Frederick Hamilton - Spare Key

Michael groaned from where he sat hunched in front of the television screen and his body went suddenly still. Fucking hell , Jacob thought, he jacked off to that? Without a word, his brother rose to his feet and Jacob caught a quick glimpse of his slimy penis as he tucked it back into his pants. He ejected the DVD and turned, glancing briefly at Jacob, before stalking out of the room, DVD in hand. Jacob sat in shocked silence. In that brief moment, with his cheeks flaming and that glint in his eye, Michael had not seemed like his brother at all.

He stared after him for a moment, his heart thudding as he swallowed nervously and then slowly looked from the door back to the television. Michael’s half empty beer stood propped on top of it and the screen now only showed a blue background with the CoNIS brand affixed in its centre. It wasn’t the logo he was looking at though; it was the spatters that flecked the screen: the ropes of jizz that slowly eased their way towards the bottom.

He sat watching his brother’s sperm ooze for a moment before he stood up to fetch a cloth. After all, who knew when dad would decide to make an appearance? He couldn’t even imagine what the old man’s reaction would be to the current scene.

As he made his way toward the kitchen, Jacob told himself that he was doing this for his brother. That he didn’t want to see him get in any trouble. But underneath the thought lay another that was really too disturbing to focus on; the reason why he didn’t tell on Michael the first time he’d caught him watching one of his films. Although Jacob didn’t like the violence; he did like the girls that starred in the films. He liked seeing them naked and he liked seeing them touched too; not beaten, just touched. And for once he wished Michael would leave a DVD after he had shown him. Jacob would always hurry to his room to jack off afterwards but just once he’d like to wank while he watched one. Maybe he could now though. After all, his brother had got that particular ball rolling…

Although he doubted he’d be wanking today.

That final scene had somewhat obliterated the urge.

* * * * *

They called themselves The Filmmakers and all this started out innocently enough: filming stunts they did on their bikes and boards, filming themselves being fools and joking around, making the odd, horrible short film but primarily just filming themselves on their regular drinking expeditions down at the Claypits, the series of clearings that were left by the clay mining operation that stretched from the highway out through the Whipstick forest. Just eight friends, all male, all late teens, bored with life in the small town of Muirtly. Just fifteen minutes from the admittedly less than thriving metropolis of Bendigo, it was a quiet place: population three hundred, a pub, a general store and a fish and chips shop its entire CBD.

They were essentially carbon-copies of each other. All desperate to rebel and claim their individualism but defeating that purpose with their equally desperate adherence to the latest fashions and brand names. All attended the same school, Epsom High, a short bus trip away. All were of average to high intelligence but insisted on swamping their minds with excessive data about the latest musicians and television shows, comic books and other crap; anything to avoid facing up to the reality of the world. You know the sort. The kind that think politics are pointless despite the fact it decided the future of their country. Cloaking themselves up in the mantle of angst to avoid failing by just not trying in the first place.

I know all this because I know the Filmmakers well. I have been watching them for a long time now and I have finally run out of patience. I’ve seen them on their drunken outings, breaking things just because they could, getting into fights because they claimed they were bored. That it isn’t their fault; there’s just nothing to do in this town. Obviously the idea of opening a book has never occurred to them. Nor any of the constructive arts: paint some, draw some, build something, fucking knit if you have to – just don’t tell me you’re bored when there were so many options you haven’t pursued…

Anyway, back to the point at hand. The Filmmakers were heading towards a fall. I knew it was coming but even I – in my infinite wisdom - couldn’t have foreseen how quick they’d degenerate. It’s hard to pinpoint the exact start of their decline but as far as I can tell it all began to change when Steven killed that dog for whatever fucking reason he had. To be honest, I know for a fact he had no reason. He was just bored and wanted to see what would happen. He even muzzled the thing first – a true sign of cowardice if I’ve ever seen one; didn’t even give it a fighting chance.

He staked it down out in the fifth Claypit, right near the big dam and set to work. Michael manned the camera, while the other boys ringed the beast. I must give them this: the majority of the boys were hesitant. Well at least to start with. They didn’t hesitate long once Steven threw the first rock though. It struck the dog dead in the centre of the head and it went down with a strangled whimper. The poor mutt was dead long before the other boys started lobbing their rocks but they didn’t let that stop them. They kept hurling them until the dog was little more than a mess of pulp on the ground.

And I had to watch it all.

I can tell you I seethed with anger. But I held back. It’s a real problem of mine you see. I only really want to see the best in people.

You’d think by now I would know better.

It only got worse from there. It became apparent that the boys had gotten a taste for the sadistic. For awhile they contented themselves with a few more dogs and a litter of kittens but apparently that wasn’t enough to sate them. It was Matthew that suggested they take it further. It was also Matthew who arranged it all with the retard they went to school with. It was sickening to watch. The way the boy went about gaining her trust. Buying her little gifts and letting her hang around during lunchtime. Telling her she was his special friend and that they would be together forever. The elaborate setup was what frightened me the most. Especially when you consider all he’d really had to say to her was turn up here at this time and the poor girl would have been there. There was something of the ritual about how that boy lured her onto the bus and over to Bobby’s parents’ property.

And that was where the humiliations had started. The poor girl had been expecting to meet the love of her life for a romantic interlude. Instead she found herself surrounded by eight boys with wickedness on their minds. They teased her. They slapped her. And they made her expose herself. Then they set fire to her hair and pissed on it to put it out. And I was forced to watch all of it.

I had to watch it all.

Watch how The Filmmakers left her in the big shed down the bottom paddock of the property while they walked off to play their latest computer game. Watch them laughing and joking and giving each other high fives while she lay there sobbing.

Eventually she dragged herself to her feet and was picked up four hours later by a friend of the family as she trudged down the highway in the opposite direction to her house. She was never persuaded to tell what had happened to her and she never returned to school. But the worst bit is: I can see her future now and I can see how this event changed things and that just makes me even angrier.

At the time I knew the boys had well and truly overstepped the bounds of decency but I also knew if I acted in the mood I was currently in then I would almost certainly do something I’d later regret. So I gave myself a few days to cool off, to allow myself some perspective.