Child of the Dead is an interesting piece. It not only showcased my first real attempt at writing (sometime during the tenth grade, I think?) but also revealed my love of horror creation. Well, it at least showed me my love of horror writing.
It’s a raw piece, and while I’ve made changes here and there, I’ve kept most of it intact from its original debut in my high school’s quad. I can still remember the faces of a few friends after reading it. The general, confused, and “is this guy alright?” looks crossed their faces.
In my opinion, I’ve gone on to write better pieces, but this will forever be my first. My virgin piece.
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“God damn it, Bitch! Where in the hell is my supper?”
Mr. Sullivan once again returned home from a heavy night of drinking, and he was not in the mood to handle anyone unless it was a bartender. His large beard stank with the smell of beer, as did his breath. His hair, or what he had left of it, was all messed up in a three-week-uncombed way. The small, beady little things, which were supposed to be eyes, were bloodshot from the smoke-infested bar he had resided in for the past several hours. The plaid t-shirt, which he always wore, was old and faded from the amount of drink that had been spilled down it. The fabric stretched, revealing his large beer belly (a fitting title).
“Just hold on a minute, H-Honey. I’m just warming it up, okay?” Sullivan’s wife trembled at the sound of her husband’s voice and always began to shake with fear.
“What? Why isn’t it on the table already?” Now standing up and swaying to and fro from his unsteadiness, “I provide, and I provide, and what do I get in return? Nothing!? Absolutely fucking nothing! Why do I even bother?” His voice grew louder with his rage.
“Please, Walter, be quiet, you’re going to wake Tommy. Please-“
Before she could finish her plea, Walter stood behind her; he turned her around and slapped the woman across her face. The force knocked her onto the floor and brought her soft eyes to the point of tears. A large, red handprint was already forming on the side of her face.
“Wh-,” he lost his words for a moment, “why should I? What are you going to do about it? Cry me a river so I can drown in it? Come on, show me what you’re going to do.” His large bear figure loomed over her.
Now she was really scared and could no longer contain her tears. They began to fall while an object caught her eye in the doorway. She turned her head towards the kitchen door, where, to her surprise, their son, Tommy, was standing with his Ninja Turtle stuffed toy.
“It has been too long since you took your fucking medicine, Bitch.” Walter forced his wife to turn her head to face him with such force that it almost snapped her neck in the process. “Look at me when I talk to you. What are you looking at?” He turned around to also find Tommy standing in the doorway. Tommy’s face was pale, and his eyes were encrusted from the deep sleep he had awoken from. The boy blinked stupidly as he tried to adjust to the fluorescent kitchen lights.
“Tommy, my boy, come here a moment. I want you to see how daddy gives mommy her medicine,” the man boomed in a jolly manner, trying to sugarcoat his drunken words and vile manner. He whispered, “Her fucking medicine.”
The boy stared at him for several moments before finally opening his mouth, “My friends do not like you, Daddy. They say you are a bad man and that you should be punished.” The boy continued to stare as if not knowing what words had just come out of his mouth. He had a calm composure and was fully aware of what was going on.
Walter fell back into his foul mood once more. “What? Boy, you don’t have any friends! Who told you this? Was it your whore of a mother? This Bitch? Tell me, boy!”
“No, daddy,” the child finally realised what was happening and began to shake with fear, “it wasn’t mommy, it was my friends, the ones that I see. They’re everywhere.” Sullivan junior took a step towards his father. His eyes were fixated on that large, stinking man.
“You! You little bastard! I hope you’re not lying to me because if you are-“
The boy quickly interrupted his father. “No, daddy.” Tommy now walked up to his father, grabbed the beast’s hand, and began to squeeze it. “I love you, Daddy, but this has to be goodbye. They say mommy and I should be happy.”
The large man’s face began to turn a shade paler than white as he started to whimper like a dog just been kicked. “No! What? Wh-who are all of you?! Get the fuck out of my house!”
He screamed.
“Please, please, just leave me alone. I-I swear I won’t hurt them again. Please.” His screams echoed throughout the small house.
Blood began to pour out of the man’s mouth, eyes, and ears. The thick red substance flowed like a river of crimson sludge.
“Don’t just stand there, Bitch!” He bellowed louder, still with fear in his voice.
“Call me a damn ambulance! I’m having a fucking heart attack!” He plummeted to the ground, Tommy still holding his hand tightly.
Mrs. Sullivan finally got up off the floor, rubbing her face. The woman began to smile and then laugh, “Why should I? Why should I do anything for you? You good-for-nothing son of a bitch! Now you get what you deserve. Now you can feel what it’s like to die inside over and over again. I hope you rot in the Ninth.”
She grabbed Tommy’s hand, and they headed for the front door of the two-bedroom house. As they reached the pick-up truck, Tommy’s mother realised she hadn’t gotten the keys and started heading back into the house, leaving Tommy next to the vehicle.
The woman reached for the keys next to the front door and glanced towards the kitchen. Mr Sullivan was lying in a puddle of his own blood, still violently shaking, and growing ever older by the moment. She returned to the truck, and the two of them left the house.
“That was easy,” whispered a faint voice in the air.