on the kitchen counter next to an ever-shrinking pile of money. Another muttered breath about how it doesn’t seem to last long. He leaned on the work-top and sighed heavily. When he’d left the apartment he’d been upbeat and positive; ready to seize the bull by the horns and get the job he’d been offered an interview for. His positive attitude having changed from the moment he first sat down opposite his potential new boss; an older man in his sixties who started the whole process by stating how he remembered the vicious assault. From that moment on, Chris felt the interview was nothing but a formality to keep the government happy and - in actual fact - there was no way he’d be offered a job.

He looked across the room to Tom. He’d meant to get him some new clothes, nothing flashy; just something to make him a little more presentable, but the money was starting to go down heavily. More so now that Alexis hadn’t been going to work. She was holed up in the bedroom, refusing to be seen by anyone; not because she was worried Chris would get sent back to prison for breaking the terms of his parole - she couldn’t give a shit about the asshole - but rather she didn’t want to be seen as the victim. He hadn’t been out more than forty-eight hours and he’d already shown his true colours again by beating her black and blue. Her mother’s words (from when she’d been alive at least) replaying over and over in her mind telling her that leopards never change their spots and it would only be a matter of time before he turned his violence towards her.

“How you doing?” he asked the boy.

Tom smiled at him yet Chris knew it was a smile more for effect than anything else. He’d promised to help his nephew out yet here he was, not even living up to the standards offered by the woman in the trailer park.

“Has your aunty said hello today?” he asked.

Tom shook his head.

“Let’s go and see what she’s doing,” said Chris. If she was sleeping, he’d let her continue to do so. If she were awake, he knew he had to tell her how the interview went. He couldn’t help but think of it as another nail in the coffin. For days now she’d been off with him, telling him that he needed to leave - and to take the boy with him - and he’d hoped that getting the job would prove to her he was turning a new leaf, or trying at least. It could have been a new chapter in their life, their relationship. He walked through to the bedroom. Alexis was sitting on the edge of the bed looking out of the window and down the street. She didn’t even register that Chris had come in. “I’m back,” he told her.

He crossed the room and sat next to her on the bed. He noticed her bruises - and cuts - were looking so much better today. Still not entirely healed but they were on their way at least. Soon she’d be back to her beautiful, flawless self.

He took a breath and confessed, “I don’t think I got the job. The guy knew who I was before he’d even looked at my CV.” He laughed not out of amusement but rather frustration, “Of all the people I get to interview me, I get one who remembers my one fucking mistake.”

Alexis turned to him, “Your one fucking mistake?”

He turned away sheepishly.

Alexis continued with venom oozing from her voice, “You never told me how you got your nephew back either…”

“What? I did. I told you I went and collected him.”

“And the woman - this desperate lady who’d thought she’d finally got the child she always wanted - just happened to be okay with that?”

“I reimbursed her what she paid in the first place,” Chris lied, “plus a little extra.”

“You’re a liar.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re a fucking liar. Tom was watching television and the news came on. I heard it from the other room. The body of a young woman was found dead in her trailer home. Beaten to death apparently. Police are appealing for witnesses at the moment.”

Chris shifted uneasily on the end of the bed.

“You killed her,” Alexis continued. “You killed her. You nearly killed that man. You nearly killed me. Me? I waited for you when people said I shouldn’t. I fell out with my family over you. Did you know that? I haven't seen my sister for a couple of years now. She told me that if I stayed with you then she didn’t want me in her life, or the life of her son…”

“Your sister had a baby?”

“But I stuck by my man and for what? To become another statistic… And now this… I hear you’ve killed someone. Hardly been on release for any time and you’ve done it again - not once but twice! Only this time you actually managed to kill someone.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“What? Hit me or kill someone?”

“Both.”

“You enjoy the violence. You like hitting people. I don’t know why. Maybe it gives you a sense of power or a sense of being the top of the imaginary food chain. I really don’t know but I don’t want to be a part of it. I’ve given up so much for you. I’m not losing anything else.” She looked down. At the foot of the bed - previously unnoticed by Chris - was the telephone; its cord running in from the hallway.

“What have you done?” he asked with panic laced in his voice. He didn’t need her to answer the question. He didn’t need her to confess. He knew. She’d reported him. He stood up and hurried over to the window. Was that why she was sitting, staring up the street? Was she waiting for the squad of police cars to appear around the corner heading in this direction? “Jesus Alexis, what the fuck have you done?” He felt the rage brewing up within him once more and tried his best to swallow it down.

“People aren’t safe around you. You shouldn’t be on the streets. You need to be locked up. You can do what you want to me, I don’t care anymore, but you need to be locked up.”

Tom appeared in the bedroom doorway, alerted by Chris’ raised, panicked voice. Chris saw him standing there and pointed to him. Alexis followed his finger and looked towards the boy.

“And what about Tom?” Chris asked. “Who’s going to look after him with me banged up? Are you going to do it?”

Alexis smiled at Tom but shook her head, “No. I told you; we weren’t in the position to look after him. Look at him, Chris, he’s wearing the same clothes day in and day out. He looks malnourished, he doesn’t look happy… He needs professional help. He needs to be away from your bad influence. He needs to be away from his mother. If they put him in a home - chances are he’ll end up with a good loving family who can give him everything he needs. It’s for the best. Everything I have done is for the best.”

“You selfish cunt!” Chris spat. Without a second thought to the young eyes watching from the doorway he turned and belted Alexis in the face with a solid clenched fist. She screamed as she fell from the bed and landed, hard, on the bedroom floor. “You realise what you’ve fucking done?” Chris started to kick the woman as she lay on the floor. With each raining blow, she tried to curl herself into a ball and protect her head with her arms but - whatever she tried - a booted foot found another sensitive area to connect with.

Sirens started to wail from outside. Chris didn’t look out of the window to see the many squad cars headed in his apartment’s direction. He stayed focus on what he was doing.

The boy watched on. The boy said nothing.

Present Day:

My Favourite Time

“My mother kicked me out when I was seventeen and I didn’t have anywhere to go. I ended up drifting from place to place. Sometimes I spent the night on friends’ sofas and other nights I slept out in the cold. Then I heard about this small community of people in a similar position to myself, I thought I’d look into it. When I arrived to the halfway house, I couldn’t believe the community was as big as I had heard; supposedly many, many family members. The halfway house was tiny with only a couple of bedrooms yet I’d heard there were over twenty people living together, each looking after themselves with everything overseen by one individual who appeared to be one man who I initially thought was Father,” she turned to me and smiled. I nodded. “I was in the halfway house for a couple of days only before I was given the chance to prove myself. I remember thinking it was a joke at first. I just thought Father was being weird; he had a quirky sense of humour. When I found out he was serious - when I saw what was expected - I didn’t hesitate. Here was a family offering me what my so-called real family couldn’t. I wasn’t about to lose that. I didn’t hesitate. I did what was asked and the next day I was moved into this house and I saw the full-scale of the family and met you lovely people; each one of you more welcoming than anyone I’d ever had in my life before. So - I know I’ve said this before but - I would like to thank you all for being you. I would like to thank you all for being my family.” She raised her glass in the air. I looked around the room as others raised their glasses too. A few voices muttered ‘cheers’ before each and every person - myself included - took a sip from their drink; wine poured from bottles of plain water to give the impression that I too could turn water into wine.

Dinner was my favourite part of the day. We’d all sit together in the main dining room, around a series of large tables laid out in an even square with each and every person facing another member of the family. In this house we do not have a head of the table. Each person at the dinner table is equal to the brother and sister sitting with them. We would recount stories of how we got here and where we came from. We would say what we were grateful for. There was no negativity allowed. The girl - a lady in her twenties who’d been with me for over a year - sat down as the group applauded her. One of her brothers - sitting next to her - gave her a friendly congratulatory pat on her back before leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. I smiled. The love in this room - the love we’d all been denied elsewhere in life - was clear to all.

“Would anyone else like to say something?” I asked.

I looked around the room. A few hands went up. I had hoped to see our new member’s hand go up. I had hoped to hear from James considering it was his first official meal as part of the family. His hands were on the table. He was smiling but not holding eye-contact with me; his attention seemingly drawn to Charles who was walking around the table dishing up the first courses from the trolley he pushed.

“James!” I called out, ignoring the hands in the air from those wishing to be picked. James looked at me; his face immediately starting to redden in the cheeks. “What about you? Want to tell the group about yourself? I’m not sure you’ve had the chance to properly meet everyone yet. It might be a good opportunity for you.”

James shifted in his seat. According to Charles, who I had asked to watch over him, he had been a little quiet since coming in from the garden earlier. Of course I’d gone to check on his handiwork and he’d done a good job. I didn’t give him a get out opportunity. I just kept my gaze firmly upon him. Other family members - by now - had also turned to look at him.

“I’m not really sure what you want me to say,” said James.

“Just tell us a little about yourself. Your name, where you came from, how you came to be here - that kind of thing.” I could see that he was nervous. That was fine. Not everyone liked to speak out in front of a group - especially in front of people you hardly knew.

“Can I say something?” Graeme asked from the right of where I was sitting.

“No!” I said abruptly without looking at him. “It’s James’ turn.”

“I’m fine if Graeme wants to say something,” James said.

“We want to hear from you. Come now, don’t be shy, we’re among family here.”

James reluctantly stood up. His eyes were fixed on me. I was trying to work out whether his prolonged stare was a challenge or whether he was simply too embarrassed to acknowledge the many people looking at him. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and put it down to the fact he wasn’t good at speaking out to large groups of people.

“Well - hello - my name is James,” he gave a little wave with his right hand. “I’m not actually very good at public speaking so you’ll have to forgive me if I seem a little off.”

“Relax. All friends here,” I reminded him.

He took a couple of seconds to seemingly catch a hold of his nerves a little.

“Well I’m clearly older than a lot of you here. Took me a long time to find somewhere I fit in. All of my life, I’ve been shipped from pillar to post like so many of you have. I’ve never really landed in a place I thought I could honestly call home. For a time I was married to a woman whom I thought I loved but things didn’t work out. She cheated on me and left me with nothing…”

“Should have kicked the bitch out of the fucking house,” a voice piped up from my left. It was one of the younger family members. The youngsters always had a problem with blurting things out at inappropriate moments. I shushed him silent and turned my attention back to James, apologising for the rudeness of his brother. James took it in his stride to his credit.

“It was her home. I had moved in with her. She moved me out and her lover in.”

“Go on,” I urged him forward with his story.

“I drifted around, got myself a little flat of my own when the next paycheck came in and tried to pick up the pieces,” he sighed. “And then I ended up with you - my new brothers and sisters. It couldn’t have come at a better time either, as I’d just been made redundant from my job so it was only a matter of time before I couldn’t pay my rent and lost my flat.” He looked at me and gave me a nod before sitting down. He hadn’t discussed how he came to meet us and he hadn’t told us what he was thankful for but - considering it was his first time - I would let it slide. He could finish his story tomorrow when I make him stand before this audience once more.

Charles had finally finished serving up the meals and had taken his own seat among his fellow brothers and sisters. I looked at the plate before me; boiled potatoes, peas and some kind of fish in batter. There was a little nob of butter melting over the potatoes.

“Well, Charles, this looks simply delightful. You have outdone yourself once again.”

“Thank you.”

“Now,” I continued, “who wants to say grace?”

“Grace!” a voice shouted from my left. I sighed as a thought flashed through my mind that - perhaps - only mature members should be allowed to join the family ranks.

#

The way James held my eye contact at the dinner table - earlier this evening - had been playing on my mind. I’m not sure if it was what Charles had told me, about him being quiet having done his job in the garden - or whether he was having difficulty adjusting to fitting in with such a large family but something just felt wrong.

After the meal - delicious of course - I had retreated back to my office to finish the household figures and yet every time I looked at the columns and columns of figures, I continually found my mind drifting back to James and the look. I don’t know - perhaps it was foolish of me to allow someone of his age into the family. Maybe our family only works with one obvious person in charge (me) and that bringing in people of a similar age to myself - maybe that just opens the door to possible confrontation? Am I to come downstairs in the morning and find him standing in a clearing challenging me to do battle for top spot in the house? The loser being put down like a broken animal?

For the second time today I threw the accounts back in the drawer of my desk and pushed myself and the chair away from the table. As the chair swivelled around to face the window, I hopped off and walked over to look outside. The window looked out over the garden where I could see the row of trees with the makeshift headstone made from twigs and branches. Was it too soon to get a new family member to bury one of their own? I find that hard to believe considering what he did to become a part of our little community and all that he’d been through before. It’s not as though he had a hand in the killing of Fred.

I could second guess his problem all night long - though I’d sooner not – but the easiest thing to do is have it out with him once and for all; clear the air and make sure we’re good. Make sure he is still happy to be a part of us after all - it’s not as though we force people to stay. If they want to leave, they can do so. We do not run a prison. I just need to talk to him and - the way I see it - there’s no time like the present.

I walked from the office and locked the door behind me before heading off down the hallway towards the stairs. Most of the family members had gone to bed now with only one or two still milling around either having a clean-up or watching the television in one of the living rooms. Anyone I saw greeted me with a nod of their head and a warm hello. The girls would smile at me with a naughty, wanting little twinkle in their eyes, but that could only be expected considering I have helped most of my daughters with their sexual frustrations at some stage or other. I didn’t stop for conversation as I walked by them and soon headed up the stairs. James had gone to bed soon after dinner, excusing himself from the table on account of being tired after a long day. He didn’t even clear his plate away; something else we need to discuss. Charles cooks, he does not clean. We clean up after ourselves.

I approached his bedroom door and let myself in. If his roommates were in here - also sleeping - then I didn’t feel it fair to wake them unnecessarily. James’ bunk was on the left hand side of the room. He was snoring - loudly - from under his duvet. One of his roommates was on the top bed of the other bunk; wide awake and browsing whatever it was that held his attention on his mobile phone with the light, from the screen, offering little illumination to the room. He looked at me and gave me a little wave before he went back to what he was doing. I walked over to James’ bunk and stood at the foot of the bed.

“James!”

My voice was loud enough to wake him but not loud enough to do so with a jump.

“James!”

Slowly he stirred.

36 Years Earlier:

The First Night

Tom woke with a start despite having only just drifted off. He sat up and backed up against the headboard, knees pulled close to chest, at the sight of the uniformed man standing in front of him; a half-smile on his face. Although Tom didn’t recognise the man, he did recognise the uniform; the man was one of the staff of the care home.

“How are you settling in?” the man asked. His voice was low so as not to disturb the other children sleeping in their own beds a few feet away from the new boy. Even if they had been woken by the man, though, they wouldn’t have spoken up - either now or the following morning. They would have continued to lie there, in their beds, pretending to sleep in the hope that their beds wouldn’t be visited next. Tom didn’t answer him. He just lay there; a scared little boy. “Come with me,” the man continued, “we need to go through some things.”

He held his hand out to help Tom from his bed. Tom got out without taking the offer of help. The man used a small flashlight to guide their way from the dormitory and out into the lit corridor. Tom had been placed in this home after his uncle was arrested and sent back to his still-warm cell. They’d not been able to contact Tom’s mother and so they had no option but to put him here whilst they looked for other relatives; of which Tom knew none although he did mention he had a cousin called James who lived out in the country. When the nice female officer pressed him for more details - such as a surname - Tom went quiet. Eventually he told the lady that - in the winter - they went sledding down the hilly fields near their home. Information that was - of course - no use to them. The stop in this home was supposed to be temporary with the threat of being more permanent if no one was able to be reached. Tom did not get a say in the matter. He was merely brought by and dropped off for the waiting staff to process his paperwork.

The man now - leading him down the corridor walking side by side - had no official business taking him from his bed at this late hour. He were merely there to watch over them in case there were any problems.

“Do you like it here?” the man asked.

Tom didn’t say anything.

“I know it must be pretty scary but everyone here is real nice. And - if you do have any problems - don’t be scared to bring them to me and I’ll help you out. I promised to keep an extra special eye on you, just as I do with my other boys, so you really do have nothing to worry about. Even if you don’t think I am there, you can trust me, I’ll be close by watching you. Okay?”

He looked at Tom. Tom looked at him. The man smiled to the boy. The boy didn’t smile back.

He lead Tom through to what appeared to be a nurse’s station. There was a bed in the corner of the room with a paper sheet over it. To the side of that there was a curtain hanging on rails that looked as though they were capable of enclosing the whole bed if privacy was ever needed. There was a side board attached to two walls in a long L-Shape. It was clear of clutter on the surface but Tom could see many drawers - each with their own label - which suggested the side board had multiple uses. In one corner of the room, there was a skeleton hanging by a small hook on a display stand. Tom stopped and stared at it.

“Don’t mind Fred,” the man said. “He used to work here - back when he was alive - but he hurt one of my boys so… Well now he’s our residential skeleton,” the man continued with a smile on his face. He knew boys preferred the more ghoulish things in life with their darker imaginations than the majority of the girls he’d encounters; not that he often made a bee-line for the female wing. “Right - if you want to take your clothes off and hop up onto the bed we can get started.”

Tom turned to the man with a worried expression.

The man laughed, “It’s okay. Didn’t they tell you earlier? We need to do a medical for you. We need to make sure everything is okay.”

Tom didn’t say anything.

“It’s fine. I promise. Doesn’t hurt.”

The boy looked back to the skeleton and back to the man.

“Are you embarrassed about getting undressed in front of me?” the man asked.

Again, Tom didn’t say anything.

“That’s what the curtain is for. You go on the other side and I’ll close it. You can get undressed in privacy. Okay?” He ushered Tom across the room next to the bed. “Here you go,” he pulled the curtain across separating him from Tom. “Now you go ahead and just get undressed and then jump on up to the bed, okay? You can feel free to slide your clothes under the curtain.”

Tom was wearing a blue jumper and a pair of black trousers which were a couple of inches too short for him; items dug out for him from the pile of clothes people had donated to the home. His old clothes had been taken away to be washed and he had been told he would get them back, with some other clothes, within a couple of days. He hadn’t argued with the woman who took them from him.

Tom hesitated a moment and then - reluctantly - started to strip off. He took his trousers off and his jumper before sliding them under the curtain. The man picked them up and set them on the side.

“And your socks and pants,” he said as he went back across to the curtain. He paused a moment before the socks slid across the cold-tiled floor, followed by the boy’s pants a few seconds later. The man bent down, collected them from where they lay and carried them across the room to where the trousers and top were. He turned back to the curtain. “How are you doing behind there? Are you on the bed yet?”

“Yes. There’s no cover.”

The man moved the curtain back round destroying the boy’s hiding place. Tom lay on the bed with his hands cupped over his privates. He looked embarrassed. The man walked next to the bed, close to where the boy laid.

“Don’t be shy,” he said. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen a million times before. It’s just a little medical examination to make sure you’re clean from lice and rashes. That sort of thing. Just put your hands by your side and look at the ceiling.”

The boy didn’t move and nor did he take his eyes from the man; a look of distrust evident on his young, scared face. The man made a ‘tut’ noise in the back of his throat.

“The sooner you do as I ask the sooner you get to put your clothes back on again,” he said.

Tom hesitated a moment before nervously placing his hands down by the side of his body. He stopped looking at the man and - instead - turned his attention to staring at the patterns on the dirty looking ceiling. The man reached into a drawer, close to the bed, and pulled out a stethoscope. He put it on and breathed heavily on the cold metal disk that was to go against the boys chest in order for the man to hear his heartbeat.

“This might be a little cold,” he warned Tom. He placed the small circular plate against his chest and smiled as Tom flinched. “Warned you,” he laughed. He went silent for a moment as he listened to the boy’s elevated heartbeat. He smiled at him again, “Strong as an ox.” He removed the stethoscope and asked Tom to get up and stand next to the bed. Tom did as he was asked and jumped down from the bed. The man reached down and cupped his testicles. Again, the boy flinched.

“Sorry - my hands aren’t cold, are they?” he asked.

The boy didn’t say anything. He turned his head away from the man in the hope he’d just hurry up and get it all over and done with.

“Can you cough, please?” the man asked.

Tom coughed.

“Okay. Again?”

Tom coughed for a second time.

“That’s good. Well done. See - not too scary is it?” he said.

“Can I get dressed yet?”

“We’re almost done. I just need you to turn around. There’s one more thing we need to check.”

Tom reluctantly turned his naked back on the man. The man moved closer and bent down slightly until he was close to the boy’s own height. His eyes started at the back of the boy’s head and moved down his bare back and rested upon his naked behind. He smiled. He licked his lips quietly as he reached down with two hands. He placed one on himself and one on the boy’s bum. Tom closed his eyes as he stood there shaking from nerves and the temperature.

“Nearly done,” the man sighed close to his ear. He squeezed himself a little harder as he moved the hand - touching the boy - over his arse until a finger slipped between his cheeks. “Are you clenching?” the man asked, slightly annoyed. “I’m going to need you to relax so we can get this over and done with quickly. It’s for your benefit,” the man said. His voice was low and intimidating - so close to Tom’s ear that it made him feel even more uncomfortable than if the man had been yelling at him. He struggled not to cry as the man slowly pushed into his rectum with a digit - right up to the knuckle. “Okay. That’s good,” the man sighed heavily. He released the grip he had on his own body and reached around, cupping the boy’s testicles once more. “I’m going to need you to cough,” he said as he started to slowly stroke the boy.

#

Tom lay in bed. He was lying on his side. His eyes wide with fear at the prospect of the man coming back into the dormitory room to see him once more. The experience hadn’t gone on for too much longer after he’d started touching him and asking him to cough; all finished when a funny sensation ran through the boy’s body. At the same time as the funny feeling, Tom felt embarrassed as he thought he was going to wee into the man’s hand. To his relief, other than the funny feeling, nothing happened. The man didn’t say anything. He certainly hadn’t been angry, as Tom worried. He simply said he had done well. He released both grip on his willy and also pulled his finger from his rectum before telling him to get dressed once more. Tom wasted no time in getting dressed; his back to the man.

As soon as he was dressed the man explained that everything had gone very well and that Tom was a picture of health. He walked him back down the corridor to where his bed was and explained that - from time to time - he’d need to take him, or one of the other boys, away at night just to ensure nothing had changed. After all, he was very concerned for their well-being. Tom didn’t say anything. He listened to what he was told, all the time longing for the safety - and warmth - of his waiting bed.

Lying there - in the dark - Tom was unaware that another boy, in the bed opposite, was also staring into the darkness; too afraid to go to sleep for fear of it being his turn next.

Present Day:

Truth

James sat bolt-upright in his bed - almost scared to see me standing there. I’ll have to admit to being a little shocked by his reaction. Even his brother - from across the room in his own bunk - had to stifle a laugh at the overreaction.

“Easy. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to talk,” I said. I lifted my hands - palms facing him - as though to prove to him I had come in peace. He seemed to relax a little.

“Made me jump. I was dreaming.”

“Like I said, I just needed a conversation with you.”

“And this couldn’t have waited until the morning?” he asked. I didn’t like the tone in his voice; a certain amount of insolence there. I had come to expect that from the youngest members of the house but - from someone his age - he should have known better.

“No. No, it couldn’t.” I spoke in a very matter of fact tone; one which I hoped would stamp him in his place. “If you would like to come with me,” I told him.

He nodded as he threw his duvet back and climbed from the bed.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Usually if I said something to a son or daughter, they would just do what was asked without any questions being raised. That was the way things worked. If I said something - they did it. If I told them something - they believed it. If I wanted something - they obtained it. In return, I kept a roof over their heads and let them be a part of this wonderful family. If things were going to work out between James and the rest of the family then he would need to get in line. He would need to learn his place. And he would need to learn it fast or else I feared an example would need to be made before others started thinking his behaviour was acceptable.

We walked around the upstairs of the house in silence - side by side - as I lead him through to my bedroom. It was off-limits to others, unless invited, and closer than the study so it was the perfect place to have a private one to one with my new son.

It was important to have the conversation between just myself and James. It was all about respect. What I have to say could cause him some embarrassment. It could even undermine him in front of the rest of the household and I certainly don’t want that. I know how hard it is fitting in somewhere new for the first time and I wanted the whole transition process to be smooth and easy for everyone; even if they were potentially thinking of taking lead of the house.

We reached my bedroom. I unlocked the door with a key pulled from my pocket and let James in. Once inside, I closed the door and slid the bolt across - locking us in. No one is to interrupt us until we’ve both said what is on our mind.

My room was different to the others. The bed - a large double where I’d laid so many of my sons and daughters before - took centre stage of the room but, to the side, there were two leather couches facing each other. These were here for moments such as this; times where I wanted somewhere other than the study to converse in private with people of my choosing. In this room many conversations had been had, along with many plans as to how to run initiation events without getting caught by the police who had been desperately hunting us since the second initiation took place.

“Please take a seat,” I walked across the room and took one myself. James sat opposite me.

“What’s this about?” he asked.

I didn’t say anything for a moment. I just sat there and tried to weigh him up in my mind, wondering if I had brought him into the family for all the wrong reasons; a little bit of company my own age would have been nice. I half-expected him to demand an answer from me again but he didn’t say anything. He sat there patiently waiting for me to speak. Maybe I’ve been paranoid and maybe he’s just a naturally quiet person?

“Charles told me you seem troubled.”

“Troubled?”

“Since your garden duties.”

James shifted in his seat and turned his gaze away from me. Clearly hiding something.

“I wanted to know if everything was okay,” I told him. “I just want to make sure you’re still happy to be a part of this family. The happiness of my children is very important to me.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about being called your child. I mean I understand what you’re doing and I appreciate it, without a shadow of a doubt but… What… There’s a couple of years between us, if that? It feels…”

“I’m sorry. Force of habit, James. You understand the sentiment behind what I say though. I want everyone to be happy.”

He nodded, “I understand. Like I said I appreciate all you’re doing for everyone here - myself include - but…”

“Ah, there is it. The but. What is it?” I pushed him.

“It’s Fred. I understand he was in a bad way. I mean you could see that just by looking at him but you said he was getting better and, next thing, he’s dead.”

“It was an unfortunate turn of events.”

“His injuries didn’t look to be life-threatening and…”

“I killed him.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My daughter gave him an overdose. He needed more medical attention than we were able to offer. He needed a hospital.”

“Then why didn’t you take him to a fucking hospital?!”

I didn’t answer immediately. I was both taken aback by the sudden outburst and also a little annoyed by it. He had no right to come to my house and question my rules and judgments. I was in charge. Not him. I composed myself.

“He was wanted by the police in connection with a recent initiation party. His being the only image caught on CCTV. If we had taken him to a hospital then he could have led the police right to our front door and pointed the finger at all of us in order to cut himself a nice little deal.”

James didn’t say anything. He sat there a moment, taking in what I’d told him. He seemed to take a deep breath as his eyes fixed upon mine, “You had him beaten, didn’t you?”

I didn't answer him.

“You said he went out and when he came home he had been beaten. You said you didn’t know what had happened to him. But you did it.”

“I didn’t do it but it was done on my word, yes. Unfortunately my sons got a little carried away with their task and things got out of hand. It was supposed to be a warning not to cross me again. You see we knew the camera was there and I told him not to go that way when he left but, being a fool who thought he knew better, he went against what I said and got himself identified in the process. Lessons needed to be learned. Like I said, it went a little too far and those responsible have been spoken to but I couldn’t just leave it and nor could I send him to a hospital where he’d immediately be picked up by the police. Have you seen the news? They show his face nearly every day.” I paused a moment, letting it all sink in for James.

“What happens if someone else is identified or steps out of line?”

“There will always be rules and regulations in any family you belong to. That’s the way it works, that is how order is kept. Without certain rules being in place - it would just lead to chaos. Most of the time we have a good thing going here. Each person doing their own thing and getting on with it; occasionally with a little initiation party to enjoy, or even an anniversary party to enjoy should the family member wish for one. This was a blip and I am sorry you had to witness it. It must have shaken your confidence and I can but only presume that is why you didn’t have much to say at dinner.”

“Why did you let me into your family?” James asked. “I’m not like the others. For one, I’m much older.”

“I saw you walking the streets. You looked lost. I had someone reach out to you.”

“I know but why…”

“Because we’re one and the same. I thought you needed help. I thought you’d want to be a part of this family. I thought it would be good for you.” I paused a moment. “And,” I hesitated, “I thought it would be good for me. Someone my own age to talk to and - I guess - someone I actually happen to like.”

He looked at me, an eyebrow raised.

36 Years Earlier:

Friends

Tom was sitting on the medical room’s bed. His clothes were on the side where the man - a man who called himself David - had put them. David was standing in front of Tom. The stethoscope around his neck once more as he played at being Doctor. He was talking to Tom but his eyes weren’t fixed upon his innocent face. They were locked somewhere else entirely.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” David said.

Tom didn’t answer him. He didn’t know how to answer him. All he knew of the man was his name and even that didn’t coincide with the name on the badge he wore on his uniform shirt. Tom had told himself it must have been a surname and that David was his first name. There was no reason to lie about a name. A theory backed up by the fact he had heard other members of staff call the man by the name of David - or Dave - too.

“Are we not friends?” David pushed as he waited for an answer. “I thought we were. I mean, I look out for you. I stop you from getting sick and I sneak you in candy and comic books, don’t I?”

“I guess.”

“The other staff members don’t do that for you, do they?”

Tom shook his head.

“No. Exactly. And do you know why I do it for you?”

Tom shook his head again.

“Because we’re friends. Friends look out for each other, right?”

“I guess.”

“Did you get the sweets I left for you yesterday? I hid them in your pillowcase. You did find them, right?”

Tom nodded.

“And you knew they were from me?”

Another nod.

“Normally when someone gives you a gift it is considered polite to say something to them.”

“Thank you.”

“It doesn’t work when you have to be reminded to say it. You should say it off your own back. Just something for you to think about the next time. Unless of course you say we aren’t friends in which case I won’t bring anymore treats for you. I could give them to someone else. Lots of boys would like them.”

He paused a moment and turned his gaze towards Tom’s face. Tom wasn’t looking at Dave. He was staring to the floor now, almost embarrassed at being told off and questioned about his friendship with a relative stranger.

“So what do you say?” Dave pushed him, “Are we going to be friends now or would you rather I was friends with someone else?”

Tom thought for a moment. He hadn’t been in the home for more than a week and he already hated it there. The near nightly health checks he was being subjected to, the lack of a decent night’s sleep, and the fact he hadn’t made any proper friends with the children his age did nothing to enhance his feelings towards the establishment. He’d lie there - at night - waiting for his visitor, wishing someone would come along and pull him from the Hell. His little mind occasionally taking him to the cousin he’d been told of, living in the country in a nice home with a nice family.

“Okay well, you can get your clothes. You look healthy enough to me,” Dave said. He took a step away from Tom.

Tom piped up, “We are friends.”

“We are? That’s swell. Thank you. That means the world to me. Thank you. Really. I appreciate it. I’ll tell you what - tomorrow I’ll sneak you something really special in. I’ll leave it in the pillowcase again, okay?”

Tom nodded.

“And in return maybe there’s something you could do for me?”

“What?” Tom asked.

“Would you like to do me a favour?” Dave asked.

“Okay.”

David smiled, “That’s great. See - I knew we could be best of friends. Come on - let’s get this started… Stand up.”

David helped Tom up from the bed and once again put his hand against his testicles. He asked him to cough and the little boy obliged. David smiled. Tom knew the drill by now and turned around before he was asked to do so. David moved closer to him, bending down in the process. Tom felt his breath against his ear as David once again slid a finger into Tom’s rear. Tom winced in pain and tried to pull himself free but David merely pinned him against the bed and pushed his finger harder.

“That’s good,” he sighed in Tom’s ear. “We’re almost done.”

He reached around and started to stroke Tom, just as he had done on the previous nights. Tom closed his eyes and waited for it to all be finished.

“You’re a good boy,” David whispered in Tom’s ear. “You’re a good boy. You’re my favourite, did you know that?”

Tom didn’t answer; in his mind he’d taken himself to another place entirely.

“Am I your favourite?” David asked as he started to slowly wiggle his index finger around - all the time continually stroking the boy with his other hand. “Am I?” he asked again when Tom failed to answer.

Tom answered ‘yes’ to keep him happy. He hated the man; he scared him. David smiled a lot when he was with Tom but never once did Tom feel at ease despite the supposedly friendly expression on David’s face.

“That’s nice to hear,” said David.

David pulled his finger from Tom’s rear. Tom didn’t relax as the man’s other hand was still on him. He heard the noise of a zipper being opened and then felt something else nudge against his rectum; something hard and definitely bigger.

“Are you ready?” David asked. “Be brave. We’re almost finished.”

David thrust forward without a care for the boy’s wellbeing. Tom screamed out. David released the boy’s penis long enough to reach for the pillow resting at the head of the bed. He put it in front of the boy’s face and told him to bite down upon it, promising that - if he did so - it would help. Tom bit into the pillow so hard he thought his teeth were going to rip right through it. David placed his hand back on the boy’s genitals as he started thrusting back and forwards with his hips. His heavy sighs became more frequent in the whimpering boy’s ear until he let out a long gasp as he ejaculated deep within the boy.

David pulled out and wiped himself clean with a tissue pulled from a box on the side. He scrunched the dirtied paper towel into a ball and tossed it into a medical waste bin.

“You can put your clothes on now,” he told Tom.

Tom didn’t move immediately. David walked across the room, tucking himself away and doing his zip up, and collected Tom’s clothes. He handed them over to the trembling boy.

“It’s important you don’t tell anyone about this,” David said. “We’re friends but if you tell someone we can’t be friends anymore. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?” Tom didn’t answer him so he continued, “It would mean no more treats, the other boys would get jealous and wouldn’t want to talk to you and - at night when I am on shift - you wouldn’t be allowed to stay here with me. You’d have to be put into one of the quiet rooms on the D-Wing.”

Tom had been told of what was known as the quiet rooms when he first came into the home. Apparently - according to the other boys - they were small empty rooms with padded walls and padded floors. If you were naughty - or too loud - you’d be transported to these rooms and left there for varying times. According to some of the older boys - the ones who’d been there for many years - some children had died in them and, apparently, their ghosts will wandered the halls down there. Tom never wanted to see those rooms.

“Our secret?” David wanted to hear it from his mouth.

Tom nodded as he took his clothes; a tear rolling down his cheek as he did so.

Present Day:

Friends Part II

He was looking at me with a puzzled expression. I didn’t see what was so hard to understand about what I had said.

I tried to make it clearer, “I like you. I thought we’d be good friends. I mean if it makes it easier you don’t have to call me Father. If that makes you feel uncomfortable. I can understand that what with being similar in age. And I also understand some of the decisions I have to make may make you feel a little uncomfortable too. What if I gave you the opportunity to help me run the house?”

Looking at him, I didn’t want to lose him from the family and nor did I wish to find myself challenge by him at a later date - not that I wouldn’t have been able to put him in his place should the need have arisen. But offering him some say in how the house runs, maybe that would be enough to keep him from being dissatisfied.

I continued, “I could even get you out of that shared bedroom.”

“You could?”

“Would you want me to?” I asked him.

“Well it does feel a little strange sharing a room. Actually it’s not even the sharing of rooms which is strange. I suppose it’s more to do with the bunk beds. Feel I’m a little old for those now.” He quickly added, “Not that I’m ungrateful for what I have been provided with, you understand. Just - when you get to my age - you kind of hope you’ve at least made it to the point in life where you get your own large bed.”

I nodded. I understood exactly what he was saying. I used to live in a small apartment with my lover. We were always struggling for money. It was only when I started bringing more people home that things started to pick up for me. I would find people living on the streets and offer them a home. Most of them didn’t have jobs because they didn’t have a fixed address. Well, by giving them an address at least, I knew it wouldn’t be long before they would manage to get a small job - even if it were flipping burgers in some fast food restaurant. I lost money moving them in and giving them a new outfit each but I knew - if I didn’t change things - my lover and I would never have had the lifestyle we felt we believed. Soon enough we went from scraping by with money to having cash left in our pockets at the end of the month; taking rental fees off of the people I moved in. Word got around to what I was offering and more and more people were coming by the small apartment. That was when I decided each and every person who wanted to move in needed to prove themselves.

James broke me from my thoughts, “Where would I sleep?” he asked.

“You could sleep in here, with me.” I told him.

He looked around the room, “What? We could put a second bed over there?” he pointed to a clear space in the bedroom.

I shook my head and leaned close to him, “Not what I was thinking.” I leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. He flinched away.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Have you not been hearing me? I like you. I chose you to come and live with us because I like you. We are one and the same, you and me…”

“We’re not.”

I ignored him, “And that’s why I brought you in. I’m telling you we could rule this house together. We could both be fathers to our sons and daughters. We could both lead our family forward. Each of us in power. Think about it - our family would be stronger with two heads. It would be better for all concerned.”

“I think you have the wrong idea about me.”

He stood up and walked towards the door.

I called out, “You think I let the others choose who they got to kill? No. I only let you choose who died on your initiation night. I wanted to know if you had it in you to choose who to kill and - then - to kill them yourself. You did. You picked out someone to die. You killed them. You and I are the same.”

He hesitated by the door. For a moment I thought he’d believed what I said - not that there was anything to disbelieve. We were one and the same. “I’m sorry but I think I’ve made a mistake. I thought what was being offered here was different to what I’ve seen. This… This isn’t right… Some kind of cult.”

“You knew what it was when you bashed that man’s head in with the hammer. You knew exactly what it was. Don’t pretend to think you didn’t.”

“Well I thought it was for me but it wasn’t.”

He edged closer to the door. I ran up behind him and grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him on the spot so that he faced me.

“What, you think you can just leave? You think you can stop over for a couple of nights and then decide it isn’t working out? No one leaves the family. We do not abandon our sons and daughters.”

“I’ve heard some of the stories these people have. They’re all psychopaths. Desperate people who’d do anything to look out for themselves. They’re willing to take a fucking life just to try and get ahead with their own. How long before they turn on you, or themselves? This is a ticking time-bomb. What happened to Fred proves that.”

“What happened to Fred was a necessity to save the family and if you leave this room…”

“What? You’ll kill me?”

“Just stay with me. We can lead together.”

I edged closer to him and he shoved me back. I lunged forward and grabbed him. The two of us fell against the wall, me on top pinning him there. I leaned in and kissed him again. He fought me off and shoved me back.

“Don’t do this,” I warned him. “And don’t pretend you’re not like the other people living here. You killed someone too. You’re a murderer.”

“I knew the man I killed and I knew why I did it!” he shouted at me. “The part of the story you don’t know about me… What I told you about my uncle beating my aunty to death, what I told you about my real mother not wanting me… Even selling me for alcohol… That was all true but I didn’t tell you about the care home I was sent to. I didn’t tell you about the nightly visits from one of the workers there. A man named David. David Markson. Every night he raped me. Fucking poof, just like you are, forcing himself upon me. Back then I was too young and too scared to do anything about it but not now. I grew up, I found out where he lived… Then I met you and some of your family members. I took the opportunity to kill Markson. I took the opportunity to wipe that low-life piece of shit from the face of the planet…”

“And the woman who lived with him. Let us not forget her. The innocent woman and her unborn child…”

“Who you killed! I had nothing to do with that. I killed a man who deserved to die. Who are the people you kill? Strangers? Do you know them at all? Do they deserve what you do to them? I somehow doubt it. I made a mistake coming here. I made a mistake getting involved with you. I’m not a part of this family.”

He turned back towards the door and reached for the bolt. I screamed at him that he wasn’t leaving me and dashed forward, grabbing him by the shoulders again and yanking him away from the door with my full force. We both crashed to the floor in a heap. I got up first and climbed on top of him, once again pinning him to the spot. He struggled underneath me but failed to shift me. His arms pinned to the side of his head by my knees. My crotch in his face.

“You don’t have to do this!” I told him. “We can be together, ruling this house. If you’re worried about the people living here, we can work with them. We can fix them. We can make everyone okay and we can…”

“Get the fuck off me!” he screamed.

“You wanted to be someone else. I’m giving you the chance to do so. I’m giving you the chance to be James. The name you picked when I awarded you with it…”

He continued to struggle under my weight, “You want to know who James was? James was my cousin. I never met him. I was only ever told about him once; my cousin who lived in the country with a nice loving family. I chose the name because that’s what I wanted for myself; a house in the country with a nice loving family.”

“And you can have that with us!” I tried telling him.

“Get off me!” he spat.

“Why won’t you love me?!” I yelled at him.

36 Years Earlier:

Friends Part III

Tom didn’t bother trying to get to sleep before David came for him. Sometimes he’d drift off by accident but most of the time he’d sit up, waiting. He never argued with what was asked of him. He simply accepted his fate, always fearful of what would happen if he denied his friend’s wants.

David had come for him again just as he had on previous nights. He’d taken him through to the medical room and locked the door just as he always had. Tom had walked over to the bed and started to take his clothes off but - tonight - he was told to leave them on. He looked at David in the hope he was being released from his nightly visits but he could tell by the man’s expression he had something else on his mind.

He walked across the room towards Tom.

“We’re going to try something new today,” he said. “You know when you lick a lollipop?”

Tom nodded.

“It’s the same thing. You don’t use your teeth. You just use your tongue.”

“I want to go back to my bed,” Tom said. He started to cry.

“And you will when we’re done.”

David started to pull at the zipper on the front of his trousers. He pulled his stiffening member out - inches away from Tom’s face.

“Put it in your mouth. Remember, like a lollipop.”

“I don’t want to,” Tom wept.

“You said we were friends. You don’t want to help your friend out?”

Tom shook his head.

“Well - okay - that’s fine. Let’s get you back to your room… Well, not your room, there’s a problem with your bed. We’re going to need to put you in the quiet room tonight…” he took Tom’s hand and pulled him towards the door. Tom dug his heels in and screamed not to go. “I’m sorry but we don’t have a choice. We need to get your bed fixed. It won’t take long -  I mean, by the time we were done in here, it might have been finished and you could have gone back to it but if you’re not willing to help a friend out… You’ll have to go to the quiet room whilst I go and help with your bed.”

“I’ll do it!” Tom screamed.

“You will?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

Tom nodded, tears streaming down his face. David released his grip of the boy’s hand and nodded him back across to the bed. Tom did as he was told as David freed himself from the confines of his trousers once more. His cock was hard now in anticipation of the boy’s tight mouth being wrapped around it.

“Just like a lollipop,” he reminded him.

With a little pressure, to get past the resistance, David eased himself between Tom’s lips, as the young boy suppressed a gagging reflex. He sighed as his head slipped in with a little of the shaft. The rest of the shaft he gripped with his hand as he gently stroked himself, careful not to hit the boy’s face. His other hand reached around to the back of the boy’s head and kept him locked in position. Little boy with mouth full and eyes shut oh so tight.

“That’s nice,” David whispered. “That’s really nice.”

Present Day:

Friends Part IV

James continued to struggle underneath my weight but it was pointless as I pressed down harder upon him.

I told him, “We can stop this, just agree that you’ll run the household with me. Agree we’ll be partners. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Don’t resist it.”

“You’re fucking insane!” James hissed at me.

“You will love me!” I yelled at him, angered by what he said. All my life I’ve had people question my sanity. I was forced into cognitive behavioural therapy, I was forced to talk with groups of people - where I recruited more for my family - and I had been sent from pillar to post in order to supposedly ‘get help’. He had no right to say that to me. None. He forgets he has killed as well. We’re in this together now. I fumbled with my trousers, inches from his face, and pulled out my soft cock. “Put it in your mouth,” I shouted, “show me you love me!”

“I don’t love you! I don’t like you! Get the fuck off of me!”

I reached down to his face and grabbed it, fingers either side of his mouth forcing it open in the process. He mumbled something but the words were lost. I screamed at him again to show me how much he loves me as I forced myself into his warm mouth; instantly starting to harden in the process. I felt his tongue touch the shaft as he tried to move it to the back of his throat to avoid coming into contact with my flesh.

“Suck it, you ungrateful cunt!” I spat at him.

There was a knocking at the door. Someone asking if we were okay. I shouted for them to fuck off as I took my hand away from James’ mouth and grabbed his dark hair instead. Seconds later and I was moving his head backwards and forwards by his hair - forcing him to take more of me into his wet mouth. His eyes were shut tight as I started fucking him. He was still struggling underneath me. Why won’t he give it up already and accept this is the way it needs to be; us as a couple running the house as Father and Father? Two leaders to a beautiful family.

#

The little boy gagged as a hot sticky substance shot to the back of his throat. He tried to pull away but was locked in place with a hand on either side of his trembling head - forcing him to continue making movements he wished he weren’t. Finally the hands released him from their grip and David withdrew from his mouth; cock covered in both sperm and saliva. David was breathing heavily as though he’d just experienced the most intense orgasm he’d had for a long, long time. Tom was crying despite David praising him for his skills and saying what a great friend he was. Tom wished he could do something to stop all of this; he wished he could make it all go away and never be bothered again but he knew there was nothing to be done. He was but a young boy from a broken family. He worried no one would believe him. He worried that it would make it worse; these acts continuing but with a vengeful monster as opposed to a sometimes-gentle friend. On many a night, when he laid in bed with cum dribbling from between his cheeks, or a salty aftertaste left lingering in his mouth, he promised himself that one day he would stand up for himself. One day, when he was big and strong, he would put a stop to people like David.

#

I roared at him asking him, “Where have you gone?”

His eyes were scrunched shut tightly and he’d stopped fighting from underneath my heavy weight as he’d clearly taken himself to another place. This isn’t ‘Fight Club’ - there are no ‘Happy Places’ you can retreat to.

“Open your eyes!” I screamed at him as I continued fucking his mouth. “Open your fucking eyes and look at me! I chose you! I chose you because I saw potential in you. I could see that we belong together! Stop fighting and accept it…”

I could feel my temper getting the better of me as James continued to defy me. He should be grateful that I saw fit to invite him into my family having seen him struggling through with life. He should be grateful that I let him kill a man of his choosing - going against my own rules - as opposed to picking someone. And, more to the point, he should be grateful that I have chosen him to be with me. Yet here he is acting like an ungrateful little shit. I slapped him hard in the face; my knees either side of his head, pinning his arms, stopping his face from moving with the force of the hit. I hissed again that he needed to open his eyes and acknowledge me; acknowledge us. To my surprise, and delight, his eyes suddenly opened and locked with my own. That’s better. I smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, or - considering his mouth was full - attempt to either. I realised there was a look of blinding hatred in his eyes and suddenly - with no warning - he clamped his mouth shut. I screamed out loud as a pain shot through my body. His top row of teeth connected to his bottom row.

#

Blood gushed over James’ face as the penis came away from Father’s body. Father screamed out loud - a high-pitched shrill - as fists pounded on the bedroom door; concerned family members flocking to the room to see what the commotion was. As the blood continued to flow, the father used what remaining strength he had to grip James’ head. He started slamming it down again and again on the bedroom floor. Each blow dazing James that little bit more. The hits against the bedroom door were no longer fists but bodies instead as members of the family took it in turn to throw themselves against the rigid door in an effort to break it down for their entrance. Their frantic cries to father being near drowned out by the screaming of the man they’d come to love.

With his hands against either side of James’ head, and his thumbs lined up with his eye sockets, he started to push inwards as hard as his weakening body would allow. The strength taken to do so, meant shifting his weight on James’ body allowing him the chance to quickly lift his shoulder, throwing the bleeding man to the floor beside him, before any real damage was done.

Still dazed - head pounding – James scrambled to his feet.

The bleeding man beside him didn’t. He laid there, writhing around in agony as the blood flow became less of a fountain and more of a trickle. His face pale and his eyes fading. James turned to the door - his own face etched in panic - as the door suddenly gave way and three men in their twenties spilled into the room landing in a heap on the floor. More men were standing in the doorway now surveying the scene before them. A girl, behind them, screamed as she noticed her father’s wounds.

“It’s not what it looks like!” James put his hands up in a defensive position. “I can explain!”

Epilogue

The little boy turned into a teenager and then finally a man. Over the years he watched people come and go; some because they reached their eighteenth birthday and others because they were adopted by people wanting to start a family. Each time a new couple came by, he felt his hopes rise that it may be him who was chosen and yet each time he was left with bitter disappointment as they barely even glanced in his direction. He often wondered whether they could see the damage in his soul caused by his birth mother, uncle, and the man who called himself ‘a friend’. He had reconciled himself to the fact that he was most likely going to be forever alone. He was fine with it. A life spent alone may not have been for everyone but - for him - it came with perks. Namely, as he continued to age, the night-time visits became less and less frequent. David still crept into the room - of course - but he’d also go to another bed. The bed of a younger child. A newer one. Tom felt sorry for them as he knew what was to happen to them as they were lead - nervously - from the room. He’d have to tense his entire body so as not to let adrenaline surge through him and take control of his actions. Often he thought about stepping forward and saying something to someone in authority but - each time - he realised no one would believe him. A little voice deep within his head told him that others would step forward too. The little voice was quashed when he reminded it that - when he was younger - he would not have come forward had someone else blown the lid off of what was happening during the midnight hours. He would have been too afraid that no one would have believed them, no matter how many people came forward, and things would continue as they were. Only this time, instead of being led away by ‘a friend’ they’d have been lead away by a vengeful monster with no care for their well-being.

As he left the home in the back of a taxi - heading for his own, small apartment issued by the council - he could sense David standing at a window watching him go. He could sense the smile on his face; he had gotten away with it again. Tom promised himself that - one day - he would have his revenge. He just questioned whether God would be on his side to let him see it through.

#

Sons and daughters crowded around the body of the man who’d given them a home; some thought of him as their father and others thought of him as their God. Tears were spilled as they each, in turn, took a moment to say goodbye to him. He wasn’t dead yet but he wasn’t conscious. He’d lost a lot of blood and they knew he wouldn’t make it. The blood was but a trickle now. The carpet around him saturated in red.

James was screaming for them to let him go from across the room. He was telling them again and again that he could explain but his pleas and screams were falling upon deaf ears. They had him on the bed. A girl who’d previously been in a similar position had pointed out the restraints still attached to the bed (and shoved under out of sight). Two men restrained James as the girl reached back under the bed.

“It’s still here!” she laughed.

She pulled out a cardboard box and lifted the lid, ignoring the stench. She reached into the box and withdrew the severed head of Markson - left there from where it had previously been used as a sex toy against her pussy.

“Remember him?” she laughed as she held the head up to James.

With one hand holding up the weight of the head, she used her other hand to make it speak - even going so far as to put on a fake voice, “You’ve been a very naughty boy, James!” She laughed again, as did the two men who’d finishing restraining him to the bed.

“My name is Tom!” James shouted.

The girl looked at him from over the top of the dead head. “Aw, what’s the matter, you look scared… What ever is the problem?”

“Please just let me explain. He was…”

“You need to relax a little,” said the girl. She turned to one of the men and instructed him to pull James’ trousers off. He did so with a grin on his face. The girl looked to James’ bare cock and laughed, “No wonder you always seem a little uptight… What do you call that? I hope it’s more impressive when it wake up.”

“Let me fucking explain, you cunt!” James hissed.

“Here… We’re all friends here… Maybe I can help you relax a little!” she made the dead head talk again before holding it to James’ genitals. She used her second hand to lift his flaccid cock up before putting it into Markson’s mouth. James screamed.

#

David Markson wiped his spent penis clean of the cum and spit and turned to the crying boy.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Tom didn’t answer.

“I thought you did a very good job. I’m proud of you. What you did for me felt really nice… Look, I’ll show you…”

He lifted Tom up onto the medical bed and pulled his pyjama bottoms down. He took a hold of Tom’s soft penis and put it into his mouth before slowly sucking him hard. He stopped only long enough to say, “See - it’s nice, isn’t it?” before continuing with his actions.

Tom closed his eyes and wished it to stop.

#

The girl continued wanking James’ cock with the severed head, all the time doing fake moaning noises as though she were Markson herself. Despite her best efforts James’ penis wasn’t stiffening in response; something which bothered the girl. She shifted her hands so that one was on the top of the head - holding it by a scruff of hair - and one was underneath the chin. She turned to see the rest of the family members were watching her now. The body of their father lying cold at their feet. She smiled at her brothers and sisters as one stepped through the group with a knife in his hand. He approached the bed as James continued to struggle and shout at them all to fuck off and give him a chance to explain.

“It’s not what you…”

The girl clamped the mouth shut of the severed head, by pushing up hard with the hand connected to the chin, separating penis from body in the process. James screamed out loud - a scream cut short as his fellow brother slowly sliced his neck open with the blade of the knife. A spray of blood jettisoned over the girl. She tossed the head to one side, letting it bounce off the floor, and straddled James’ writhing body. She started to rub herself with her left hand as blood continued to soak her from both the gash in the throat and the stump of his cock. Despite the quick flow of blood and the speed with which his soul left his body, she managed to climax before he passed.

She turned to her brothers and sisters with a guilty smile on her face. She shrugged.

“Anyone want to adopt me?”

THE  END