When I Come Back
by Shawn Montgomery
Horrific Scribes Extremity Rating:
David found me in the back. I stood by the coolers, watching him stumble up the aisle, oblivious to everything around him. When he finally spotted me, he grinned with vague recognition. Traces of his once-pronounced dimples were still evident beneath the cluster of pockmarks that marred his otherwise handsome face. Except for the pouches under his eyes and rotund beer-belly, he hadn’t changed much.
I smiled and said hello.
“Hey man, how the hell are you?”
I could tell he was either struggling to remember my name or pretending he didn’t know. “I’m fine, David. It’s been a long time.”
As he reached into the cooler for a twelve pack, I caught him ogling at the band of scar tissue around my neck. “Yeah, right?” he said. “It seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Are you just passing through?”
He chuckled. “Oh, for sure. I’m only in town for a few days.”
“So, what have you been doing with yourself?”
“Not too much,” he said, shrugging. “After high school, I traveled a bit and worked a buncha horrible jobs, before finally settling down in Florida. Now I work in construction.”
He paused for a moment, then asked,“How are you, man? Do you still live in this shithole?”
“No,” I whispered conspiratorially. “My mother passed away last year, and I’ve been taking care of the house and her estate.”
“Man, that sucks,” he said. “I remember her being nice to us kids. How are you doing with that, actually? I remember you two being pretty tight.”
I sighed. “Some days are better than others. She didn’t suffer, at least.”
I pointed at his beer. “Are you planning on staying in town for long?”
Displaying that sly, boyish grin he had used countless times, he said, “Naw, I’m actually back for our twenty-year high school reunion. Are you going?”
“No,” I chuckled, “you graduated two years before me, remember? But that sounds like fun.”
“Oh right,” he said, wiping a film of sweat from his face. “The reunion’s tomorrow night, but I’m not leaving ’til Monday, so maybe we can go out for a beer or something on Sunday?”
“I’d like that,” I said. “That sounds… delightful.”
David gave me his number, then threw his hand out. Predictably, his grip was too hard and yanked on my arm like he was trying to rip it off. I flinched from his dry, rough touch but didn’t take my hand back until he was finished. “It’s nice to see you, David.”
“Yeah, man, you too,” he said, finally releasing my hand. “Hit me up Sunday, okay?”
I gave him a lifeless smile. “Yes, I definitely will. Have fun at your reunion.”
The shoelaces burn my wrists. “Lemme go, it hurts!” I squeal and tug, unintentionally binding the laces tighter. David straddles me, dangling a pair of scissors inches from my face. “Don’t move or you’re gonna make it worse,” he mutters in a low, gruff voice. As he starts pressing down on me, I gasp. He begins waving the scissors over my eyes. “Now we’re gonna play a new game,” he whispers. “It’ll be a load of fun.”
“Lemme go or I’m gonna tell.”
He lowers the scissors until the pointy ends poke into my cheek. “I swear I’ll cut you if you tell anybody.”
Without warning, he shoots out his hand and jabs. My skin immediately stings. Squealing, I furiously yank until the shoelaces snap from the bedpost.
I sit up, check my cheek. My fingertips are smeared red.
David rolls off. His dark, beady eyes narrow into slits. “Don’t… tell… anyone… or I will kill… you!” he hisses in my ear. Suddenly, he begins to pounce. His fists indiscriminately strike my ribs, arms, stomach.
“Okay, okay,” I cry. “I give up! Uncle! Uncle!”
He finally stops and stands up. Heat rushing to my cheeks, I leap off the bed and limp to the bathroom. I feel like I’ve been mauled by a wild animal, but I’m too dazed, too hurt… too afraid to run away.
“There’s Band-Aids in the cabinet,” he calls behind me. “And quit acting. You’re fine!”
I look in the mirror above the sink. Tears of blood streak down the side of my face. I find the bandages, put one on my cheek, begin to think of an excuse to tell my mother. I realize my bladder’s really aching, and I sit and pee.
Even though the stinging on my cheek has lessened, my head throbs, and my heart feels like it’s going to punch itself right out of my chest.
One hand pressed against my stomach, the other lightly touching my bandaged cheek, I close my eyes and whisper, “I hate you, David Holcomb. I hate you so friggin’ much.”
David answered after the fourth ring. “‘Ello?” his gravelly voice mumbled.
“Good morning! How was the reunion?”
“Who is this?” he asked. I imagined him peering over at an alarm clock on the bedside table.
“It’s Jeremy,” I replied. “Remember? You told me to call you to meet up for drinks?”
“Oh, yeah… right,” he said, a little louder this time. I envisioned him sitting up, rubbing his stubbly face, assessing the damage he had done to his motel room the previous night. Perhaps somebody was in bed with him? That thought made me want to burst into fits of laughter, but I controlled myself.
“Um, hey there, man. Yeah, it was a lot of fun, actually. Saw a bunch of people I hadn’t seen in a long time.”
“It’s always good to catch up with old friends.”
“For sure… for sure,” he muttered, distracted.
“I know it’s early, but I was wondering if you were still interested in seeing me later?”
“Um, sure… maybe for a drink or two. I’m pretty wiped out from last night, to be honest, and have an early flight tomorrow.”
David suggested a bar that wasn’t far from my house. “I’m looking forward to catching up with you,” I told him enthusiastically. “See you tonight.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You too.”
I found a spot near the bar. David’s pick-up truck was parked further down the street, the passenger side’s wheels resting atop the curb. Splotches of white paint were smeared across the driver’s side door, and a sizable dent was gouged along the corroded back bumper. A faded NRA bumper sticker was slapped beside another one stating, “Honk If You Are Horny.“
Both of his doors were locked, so I headed inside.
The bar was mostly empty except for a few people perched in front of video poker machines and a couple of old guys slumped on their stools. Nobody paid me any notice.
David sat at the far end, transfixed to a TV mounted above the liquor shelves. A pint glass, half-emptied, sat in front of him along with a basket of french fries. I stood quietly for several seconds, watching his fingers idly tickling the rim of his glass and his legs bouncing nervously underneath the wooden counter.
As I approached, David turned and flashed that boyish grin. “Hey, what’s up, man?”
“Hope I’m not late.”
“Nope, you’re right on time,” he said, pointing at the fries. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No thank you, I’m not hungry.” When the bartender came over, I ordered a whiskey-soda.
David nudged me in the ribs. “You like the hard stuff, eh?”
“I’m not much of a beer person,” I said, nodding to his glass.
He shrugged, took a drink, then glanced back up at the TV. A tall, lanky kid heaved a basketball from half-court, almost making the shot.
David frowned, then downed the frothy dregs from his glass.
“When I come back, you better be doin’ somethin’ int’restin’!” David calls from the other room.
“Okay,” we both reply, stifling giggles. Perspiration streams down my forehead, stinging my eyes and dripping off my nose. But I don’t want to take the blanket off. Not yet.
“What are we gonna do?” Corey whispers.
“Shh,” I say, gently nudging his side. “He’ll hear us.”
Then… a long moment of nothingness—only closed eyes and beating hearts. Warm breath against the side of my neck. A potent stench of mothballs and dryer sheets.
Corey’s lips awkwardly graze across my belly. I shiver. We giggle again, as I feel his hand reaching for mine. For a second, we’re floating in space, nobody else around, and I don’t ever want to come back.
Suddenly, the comforter is yanked off. We squint from the lightbulb dangling above the bed.
“Is that all!” David barks. His hands rest on his hips, dark tufts of pubic hair covering his veiny, swollen penis.
“Yeah, what do ya expect!” I say.
Clenching his jaw, he leans in closer. I can smell salt and vinegar potato chips seeping from his lips. “I dunno,” he hisses, “maybe this!”
He reels back and repeatedly punches us until we beg him to stop. He then orders us to roll over on our stomachs.
Corey begins to cry and curls into a fetal position. David mimics him in a falsetto voice, then begins to poke him hard in his ribs. I obediently turn over, burying my face in the crook of my arm. I don’t want him to see me cry today.
Once the basketball game was over, David absently picked at the french fry bits at the bottom of the basket and ordered another beer. His eyes were already glossy, bloodshot. “So,” he slurred, “no bullshit, how the hell are ya?”
“I’ve been managing,” I replied. “Considering everything that has happened.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I collect and deal antiques.”
“Oh cool, like that one show on TV?”
I didn’t know what show he was referring to but nodded anyway. “And I also write.”
“Really? Like stories and shit?”
“I’m writing a memoir currently… it’s a bit of a horror story.”
“I love scary movies! Do you like Rob Zombie?”
“I don’t watch a lot of movies, actually. I spend most of my free time reading.”
Before he had a chance to say anything else, I announced I had to use the bathroom.
When I came back, he was gone. I glanced over at the video-poker machines, then to the pool table and dartboards, but he wasn’t around. He might have left.
I didn’t panic, however, and sat back down, calmly sipping my watered-down drink.
After several minutes, David stumbled back inside. The heavy door spilled a pool of dim light across the gloomy room before closing shut again. As he made his way across the room, he nearly collided into an empty cigarette machine.
“Oops… it’s like I just learned to walk,” he joked, sitting down. Judging from the skunky smell emanating from him, I figured he had gone out to his truck for a smoke (I had brought something to put in his beer, just in case, but he was already doing my work for me).
He reached over and clumsily slapped my back. “Ya know,” he drawled, “we’ve known each other a long fucking time. Those jokers I hung out with last night don’t know squat about me.”
“What don’t they know about you, David?”
“You know… stuff that happened when we were kids, and all that.”
For a fleeting moment, I thought he was going to apologize for the years’ worth of terror that he had inflicted on us. For the merciless taunting and bullying and sadism.
For being the eventual trigger that prompted Corey’s suicide and my crippling sorrow.
But instead, he blurted, “I dunno, that my dad was an asshole and my childhood was all fucked up.”
When I didn’t reply, he took another drink, dribbling beer on his chin. He then turned to me. “Remember, when we were kids, I thought I was going to be a stuntman when I grew up? And then in high school, I was all set to get a football scholarship before messing up my knee?”
“But,” he sighed, not bothering for a response, “I’ve done okay for myself, considering all the crap I had to deal with.”
“Yes, that’s true,” I said. “You could have killed yourself.”
He shot me a look, his glossy eyes narrowing with the familiar traces of barely contained rage. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I shrugged innocently. “I mean, it sounds like you made it through childhood and high school relatively unscathed. Unlike some other kids… like Corey for instance.”
“Corey Hastings?”
“Yes, David. Corey Hastings. Don’t you remember? He committed suicide when he and I were in tenth grade. The same Corey that grew up on our street.”
“Shit,” he mumbled. “I haven’t thought about that kid in a long time.”
Swirling the remaining chink of ice in my glass, I replied, “Yes, that much is true. It’s been a long time.”
The back of my legs burn from the hot rubber. I begin to squirm.
“Keep still, dickweed,” David hisses.
Corey’s standing a few feet away, absently snapping sticks across his scabbed knee. I try focusing on the mole on the side of David’s cheek, then his two jagged front teeth. They look like rabbit’s teeth, and I almost laugh but wisely stop myself.
Pressing himself down harder, his veiny, engorged thing jabs mercilessly between my thighs, causing us to sink deeper into the middle of the tire. My butt starts to scrape along the ground; dead leaves and pine needles poke into my skin. But I don’t dare move.
David begins to moan softly as a ribbon of his drool dangles over my face. I try raising my hips, but David pins my arms so I can’t turn away. I begin wondering when the afternoon train is gonna come by, if the engineer will be able to see us in the bushes.
As if he can read my mind, Corey whispers impatiently, “Hurry up, someone’s gonna catch us.”
“Shut up,” David groans.
He begins frowning like he’s really concentrating on something. I try imitating his facial expressions and the weird sounds he makes, but a dry cough sputters from my mouth instead.
Finally, he mumbles something under his breath, and his whole body tenses and flops around several times, crushing me.
Just as I’m about to yell at him to get off, he shimmies off the tire.
Disgusted and sore, I reach for a clump of dry leaves.
“Did you do it, too?” Corey asks, pointing at the milky leakage on my belly.
“Nope, that’s all mine, shithead,” David boasts, wiping himself with his T-shirt. “But don’t worry,” he says, smirking. “I’ll get ya next time.”
David stumbled a few steps behind me, naming several bars that we could go to next. He was more drunk that I thought, even going out to his truck for another smoke.
After each suggestion, I remained silent. But as we approached my car, I casually proposed a nightcap at my house.
“Yeah, that’s cool,” he slurred. “But let’s stop and pick up some beer on the way.”
I admittedly felt nervous about how he’d react to being back. Would he not want to stay at the house for long? Would he remember what it even looked like?
But despite the trepidation, I remained calm, fairly certain he’d respond exactly how I wanted him to.
After all, we had been preparing for this night for a long time.
“Hey man, nice car,” he said, slapping my back again.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, gritting my teeth. “It was my mother’s.”
“She had good taste. I’ve always wanted an Audi.”
“Yes, she invested wisely before the Market crashed.”
As I motioned for him to get into the passenger seat, David stopped himself and frowned. “Uh, what do I do about my truck?”
“I don’t live far. I can drop you back later.” I smiled coyly. “Or you can crash on the couch, and I’ll drop you off in the morning?”
For a long moment, he stared at me, traces of doubt clouding his eyes. I thought I had screwed up. But finally, he slid into the passenger seat and clapped his hands. “To the beer store, Jeeves! Let’s blow this popsicle stand!”
After starting the car, I turned to him and smiled. “I think you’re going to be surprised when you see the house, David.”
“Oh yeah?” he said before releasing a guttural wet belch, followed by brutish claps of laughter.
Laugh away little pig, I thought. Soon, you will be nothing but screams.
As I pulled into the driveway, David stared out of the window and shook his head. “Man, the neighborhood hasn’t changed a bit.”
“Your house hasn’t changed much either.”
“Really? Is it still painted puke green?”
“Yes.”
“Is that stupid wooden cutout of the chick bending over still in the front yard?”
“Goodness no, that’s been gone for awhile.”
It was still warm outside, humid, felt like rain. From next door, the harsh electric sounds of a bug zapper instantaneously frying its victims. Nearby, a dog began to bark.
As we headed up the driveway, David suddenly stopped and slapped his forehead. “Shit, we forgot to stop at the beer store!”
“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “I have plenty of liquor and snacks inside.”
“Oh, really? You’ve got it all covered, don’tcha, Jeremy.”
“Yes,” I chuckled. “Of course I do.”
Once we entered the house, I flicked the foyer lights, eager to see the expression on his face. I wasn’t disappointed.
“Holy shit,” he gasped, his mouth agape. He stumbled into the living room like a child wandering through a carnival’s funhouse.
I locked the door and followed.
After pacing the room several times, he finally stopped and braced himself against the mantle.“This house is exactly like I remember it being when we were kids… I mean to a T!”
I shrugged. “Mother didn’t like change, I suppose. She was happy and content with how things were.”
As David circled the living room again, he kept touching things as if he didn’t quite believe they existed—the faded fabric covering the stiff-backed chairs, the dusty leaves on a plastic palm set in the corner, and the various ceramic knick-knacks Mother had collected over the years, now cluttered on a small shelf beside the window. Stopping in front of the fireplace, he inspected several framed pictures meticulously arranged along the mantle.
He released a surprised gasp and picked up the last one. “Hey, this one is of us!”
I walked up behind him. “Mother always loved that picture… especially because Corey’s in it.”
“How long ago was this taken?” he asked.
“Corey and I were about nine years old, and you were around eleven or twelve. Would you like a drink now?”
“Yeah, of course,” he said, placing the picture back on the mantle. He followed me into the kitchen, and after directing him to sit, I yanked the pull chain above the table. A faint yellow glow flickered over us.
I took out a bottle of vodka, poured some in a pair of glasses, then filled the rest with soda water. “Ice?” I asked.
“Naw, that’s good.”
David took a big gulp from his glass and instantly began coughing. “Whoa there,” he stammered. “You make a strong drink, my man.”
“Thanks,” I said, pretending to take a sip of mine. “I don’t usually get to do this.”
He took another drink, more cautiously this time, then licked his lips. “So, do you have a girlfriend… or boyfriend, or whatever?”
I fought the urge to laugh. “I haven’t loved anybody for a long time. Since high school, actually.”
“That’s cool,” he murmured, not bothering to pretend he was listening. He reached for his glass and took another wincing gulp.
For the next several minutes, we didn’t speak. David seemed content with sitting there, staring dumbly around the kitchen. A couple of times I caught his eyelids closing, but he jolted himself awake before taking another drink.
Finally, he cleared his throat and asked, “Do you still think about Hastings?”
“Of course, David,” I said. “He was my best friend…my only friend. I adored him.”
He nodded dreamily. “Man, I haven’t thought about that kid in a long friggin’ time. Wasn’t school canceled the day he offed himself?”
“The day after,” I said. “And it was only half a day.”
“Huh, really?”
“Actually, I was at home sick the day he was assaulted by those boys, so I didn’t know anything. When I tried calling him that evening, he didn’t call back or respond to my texts.
And though I thought it a little strange, I assumed he had been grounded for something, and his parents had taken his phone. I found out everything when I came back to school the following morning.”
I stopped for a moment, took a small sip from my glass. David was staring at me, but his eyes were glazed over, his face indifferent.
Sighing with disappointment, I continued: “Mr. Laing made the announcement over the PA that morning. Do you remember that, David? I vividly recall how I felt in that moment. It was like I was moving at the speed of light, then everything froze, and I was stuck in this dark abyss. The world tilted, and I was sliding right off its edge. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
David nodded, but he was fading fast. “Ya know,” he slurred finally, “it’s really fucking weird this kitchen is exactly the way I remember it being when we were kids. Even the damned cupboards and appliances look the same.”
I forced a thin smile. “I think you’re even sitting in the same chair you used to sit in when Mother made us snacks.”
“Wow… pretty cool,” he muttered, his eyelids slowly dropping.
Clearing my throat, I asked, “David, do you remember those games we played when we were kids?”
He shook his head. “Not really. I remember bits and pieces of my childhood, but my memory’s shot to shit.”
“Oh really?” I said, bemused.
“I had a pretty bad car accident a few years ago, and it messed my brain up.”
“What happened?”
“Some idiot driver swerved into the lane and drove me off the road. My truck flipped into a culvert ditch.”
“Oh my,” I said, feigning shock. “That sounds terrible.”
“Yeah, it was. I busted myself up pretty good and underwent physical therapy for months to get my legs working again.”
“What happened to the other guy?”
David shrugged. “I dunno, he totaled his car too. I assume he was arrested or whatever, but I never found out. I had enough to worry about at that point.”
For the next several minutes, we sat in silence again. David finished his drink, mumbling to himself. I watched his head begin to bob towards his chest.
“I don’t know about you,” I announced, stirring him conscious. “But I wouldn’t mind moving somewhere more comfortable.”
“Yeah, yeah… that’s cool,” he muttered sleepily. “My back’s beginning to get sore anyway.”
After following me back into the living room, David staggered to the loveseat and plopped himself down. I sat across from him in my mother’s rocking chair.
Struggling to keep his head upright, he pointed at me and asked, “How’d you get that scar?” He then brought his hand up and ran his thumb across his neck, like he was giving me a cartoonish threat.
“It happened when I was younger… and very depressed. Hopeless, really. Wrecked with guilt and grief. So, I attempted to hang myself in my bedroom. Mother found me and cut down the rope.”
David stared incredulously at me for several seconds, then groaned,“Damn, that’s some serious shit, man.”
“I suppose,” I replied. “Do you want another drink?”
David orders us to take our clothes off and sit on the floor. I begin disrobing, but Corey remains motionless, his arms crossed. As David watches me undress, an odd smile creeps across his face, as if he just heard a joke only he can hear. The smile is horrible, ghastly.
The room seems smaller all of a sudden, and the strong scent of Lemon Pledge partially masks an underlying dankness permeating the air.
When he notices Corey, his eyes darken. “Why aren’t you undressing?”
“‘Cause I don’t want to,” Corey says, a tinge of fear in his voice.
David mimics him in a sing-song voice as he slips off his belt—a brown leather one with a large metal buckle. “Get your friggin’ clothes off now, asswipe, or I’m gonna give you a whoopin’ for real!”
“But I don’t want to! I don’t feel good.”
Without warning, David lunges at Corey, lifting him up almost over his head before slamming him hard on the concrete floor. Corey rolls to his side and yelps in pain. I look over at the steps before remembering that Mother’s out running errands.
Sobbing uncontrollably, Corey attempts to stand up but David pushes him back down. He then sits on Corey’s chest and begins to choke him.
“Stop, David, you’re hurting him!”
David’s eyes are wide and crazy. It seems like he doesn’t even see me. Finally, his whole body shudders and he looks over, his hands still gripped around Corey’s throat. Corey’s face is bright red, his lips puckering desperately for breath.
“Stop or I’m gonna tell my mom!”
“You ain’t gonna tell nobody,” David mutters, finally releasing his grip. “You’ll regret it if you do.”
Corey turns to his side and begins coughing.
David picks up his belt and puts it back on. Shaking his head, he walks up the steps. “See you pussies tomorrow,” he says casually, as if he completely forgot what’s just happened.
When I’m sure he’s gone, I rush over to Corey. He’s curled up on the floor and gripping his throat but has stopped crying at least. “Are you okay?”
He nods and immediately coughs.
My head begins to spin. Will David really hurt us if we tell somebody what he’s been doing? Would he really kill us?
Although I like to believe he wouldn’t, there’s something in his eyes and the way he looks at us sometimes that scares me. It’s an expression that suggests that he can do anything he wants to us, and there’s nothing we can do to stop him.
It’s an empty, trapped feeling. And I have no idea know how to get out of it.
Like a scientist observing his test subject, I watched David doze. Looking at his serene, relaxed face could have made forgetting how angry and insane looking it could get easy. Easy to pretend he wasn’t a monster.
But I knew better.
Because that’s what he was… a monster.
Eventually, he jolted himself awake and looked around the room in a drunken haze. When he finally registered me, he rubbed his eyes and yawned. “How long have I been out?”
“Not long. You can crash here if you like. It’s really no problem.”
“I dunno,” he mumbled. “I should go, but I feel so fucking tired. I can hardly move.”
I stood up and approached him. “Do you want to play a game, David?”
I didn’t think he heard me at first, but after several seconds, he slurred, “Wha’ ya talkin’ ‘bout?”
“You know… the kind of games we played when we were kids.”
“Wha’ games?” He tried to push himself off the couch, only to collapse back into the cushions. The GHB I had slipped into his drink earlier was working—his eyeballs were beginning to roll back into his sockets, and spittle began to foam around the corners of his mouth.
Just a few more minutes, and he’ll be ours.
“Don’t you remember?” I asked. “The ones where you made Corey and me take off our clothes before hurting us?”
Sitting very still now, one arm draped over his face, the other dangled limply off the couch, David mumbled out a string of undecipherable syllables. A few seconds later, he began snoring.
I waited a bit longer before carrying him upstairs.
And to my bedroom…
…Time passed, and David stirred. “What’s happening? Where l am I? What time is it?”
“Almost two-thirty.”
“Shit.”
He attempted to sit up, but barely made it to a sitting position before the plastic zipties securing him to the bedposts stopped him. “Wait, why are these around my wrists? What’s happening?”
When I spoke next, my voice rose several octaves, identical to my prepubescent voice. “We’re gonna have some fun, David,” I sang softly. “It’s time to play a new game!”
The basement is musty and cool. A dusty bulb hangs in the middle of the room, creating a hazy, dim glow. Above us, sheets of pink insulation dangle between exposed beams, reminding me of reams of cotton candy. Mother’s TV blares from her bedroom—a judge is yelling at somebody to wait their turn to speak.
We’re standing in the middle of the room, watching David pace in front of us. We’re about to start a new game that he’s made up—he tells us he’s gonna be the “teacher,” Corey and I his “students.”
“Okay, class,” he announces, waving a wooden broom handle in the air. “Time for your big test.”
We exchange puzzled looks. “What test?” Corey asks. “You didn’t say anything about taking a test.”
“It’s summer; I don’t want to do schoolwork,” I add.
David stops and swings the broomstick, missing my face by inches. “Speak only when asked to, stupid!” he bellows, resting the stick over his shoulder. “This isn’t a test about math or any of that crap. You’re going to be tested on how loyal you are to me and our gang.”
I sort of like that David’s been calling us a gang lately. It sounds like we’re dangerous and unpredictable. Our bikes are our getaway motorcycles, and we spend a lot of time deciding what crimes we’re gonna commit but usually end up just riding around the neighborhood. David promises he has bigger plans, though.
“”Kay, dirtbags, this is how the game is played. I’m gonna tell you guys to do stuff, and you’re gonna do it! No complaints! No whining! And you can’t say no, either, or you’re out of the gang. Understand?”
“Yeah, okay,” we mumble reluctantly.
David smacks the stick against the wall with a sharp crack. “I said, do you understand me?!”
“Yes!” we say in unison.
“Yes, sir!”
“Yes, sir!” we repeat.
“Good boys… good boys,” he says, absently picking at a zit on his chin. “All right, let’s begin then. Jeremy…take Corey’s clothes off and spank him hard twenty times.”
“Why does he get to go first?” Corey whines.
“Because, shitbag, he’s older than you.”
“By only a month! That’s not fair!”
“He’s still older. Go ahead, Jeremy.”
I look at Corey for some guidance—will he tell David that we’re bored, that this new game is stupid, and risk being kicked out of the gang… or worse?
Swearing under his breath, Corey starts to take off his T-shirt. David stomps over and smacks the broom handle along the floor, beside Corey’s leg. “Not you… him!”
“Whatever,” Corey mumbles.
After taking off Corey’s shirt, I begin unzipping his jeans. I wonder about the “games” David comes up with. Do other kids play this way, too? Is this even normal? No matter where we play or what the game is called, they all seem to involve Corey and me getting naked and doing stuff with David or each other.
And most of these games involve David torturing us, which he seems to enjoy the most.
So why are we still playing with him? Why do we go along with whatever he tells us?
“I don’t want to play this game anymore,” Corey says, seemingly reading my mind again. “Let’s ride bikes or something.”
“You gotta play the game first, that’s the rules,” David shouts.
“No, I don’t. I’m going home.”
Corey begins to put his shirt back on. Without warning, David lunges at him and tears the shirt from his hands.
“Hey, give that back!” Corey cries.
“Hey… give that baaack!” David mimics.
Corey tries to get his the shirt back, but David is taller and stronger, and easily pushes him to the floor. Corey’s eyes instantly well with tears.
“Shut up, or my mom will hear us,” I say. Then, to David: “Dude, give him his shirt back, or I’m gonna kick you out of my house.”
David tilts his head and grins. “Since when did you become head teacher?”
He takes a swing and slams the broomstick over Corey’s head. Before I can do anything, he turns and swings again, this time connecting it along my neck. Corey begins rolling around the floor, wailing with pain. A flash of heat instantly rushes up my face, followed by an intense stinging sensation that creeps down the side of my body. I don’t want to cry, but all of the pent-up frustration, fear and confusion that I’ve been harboring finally burst with a torrent of tears.
“Oh look, a couple of pussies slobbering in their diapers!”
“Shut up!” Corey cries, a glob of yellow snot hanging from his nose.
“Or what? You gonna kick my ass?”
A mix of anger and adrenaline surges through me, and suddenly, I can barely feel the pain. With an eerily calm voice, I tell him, “Gimme the stick, David.”
He grins. “Or what? What are ya gonna do, tell your mommy?”
Corey stops crying and pushes himself to his knees. “We’re not gonna put up with your crap anymore,” he says. “We’re done playing these games.”
“Oh really?” David says with mock surprise. “I think you’ve got it all wrong, shithead. We’re not done ’til I say we’re done.”
Without thinking, I drop my head and drive my shoulder into his stomach. He sucks in air and drops the broomstick. In slow motion, we both fall to the floor, entangled in each other’s arms. David grunts something in my ear but I can’t understand what he’s even saying.
With relative ease, he tosses me off of him. I begin to scurry across the floor, but almost instantly, I feel his hands clasping onto my ankles. “You’re gonna pay for this.”
I hope my mother will hear and come down to see what we’re doing, but I know she won’t—she’s been taking her pain meds all day and is zonked out in her bedroom.
Suddenly, I squeal as another jolt shoots up my leg. David retrieved the broomstick and is swinging it wildly at me.
“Stop it! That friggin’ hurts!”
David no longer hears me—his eyes are glazed over, his mouth twisting into something awful.
“Stop!” I scream again. David ignores me, this time striking my kneecap.
He stands up and towers over me.
Just as he lifts the broomstick one more time, it gets ripped from his hands. “What the—”
Corey’s standing behind him, holding onto the broomstick like a baseball bat. “Leave us alone!” he shouts, swinging with all his strength. The broomstick smacks into the side of David’s ribs with a sharp crack, bringing him to his knees. “My ribs! My ribs!” he wheezes. “I can’t friggin’ breathe!”
Corey swings again, this time hitting him across the side of his neck. Howling now, David shields his face and flops around the floor. Corey’s face is unreadable, even though his body is trembling with rage. He lifts the stick up once more, this time over his head, fully intending to slam it square across David’s face.
“Corey… stop!”
He seems hypnotized by his unbridled anger, but the sound of my voice snaps him back. He looks at me, his face flushed and glistening with sweat and tears.
With a soft, calm voice I say, “C’mon, he isn’t worth it. Let’s go upstairs.” I turn to David. “Get out of my house, or I’m gonna tell my mom what you’ve been doing, and she’s gonna call your parents. We’re done with the games, David.”
“Fuck….” he groans. Corey smacks the stick along the floor, next to David’s head. David flinches and yelps like a wounded puppy.
We turn, leaving him on the floor, and head outside.
“What do we do now?” Corey asks me, squinting from the mid-day sun.
Despite the lingering pain, I smile and gently drape my arm around his shoulder. “We do whatever the hell we want.”
“What the hell did you do to me?! Why can’t I get out of this bed?!”
“Maybe you don’t really want to leave, David. Have you considered that?”
With agonizing effort, he twisted his body so he could face me. Cords stood out on his neck, and veins pulsed in his temples. “What are you talking about?”
Growing impatient, I sighed. “This is the type of game you enjoyed when we were kids. Don’t you want to play again?”
David began to furiously yank on the zipties until something in his arm snapped. Now his arm was bent at a ninety-degree angle, and his hand began to swell almost instantly. In that moment, his face melted into a mask of horror. And then he began to scream.
I sat next to the bed, watching him with mild bemusement. After he exhausted himself to a soft, rhythmic whimper, I continued: “Sounds like you’re in a lot of pain, David, but you’re the only one inflicting it. Just like old times. Now, are you ready to play?”
“Get these things off of me! Something’s wrong with my arm… you can’t keep me here! I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t let me go, you little shit!”
“When I come back,” my prepubescent voice squeaked, “I want you and Corey to show me something int’resting!”
“Why are you talking like that?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but he cut me off with a string of baseless threats. Then the grim realization dawned on him, and his anger turned to desperation. He began to gargle phlegmy pleas. When he finally quieted down, I asked, “Why haven’t you said anything to Corey yet?”
“Corey? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you think you owe him an apology?”
On cue, a low, scuttling noise crept low along the floor, towards the bed. David craned his head towards the door. “What’s that noise? Are you going to sic your dog on me?”
“No,” I said, my squeaky voice breaking into a fit of giggles. “Not a dog, silly boy. Corey wants to see you.”
David was about to say something else but abruptly stopped, his mouth slack with shock. Corey’s malformed hands gripped the comforter and pushed himself onto the bed. The skin around his fingers had rotted off, exposing dark, thin bones that clicked like chirring insects. With serpentine grace, Corey slithered across the bed.
David began to writhe violently. I heard more snaps inside his body, like little sticks breaking in half. He managed to lift his leg and kicked Corey along the side of his face. A large swath of Corey’s cheek drooped, then slid from his skull. It plopped beside David, exposing a section of jaw and black, jagged teeth that chattered eagerly.
“What’s wrong, David?” I asked softly. “Don’t you recognize him?”
“No,” he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head. “This isn’t real.”
The skin on Corey’s chest was peeled off in sizable, patchy flakes. Large scabs dotted his legs, glistening a dark, inky substance. Although his cheek was now exposed, his lips were still sewn shut with thick staples and made a squeaking sound every time his jaw clenched. A gaping, jagged wound ran along his left arm, starting directly under his elbow and extending down to his wrist. Thick, useless veins hung loosely from the slit.
As Corey slid onto David’s maimed body, our old friend pleaded for help, then screamed for us to leave him alone. Corey’s face had no expression, and his only response was to press himself harder against David’s chest.
“Get it away from me!”
“I’m not going to do that,” I said. “Corey and I have been waiting a long time to play one last game before he can leave. Once we finish this, he and I can finally move on… together.”
Corey’s bulbous head lolled from side to side as if nodding in agreement. His black, lifeless eyes gazed indifferently at David, his alabaster skin shimmering. He lifted his skeletal hand, gripped David’s neck, and squeezed.
Although David began to shake his head wildly, the bones in Corey’s fingers punctured his skin, eliciting another round of shrieks.
“I have a question for you before we begin,” I said. “Since you and your dumb jock friends cornered Corey and beat him up that day at school, have you ever once considered the consequences of your actions?”
“Please… please,” David sobbed.
With one hand firmly implanted into his neck, Corey’s other hand began caressing David’s cheek, leaving splotches of black slime along his skin.
“And for what?” I continued. “For laughs? To fit in? To get revenge after we had embarrassed you that day with the broomstick when we were kids?”
“Or,” I asked coyly, “did you just target Corey to deflect any suspicions of your own questionable sexuality? To make sure your macho friends didn’t think you secretly liked boys? ”
“I’ll do anything you want,” he cried. “I’ll give you money.”
I smiled ruefully. “Do you really think we want money? I have almost everything I need in this world, except for the one person that I ever truly loved. You see, Corey’s been trapped in this purgatory, and I’ve been suffering in a world of loss. He committed suicide because of you and your friends, David, and I hung myself because I was wrecked with grief and trauma… also because of you.”
“What are you talking about?” David grunted. “That all happened years ago.”
He began flopping again, and something in his other arm snapped and bended at a grotesquely sharp angle. He instantly stopped moving and released a low groan, the pain too immense for him to scream.
“I’ve been racked with pain ever since, David. And do you know why? Have you figured it out yet, you vile pig? The truth is that I loved him more than anybody, David! Corey wasn’t just my best friend, he was my boyfriend! My everything! So, you not only destroyed his life that day, you took mine as well.”
I paused briefly and waved my hand in the air. “But now we can win this game and rid of you forever and finally begin to heal.”
“Wha… wha….” he stuttered.
“When I come back,” I sang in my child’s voice again, “…you better not be here anymore!”
David made one futile attempt to free himself, but could no longer move. Corey lifted his swollen decayed head and turned to me. For a fleeting moment, those dead, sorrowful eyes glinted. And then, whatever was left of his flesh began to soften and drip across David’s prone body.
“Help me! Please help me!” David screamed. Although he tried to lift himself, more of Corey’s skin tore free from his body, pooling wet and stinking on David’s chest. The oily sludge held him onto the mattress like a silicone mold.
At one point, a stringy vein dangling from Corey’s arm had slipped inside David’s horrified mouth. Instinctively, David bit down, severing the vein from Corey’s malformed arm. A thick, gelatinous substance began trickling from the corners of David’s mouth.
Almost instantly, the room filled with the stink of decay.
Exhausted, I stood up and clapped several times. “When I come back,” I repeated in my squeaky voice, “you…better…not…be…here…anymore!”
I turned and shuffled across the room with slow, measured steps.
Once I got to the bedroom doorway, I glanced back one last time. Corey was gone now, replaced by a thick oozing puddle that enfolded David’s entire body like an inky cocoon.
Sighing with immense relief, I closed my watery eyes and smiled wearily. I flicked off the light.
The games were finally over.
Want another gripping story by Shawn Montgomery? Read the other the two stories in the Hell Is for Children trilogy, “Burn the Witch” from Horrific Scribes, May 2025 and “The Tree People” from Horrific Scribes, January 2026.
| EXHIBIT FOUR: Return to “Chrysalis” | Return to the Exhibit Four Order of Attractions |