Justin Cairns - Little Red

One occasion torments his mind even now, a series of events that he can no longer blank from his internal slide show. The night had arrived quicker than they had thought, the story telling aided in passing the time. Sarah sat at the top of her mattress, the old sleeping aid was worn and uncomfortable but Russell had given her the only bed frame in the room, he slept on several blankets upon the stained carpet. He strolled around the dimly lit room, the moon glowed strong through the only window; illuminating his body temporarily as he moved past it. Sarah would gasp as he offered a muffled howl, imitating the Wolf from the book. He noticed that she would jump at the same part of the story every time. He had begun reciting the words my…… what big ears you have, when the creak froze his movements. Fear engulfed them and he found himself unable to move. He watched as the black mass moved under the door, its shadow cast from the light at the top of the stairs. The round door handle had started to rotate clockwise, Russell found himself edging to his bed; his eyes fixed on the door. Slowly it was eased open and slowly he lowered himself to the floor.

The blankets gave a ruffled sound as he pulled them up to his face, the beast had entered their room. The floor boards echoed its footsteps, the old carpet had thinned with wear and barely lay on top of the wooden slats. The steps had moved cautiously but controlled, he isn’t drunk………oh god he isn’t drunk.

The sliding of blankets could be heard from his hiding place and Russell began to wind himself up with bad thoughts……angry thoughts. He felt his blood boil, his gut began to ache. He knew what was going to happen, it had several times now. Whispers could be heard in the room, he continued with the forced rage.

The blanket fell silently to the floor…..the beast with its back towards him. His footsteps held no sound…….leaping towards the large mass. The grunt as he and the monster exhaled with the contact. The scream as the girl sat upon her resting place. Her red hair glowed in the moonlight. The thud as the small body was thrown to the floor…..his head absorbing the blow. The grunt as the large man regained his posture……the gurgle sound escaping his mouth as the small, weak arms were clasped around his throat from behind. The girl held on for dear life. The boy was back on his feet, his hands searching for a weapon. The glass shard found from the broken mirror, caused from their ruckus. The thrusting and tearing of skin filling the room…..his screams of rage were followed by screams of pain. The beast was on the floor…..the glass piercing his body. The warm blood spat at the boy’s face, the weapon brought up and forced down several times as the rage controlled him. The aggression caused spurts of abuse from his mouth, the words directed into the monsters ears. Russell’s hand was flayed from the shard, his opponent gurgled as the blood pooled within his chest. The anger soared through his sixteen year old body, unable to withstand the fire from his core he thrust the point into the man’s neck; withdrew and slammed it down three more times. He wanted him dead, expired from the hell he had created. The open wounds gurgled as the last breathe escaped them, the whimper followed. Russell stopped, his body rocked where he kneeled. The sound of the girl crying created a drought of the anger……..he starred in shock.

Sarah lay crumpled by the beast, his large body pinned her to the ground. From her chest leaked a flow of crimson, her life draining from the injury. Russell shot forward and grabbed the shoulder of his father, he pulled with the remaining strength to free his sister. She lay motionless, a slight jump from her torso as the small heart fought to stay alive. He had killed her, the shard ripped through the flesh of the man’s neck and pierced her fragile body. The organ was ruptured and she gazed up through the window as the moon smiled down upon her. He had taken her…….he had ended his Little Red.

The van was stopped at his desired location. He sat one house down from his new girl, the park to his right offered a shield of trees and he lay in front of them; the engine rocking to a halt. He did the usual three hundred and sixty degree check, to ensure he was alone and not being watched. The upstairs was dark, a peek of light came from a room on the bottom floor. He set the timer on his watch, the digits displayed fifteen minutes exact. Outside the weather had worsened and light speckles of snow had begun to fall, they lay upon the windscreen; melting away upon contact as the glass still held the warmth from the interior. His mouth gave the odd sharp tingle as he inhaled, his teeth still sore from his self-modification. He rested his head and closed his eyes, the previous thoughts of his childhood haunting him.

He held her body for several hours, feeling the life escape her. He told their favourite story over and over, trying to keep her at ease. No tears were shed, no cry for comfort…..just the words that he spoke softly into her small ear. He gathered his belongings and spare clothing, the pockets of the beast held little money but he removed it without guilt. He turned before leaving the room, waiting to see if she would jump back to life…..she didn’t. He left the scene and headed in town, a collage of thoughts filled his mind. The bedsit was a known addicts hide away, the room was cheap and standards were less than adequate. He sat upon the stained mattress and considered his next move, unaffected by the loss of his father. Several days had passed and he came to the conclusion that he would stop by his uncles house, just on the outskirts of London. He would have questions to face but the answers he had planned. He left early one morning and headed for the nearest bus stop, the timetable offered the times to his location. He had waited for his bus to arrive, still feeling calm and un-fazed by the attack several days ago.

Two buses later he had arrived, prepping the story he would tell his uncle. The house was small but hidden, privacy was not an issue as the walls were surrounded by foliage. The doorbell played a tune as he pressed it, movement seen from behind the distorted glass. He was ushered inside by a concerned face. The story he had told from behind a warm glass of milk, the ears listening were amazed at the young boys story……but believed what they were told. For years Russell lived with his uncle Adrian, home schooling was issued and he welcomed the fresh education. He worked for little cash but enjoyed the sense of adulthood, his body became larger and was toned to a satisfying shape with the gym equipment he stored in the large shed. He would sit and remove the picture of Sarah, the birthday cake he had made her when their father was away drowning his many sorrows. He would wander of her looks now if she still lived, where she would be…..where he would be. No tears would fall, no whimpers of a feeble cry.

He had suffered from terrible dreams, not nightmares, he wasn’t scared of what his head showed him whilst he rested. He would see her body, drained and lifeless. He would see his father’s body, large and bloodied. He would hear the whispers from the unknown guest…..the panting from behind. The warm breathe brushed his cheek as the beast circled him, he felt no fear. The eyes appeared in the pitch black, large circles of glowing yellow; he would stare back keeping contact at all times. It would tell him things he had not heard, orders he had never received but excited him. He accustomed himself to the nights of a sweat ridden bed, the nose bleeds that came often. His uncle would say not to worry, it’s all part of growing up……but what he was growing up to be was a mystery he needed an answer for.

He gave in to the voice that beckoned him, calling his name with a pant. It ushered him through dark voiles and corridors with no end. The passages he wandered within his restless mind had led nowhere, he stalked the empty paths; the temperature lowering to a numbing state. Still he searched. When resting, he would enter the maze of his brain, walking the lonely isles as the inner guest would call. He remembered well, the night he stumbled across the door. In all his years of dreams he had found no rooms or doorways, now he stood; the voice calling from the other side. He opened the door, intrigued to find the happenings on the other side. The snow chilled his naked skin, he felt no shame in his natural appearance; his skin draining to a pale grey colour. The trees engulfed the black surrounding him, he walked on with no fear. The cracking of debris within the woods caught his eye. Something moved with him as he walked, staying level and keeping the pace. The carpet beneath crunched as he flattened it, his prints left a trail of his route. He stopped, so did the guest, and gazed above at the yellow tint that the moon offered, his eyes wide with ore.