《For My Son》


 Draft 1

    She lied in the trunk of Hank¡¯s ancient sedan, as the two men stared down at her. Surrounding her are flakes of blue paint from the chipped exterior. Hank looks up at Brent with a proud grin. ¡°So, whaddya think?¡± Hank asks. Brent runs his hand along the sleek cuts on her body, spelling out her name.


    ¡°Betty¡± he mumbles, gently brushing the jagged letters.


    ¡°Just as ya requested, pal¡± Hank beams, ¡°you sure we should be doing this out ¡®ere though?¡± Brent removes his hand and looks Hank in the eyes.


    ¡°How much?¡± he asks, pulling out his wallet from his jeans. Hank regards Betty for a moment.


    ¡°I know we discussed two hundred, but you made me cut ¡®er up so¡­¡± Hank pauses, ¡°I¡¯d say ¡®bout two fifty.¡± Brent sighs and hands him three one hundred dollar bills.


    ¡°Keep the change,¡± he mutters. Hank grabs the money and tucks it away in his grimey plaid shirt. He shifts his silver aviators up his red nose and gestures at Betty.


    ¡°Treat ¡®er well, yeah? Don¡¯t wanna see ¡®er with more cuts¡± he chuckles awkwardly. Brent leans into the musty trunk and pulls Betty out, brushing a couple stray paint flakes off of her.


    ¡°Right¡± Brent grumbles, holding Betty by her slender body. Hank slams the trunk shut and extends out his calloused hand to Brent. Brent reciprocates, giving Hank¡¯s hand a mediocre shake, before he turns away.


    ¡°Hey, Brent¡± Hank yips, ¡°say hi to your wife for me, would ya?¡± Brent says nothing and continues to walk away, towards his car a few spots down the parking lot. As he approaches his SUV, an old couple glances at his direction. Their eyes widen when they spot what he is carrying in his arms. The couple retreats behind their car, but Brent keeps walking. He never even notices them. When he gets to his well polished vehicle, he carefully sets Betty on the black leather seats in the back. The old couple watches as he climbs into his car and drives away, out from the Walmart parking lot.


    Brent drives out of the city limits, away from his home. He travels down a few dirt and gravel roads, bordered by dense forests of trees, young and old. The vehicle is completely silent from any music or sound, not even the air conditioning is on. Sometimes the back end bumps, but he ignores it. He drives the speed limit, never exceeding it at any point, despite never seeing another car on the road. Occasionally he passes by a small road here or there that leads into the forest, but he never even looks at them. He just watches the road ahead of him, watching it approach and disappear behind him.


    After driving for a while, Brent finally stops the car and sits for a moment. A single car passes by him and he watches. A happy family with two kids sing in union, not even glancing his way for a moment. When he finally sees the car disappear around a corner, Brent resumes driving down the rocky road. The forest grows ever denser around him, almost forming a tunnel. The setting sun still manages to light his way, until he turns down a dark path into the forest. His car barely fits down the muddy road, brushing against the stray branches of the trees. Sunlight no longer graces his path.


    Brent drives deeper and deeper into the forest, until he reaches a poorly lit clearing by a small stream. He parks his car away from the stream and shuts it off, leaving the clearing even darker. The silence of his surroundings is almost deafening, until he hears a thump on the back of his car. He clambers out into the darkness, approaching the back of his dark grey vehicle. Another thump. Brent rips open the trunk and stares inside. Tied up in the spacious interior lies a woman. She shifts around uncomfortably, but doesn¡¯t struggle. Her eyelids flutter, never quite opening to regard Brent. He grabs her by her bound arms and drops her onto the muddy ground. She thuds into the muck, but doesn¡¯t make a sound.


    When she finally comes to, she finds herself propped up on her knees in the dark. She struggles against her restraints, but can¡¯t seem to move her legs or arms. Her screams are muffled by the tightly bound fabric muzzling her and the loud ringing in her ears. She shakes so much she falls to her side, but is quickly propped up again by someone she can¡¯t quite see.


    ¡°Stop¡± Brent whispers, but she doesn¡¯t hear. He walks back around to his car and opens the back seat, pulling Betty out. He brandishes her before the bound woman, enough that she can make out the outline. She screams even louder and shakes her head, tears stream down her face. Somehow, through all her shaking, her gag comes loose.


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t do this!¡± the woman screams, watching as the man turns around and opens a box in his SUV. He pulls a red and gold cylinder out and places it inside Betty, before turning back. The woman watches in horror. ¡°No, no, no, no, you don¡¯t have to do this! I have a family, I have a son!¡±


    ¡°No¡± Brent mumbles, approaching the woman. She whimpers and quietly pleads, but Brent doesn¡¯t falter. He slowly walks towards her, holding Betty in his arms. When he stands a few feet from her, he stops.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Please¡­¡± she whispers through her sobs, ¡°I don¡¯t deserve this.¡± The ringing in her ears quiets and all she can hear is the soft trickle of the stream behind her. Brent kneels down in front of her, looking at her face cloaked by shadows.


    ¡°You do,¡± he whispers.


    Suddenly the woman¡¯s eyes shoot wide open, unknown to Brent in the darkness. ¡®Brent¡­¡± she mumbles. Brent stands back up and looks down at the woman. ¡°Brent?¡± she yells out, ¡°honey, why are you doing this?¡± He doesn¡¯t respond, he just stands there. ¡°Please, it¡¯s me! It¡¯s your wife! Betty!¡±


    ¡°I know¡± he mumbles, cocking the aptly named shotgun in his hands. He places the muzzle against her forehead.


    ¡°Please, Brent. I¡¯m sor-¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    All the birds in the forest fly away. All the animals skitter into their holes. All the pleas and sobs go quiet. All, but the trickle of the stream as it turns red.


    Brent stands over the mutilated corpse of his wife, unable to move. He stares at her. Not even an omnipotent God could describe the feeling boiling inside of him. It¡¯s relentless and horrible, yet purposeful. His mind is so consumed that he doesn¡¯t even see the flashing lights of the cop pulling into the clearing. The cop exits his car, weapon drawn directly towards Brent. His orders fall upon deaf ears, Brent isn¡¯t even aware of his presence. It was as if everything else had faded from existence except for the mangled corpse before him. She was so still now. Maybe even at peace. Silent tears stream down his defeated face.


    The cop took advantage of Brent¡¯s stupor, disarming him and driving him into the ground. The impact into the dirt was enough to shake him back to reality, just enough that he could hear the relentless screaming of the cop. ¡°God dammit, Brent!¡± he screams, ¡°God fucking dammit! What have you done? Why did you do this?¡± He tightly clips the handcuffs around Brent¡¯s wrists. ¡°I¡¯m gonna need an EMT a mile up Highway 56, down the left-hand dirt road coming south¡± he barks into his radio, while simultaneously lifting Brent out of the mud. He props Brent on the front of the police car and holds him by his shoulders. ¡°Brent, why?¡± he asks again. Brent just stares at him. The cop shakes his head and approaches Betty, who lies on the ground in a crumpled mess. He gags at the sight, something that no man could possibly stomach. The cop just walks away, knowing that nothing he does can bring her back. She was dead the moment she ended up in the forest.


    ¡°I¡­ had to¡± Brent mumbles, eyes wide open. The cop steps away with his head in his hands.


    ¡°No¡­ no you didn¡¯t, why did you do this, Brent?¡± he interrogates, his voice shaking as he does.


    ¡°For my son,¡± he sobs. The cop turns and looks Brent in the eyes.


    ¡°Brent¡­ no¡­¡± the cop sighs.


    ¡°She did it.¡±


    The cop slumps down onto the car beside Brent. He looks over at him, seeing his emotions plain on his face. Brent truly believed that Betty had killed his son. It had been ruled an accident, nothing even remotely implicated Betty. Yet despite all the sorrow in Brent¡¯s face, the cop could see clearly that Brent believed he had done what he needed to. He believed that he had avenged his son.


    The cop clears his throat, ¡°look, Brent. I know you¡¯re grieving your son, but it wasn¡¯t Betty. There was no evidence.¡±


    ¡°I saw it,¡± Brent mutters, ¡°I was there.¡± The cop grabs Brent by the face and locks eyes with him.


    ¡°Look at me. I was your friend. It¡¯s me, Mike,¡± he explains, ¡°please trust me when I tell you that you are wrong. It¡¯s too late to change what you¡¯ve done, but you need to accept the truth.¡± Brent pulls away.


    ¡°Mike¡­¡± he mumbles, looking off into the dark forest. ¡°Mike, Betty killed my son. She drowned him. In the bathtub. I was there. I couldn¡¯t stop her. I froze. I was scared, I didn¡¯t understand.¡±


    Mike shakes his head, ¡°No, Brent. We found your son¡¯s body far down the river, your wife was desperately searching for him the whole time he was missing.¡±


    ¡°She dumped him in the river,¡± Brent mumbles, ¡°I could have stopped her. I wanted to call the police. But I was scared for her. I still loved her. I didn¡¯t get why she did it. I could have stopped her.¡± Mike slams the hood of the car and stomps a few feet away.


    ¡°Dammit!¡± he screams, ¡°listen to me! It. Wasn¡¯t. Her!¡± Brent¡¯s face contorts horridly, even Mike stumbles at the sight.


    ¡°Mike,¡± Brent seethes, ¡°I watched Betty hold my son¡¯s head under the bathtub water until he stopped breathing. I watched her dump his corpse into the river and stood there as he floated away. I watched as she fooled every single one of the officers. When I finally worked up the courage to tell you that she had done it, no one believed me. You told me there was no evidence.¡± Brent¡¯s entire body tenses up. ¡°I separated from her and thought that if I got away from her, I could get past this injustice. But as each day passed, my hatred only grew hotter and hotter. Today, I finally gave in. I drove to her apartment, drugged her, and brought her out here. I dropped her on her knees and executed her like the piece of shit she is. I hope she suffered in her last moments. I hope the darkest pit of hell has opened up to swallow her wretched soul. I hope hell exists so each and every cop that let this slide burns forever. Including you.¡±


    Mike chuckles dryly and angrily stares at him. ¡°Brent, grief has deluded your mind. Maybe there is a small chance that you are telling me the truth¡­ but nothing supports that. You¡¯re too far gone. You¡¯re psychotic and dangerous.¡± Mike pulls out his revolver and he places the barrel directly against Brent¡¯s head. ¡°When you get to hell, I doubt you¡¯ll see your wife. It goes against my moral code to let a sadistic fuck like you live. This ends here.¡± He pulls the hammer back.


    ¡°Fine.¡±

 Draft 2 - Rewritten

    She lay crookedly in the stained trunk of Kertus¡¯ rugged sedan, as the two individuals regarded her. Flakes of blue paint from the chipped exterior surround her. Kertus looks up at Brent with a sly grin, knowing he has done well. Brent runs his hand along the sleek cuts on her body, spelling out her name. They faintly glow purple, as if a dull fire rages within them.


    ¡°Betty¡± Brent mumbles, gently brushing the jagged glowing letters. They are cold to the touch.


    ¡°As requested¡± Kertus affirms, ¡°However, I do not appreciate such a public meeting place.¡± Brent removes his hand and looks Kertus in his deep purple eyes.


    ¡°How much?¡± he asks, pulling out a faded leather wallet from his cheap jeans. Kertus regards Betty for a moment.


    ¡°We risk exposing ourselves meeting like this¡­¡± Kertus pauses, ¡°five hundred dollars, given the dangers.¡± Brent sighs and hands him five folded one hundred dollar bills.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he mutters. Kertus¡¯ slender hand extends from his trench coat and grasps the cash. He quickly tucks it away and gestures to Betty.


    ¡°Good luck, I hope you know what you are getting yourself into,¡± he says. Brent leans into the dirty trunk and pulls Betty out, brushing a couple stray paint flakes off of her.


    ¡°Right¡± Brent grumbles, holding Betty by her slender body. Kertus slams the trunk shut and extends out his boney hand to Brent. Brent just turns away, ignoring him. He wanders off to his car, a few spots away. As he approaches his SUV, an old couple glances at his direction. Their eyes widen when they spot what he grasps in his arms and they retreat behind their old, brown station wagon. He ignores them. When he gets to his like-new vehicle, he carefully sets Betty on the black leather seats in the back. He climbs into the front and drives off from the Walmart parking lot, still being watched by the terrified old couple.


    Brent drives out of the city limits, away from the paved streets and suburban neighbourhoods. He travels down a few dirt and gravel roads, the tires crunching the small rocks and stones. Thick, lively forests of trees, young and old, border the roads like wooden fort walls. The vehicle is completely silent from any music or sound, aside from the occasional thump from the back. Not even the air conditioning is on. Despite the lack of a single other vehicle in sight, Brent never exceeds the speed limit at any point. The forest occasionally opens up for another dirt road, but he continues on his path, never turning to even regard them. He just watches the road ahead of him, seeing it approach and disappear behind him.


    After driving for a while, Brent finally stops the car and sits for a while. A single vehicle approaches him, catching his attention. A father and son in a van drive past, singing in unison. Their faces are cheerful and joyous. When he finally sees the van disappear around a corner, Brent resumes driving down the bumpy road. The forest grows ever denser around him, nearly forming a natural tunnel. Sunlight from the setting sun still manages to sneak through the treetops, lighting the road he travels upon; then he turns down a dirt path into the crowded forest. His car barely fits down the muddy road, brushing against the stray branches of the trees. The sun seems to vanish, as the trees curve to block out the sky. Heavenly light no longer graces his path.


    Brent drives deeper and deeper into the forest, until he reaches a clearing beside a small stream. The moon, full and bright, casts dull light into the muddy clearing. He stops his car on the far side of the clearing, away from the stream and steps out into the lunar brilliance. The silence of his surroundings is almost deafening, until he hears a thump from the back of his car. He slowly wanders over to the back of his SUV, carefully avoiding the deep mud puddles. Another thump. Brent rips open the trunk and stares inside. In the spacious interior, bound and mostly unconscious, lies a young blond woman. She shifts around uncomfortably, but doesn¡¯t struggle. Her eyelids flutter, never quite opening to regard Brent. He grabs her by her bound arms and drops her onto the muddy ground. She slams into the muck, but not an utterance escapes from her gagged mouth.


    When she finally comes to, she finds herself strapped to the ground, her body in the shape of a cross. Though faint, she can see the outline of a painted red circle surrounding her. She struggles against her restraints, but can¡¯t seem to move her legs or arms. Her screams are muffled by the tightly bound fabric muzzling her. The ringing in her ears is even worse. She can¡¯t even hear her own screams, no matter how much she strains her throat.


    Brent slaps her across the face as hard as he can, silencing her cries. He walks back around to his car and opens the back seat, pulling Betty out. He brandishes her before the bound woman, showing her off in the dull moonlight. The faintly glowing letters catch the woman¡¯s attention, her stomach drops. She screams even louder and shakes her head, tears stream down her face. Somehow, through all her shaking, her gag comes loose.


    ¡°No!¡± the woman screams, watching as the man turns around and opens a box in his SUV¡¯s trunk. He pulls a red cylinder with a gold bottom out and places it inside Betty, before turning back. The woman watches in horror. ¡°Please, I have a family! I have a son!¡± she cries.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°No¡± Brent mumbles, approaching the woman. She whimpers and loudly pleads, but Brent doesn¡¯t falter. He slowly walks towards her, holding Betty in his arms. When he stands above her, he plants his feet on either side of her torso and stops.


    She begs and pleads to the silhouette of a man, standing above her. The ringing in her ears finally quiets and all she can hear is the soft trickle of the stream behind her. Brent bends down, enough that his face is visible to the bound woman.


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± he whispers.


    Suddenly the woman¡¯s eyes shoot wide open. ¡®Brent¡­¡± she mumbles. Brent straightens up and looks down at the woman. ¡°Brent?¡± she yells out, ¡°don¡¯t do this! It¡¯s me, your wife! Betty!¡±


    ¡°I know¡± he mumbles, cocking Betty, the aptly named shotgun. The faint purple glow from the letters fades as he does. Brent lines up the bare muzzle with her forehead.


    ¡°Please, Brent. I¡¯m sor-¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    The clearing flashes purple for a single moment. All the birds in the forest fly away. All the animals skitter into their holes. All the pleas and sobs go quiet. All, but the trickle of the stream as Betty¡¯s essence turns it red.


    Brent backs away from the mutilated corpse of his wife. He stares at her. Not even an omnipotent God could describe the feeling boiling inside of him. It¡¯s relentless and horrible, yet purposeful. The painted circle surrounding Betty begins to glow bright red, along with the star within the circle. Brent had drawn a pentagram beneath where she was bound.


    The moonlight fades for a moment, before fire erupts all around the Earth¡¯s natural satellite. A full solar eclipse floods the clearing with orange light, complimenting the red glow from Brent¡¯s crude artwork. Brent places down the now pristine shotgun in the trunk and sits down beside it, watching the unnatural scene unfold before him. The glowing pentagram begins to hum, louder and louder, until the earth beneath it seems to collapse in on itself. What remains of Betty gets swallowed in amongst the dirt and grass around her. From the hole that has formed comes dull orange light and echoing screams and cries by the thousands, maybe even millions. They harmonize into a single sound so horrible it makes Brent¡¯s ears bleed. Though he had never heard such a sound before, it was instantly recognizable to him. The sound of eternal, unbearable suffering is hard to mistake.


    Eventually the pit closes up, reforming the Earth to its original shape. The remains of the pentagram fade away along with the solar eclipse. Dull moonlight fills the clearing once again and all is quiet. All, but the gurgle of the bloody stream.


    Brent stands to his feet and slams the trunk closed, sighing loudly. He scans the dense forest before approaching the driver¡¯s door. Two glowing orbs catch his attention and he freezes. They¡¯re like a pair of bright red eyes, glaring at him from the cover of darkness. Then another pair of orbs appear right next to them. Then more and more appear from all around, flooding the forest with harsh glowing eyes. They surround Brent, enclosing the clearing in their harsh glare.


    From deep within the trees comes a rumbling and the eyes all disappear. The rumbling gets louder and louder. Brent backs towards the stream, as a large silhouette pushes through the trees, snapping twigs and branches. He keeps backing away until his foot sinks into the mud of the stream and he freezes. The silhouette enters the clearing, revealing itself to Brent.


    A creature, far beyond Brent¡¯s mortal comprehension, looks down at him. It¡¯s size and shape are ever changing, and its thousands of eyes spiral on fleshy rings around its horrific figure. It¡¯s voice booms out from everywhere, nowhere, and from within Brent.


    ¡°Choose¡± it whispers deafeningly. A large ancient tome is presented before Brent, with two options on each of the open pages. The words and symbols glow such a harsh red that it tears up his bloodshot eyes.


    The left hand page has two options. The first one reads The Age of the Universe, while the second one reads Infinite Wisdom. Beneath the options is what appears to be a sample of said thing. Both of them are impossible for Brent to look at directly. It¡¯s like looking at the sun if it was thousands of times brighter. Or maybe it was just inconceivable to his feeble mind.


    The right hand page had two more options. The first one reads Unending Wealth. Brent completely ignores it and taps his finger on the second one. The tome shuts and disappears from existence.


    ¡°That one is extra,¡± the voice booms quietly. Brent nods his head and the being reaches its hand directly through Brent. It pulls out a bright blue blob that flickers brightly. He can¡¯t seem to look at this directly, either; just like the images in the tome. The being draws a small pentagram and places the blob directly in the centre. Light appears from the circle and star, filling the clearing with red light once again.


    The being bids Brent a quick farewell and disappears from existence in the blink of an eye, leaving him with the strange ritual. He just stands and stares, waiting for something to happen. Eventually, dust begins to pile up around the circle of the pentagram. All the dust starts to spin along the pentagram¡¯s edge, making a large vortex. It spins faster and faster, turning violent and obscuring the blob in the centre. Then the blob shifts. A dark red glow emanates from the blob, slowly shifting into a humanoid shape. First the body forms, then the head, the arms, and finally, the legs. Though obscured, Brent recognizes it immediately. He collapses to his knees and sobs.


    The vortex turns inwards, coating the humanoid shape. The glowing subsides, dissipating in the eyes of the newly formed person. Brent looks at them, his stomach in his throat. The short brown hair, striped yellow and blue shirt, black cargo shorts, and the white sneakers. It was all so familiar. All of it, except for the grotesque grey, bloated skin. Something was not right, Brent could tell. Through choked, sloppy breaths the person speaks.


    ¡°Fa¡­ ther¡­?¡±

 Finished Version

    She laid crookedly in the stained trunk of Kertus¡¯ rugged sedan, as the two individuals regarded her. Flakes of blue paint from the chipped exterior surround her. Kertus looks up at Brent with a sly grin, knowing he had done well. Brent runs his hand along the sleek cuts on her body, spelling out her name.


    ¡°Betty¡± Brent mumbles, gently brushing the jagged glowing letters. They are cold to the touch, yet glow a deep purple as if a fire raged underneath.


    ¡°As requested¡± Kertus affirms, ¡°However, I do not appreciate such a public meeting place.¡± Brent removes his hand and looks Kertus in his deep purple eyes.


    ¡°How much?¡± he asks, pulling out a faded leather wallet from his cheap jeans. Kertus regards Betty for a moment.


    ¡°We risk exposing ourselves meeting like this¡­¡± Kertus pauses, ¡°five hundred dollars, given the dangers.¡± Brent sighs and hands him five folded one hundred dollar bills.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he mutters. Kertus¡¯ slender hand extends from his trench coat and snatches the cash, quickly tucking it away.


    He gestures to Betty and says, ¡°Good luck, hope you know what you¡¯re getting yourself into.¡± Brent leans into the dirty trunk and pulls Betty out, brushing a couple stray paint flakes off of her.


    ¡°Right¡± Brent grumbles, holding Betty by her slender body. Kertus slams the trunk shut and extends out his boney hand to Brent. Brent turns away, ignoring him. He wanders off to his car, a few spots away. As he approaches his SUV, an old couple glances in his direction. Their eyes widen and jaws drop when they spot what he carries in his arms and they retreat behind their old, brown station wagon. He ignores them. When he gets to his like-new vehicle, he carefully sets Betty on the black leather seats in the back. He climbs into the front and drives off from the Walmart parking lot, still being watched by the terrified old couple.


    Brent drives out of the city limits, away from the paved streets and suburban neighbourhoods. He travels down a few dirt and gravel roads, the tires crunching the small rocks and stones. Thick, lively forests of trees, young and old, border the roads like wooden fort walls. The vehicle is completely silent from any music or sound, aside from the occasional thump from the back. Not even the air conditioning is on. Despite the lack of a single other vehicle in sight, Brent never exceeds the speed limit at any point. The forest occasionally opens up for another dirt road, but he continues on his path, never turning to even regard them. He just watches the road ahead, seeing it approach and disappear behind him.


    After driving for a while, Brent stops the car and sits for a few extensive moments. A single vehicle approaches him, catching his attention. A father and son in a van drive past, singing in unison. Their faces are cheerful and joyous. He watches them, longingly. When he sees the van disappear around a corner, Brent resumes driving down the bumpy road. The forest grows ever denser around him, nearly forming a natural tunnel. Sunlight from the setting sun still manages to sneak through the treetops, illuminating the road as he turns down a dirt path into the crowded forest. His car barely fits down the muddy road, brushing against the stray branches of the trees. The sun seems to vanish, as the trees curve to block out the sky. Heavenly light no longer graces his path.


    Brent drives deeper and deeper into the forest, until he reaches a clearing beside a small stream. Light from the full moon enchants the muddy clearing. He stops his car on the far side of the clearing, away from the stream and steps out into the lunar brilliance. The silence of his surroundings is almost deafening, until he hears a thump from the back of his car. He slowly wanders over to the back of his SUV, carefully avoiding the deep mud puddles. Another thump. Brent rips open the trunk and stares inside. In the spacious interior, bound and mostly unconscious, lies a young blonde woman. She shifts around uncomfortably, but doesn¡¯t struggle. Her eyelids flutter, never quite opening to regard Brent. He grabs her by her bound arms and drops her onto the muddy ground. She slams into the muck, but not an utterance escapes from her gagged mouth. Brent sets her up for the night to come and waits for her to awaken.


    When she slowly comes to, she finds her limbs impaled to the ground by wooden stakes. Her body is flayed out into a cross shape. Though faint, she can see the outline of a  crudely painted red circle surrounding her. She struggles against the stakes, but can¡¯t move her legs or arms. Her screams are muffled by the tightly bound fabric muzzling her. The ringing in her ears is even worse. She can¡¯t even hear her own screams, no matter how much she strains her throat.


    Brent slaps her across the face as hard as he can, silencing her cries. He walks back around to his car and opens the back seat, pulling Betty out. He brandishes her before the bound woman, showing her off in the dull moonlight. The faintly glowing letters catch the woman¡¯s attention. Her stomach drops. She screams even louder and shakes her head, tears stream down her face. As a result of her shaking and thrashing, her gag comes loose.


    ¡°No!¡± the woman screams, watching as the man turns around and opens a box in his SUV¡¯s trunk. He pulls a red cylinder with a gold bottom out and places it inside Betty, before turning back. The woman watches in horror. ¡°Please, I have a family! I have a son!¡± she cries.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Brent winces at her words, ¡°you did.¡± He strides over to her, rage rattling his bones. She whimpers weakly, but Brent doesn¡¯t falter. When he stands above her, he plants his feet on either side of her torso and stops.


    She begs and pleads to the silhouette of a man, standing above her. The ringing in her ears finally fades and all she can hear is the soft trickle of the stream behind her. Brent bends down, enough that his face is visible to the bound woman.


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± he whispers.


    The woman¡¯s eyes shoot wide open. ¡®Brent¡­¡± she mumbles. Brent straightens up and looks down at the woman. ¡°Brent?¡± she yells out, ¡°don¡¯t do this! It¡¯s me, your wife! Betty!¡±


    ¡°I know¡± he mumbles, cocking the shotgun aptly named Betty. The faint purple glow from the letters fades as he does, while he lines up the cold muzzle with her forehead.


    ¡°Please, Brent. I¡¯m sor-¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    The clearing flashes purple for a single moment. All the birds in the forest fly away. All the animals skitter into their holes. All the pleas and sobs go quiet. All, but the trickle of the stream as Betty¡¯s essence turns it red.


    Brent backs away from the mutilated corpse of his wife. He stares at her. Not even an omnipotent God could describe the feeling boiling inside of him. It¡¯s relentless and horrible, yet purposeful. The painted circle surrounding Betty begins to glow bright red, along with the star within the circle. Brent had drawn a pentagram beneath where she laid.


    The moonlight fades for a moment, before fire erupts all around the Earth¡¯s natural satellite. A full solar eclipse floods the clearing with orange light, complimenting the red glow from Brent¡¯s crude artwork. Brent places down the now unremarkable shotgun in the trunk and sits down beside it, watching the unholy scene before him. The glowing pentagram begins to hum, louder and louder, until the earth beneath it collapses in on itself. What remains of Betty gets swallowed in amongst the dirt and grass around her. From the hole that has formed comes dull orange light and echoing screams and cries by the thousands, even millions. They harmonize into a single sound so horrible it makes Brent¡¯s ears bleed. Though he had never heard such a sound before, it was instantly recognizable to him. The sound of eternal, unbearable suffering is hard to mistake.


    Eventually the pit closes up, reforming the Earth to its original shape. The remains of the pentagram fade away along with the solar eclipse. Dull moonlight fills the clearing once again and all is quiet. All, but the gurgle of the bloody stream.


    Brent stands to his feet and slams the trunk closed, sighing loudly. He scans the dense forest before approaching the driver¡¯s seat. Two glowing orbs catch his attention and he freezes. They¡¯re like a pair of bright red eyes, glaring at him from the cover of darkness. Then another pair of orbs appear right next to them. More and more appear from all around, flooding the forest with harsh glowing eyes. They surround Brent, enclosing the clearing in their harsh glare.


    From deep within the trees comes a rumbling and the eyes all disappear. The rumbling gets louder and louder. Brent backs towards the stream, as an indistinguishable silhouette pushes through the trees, snapping twigs and branches. He keeps backing away until his foot sinks into the mud of the stream and he freezes. The silhouette enters the clearing, revealing itself to Brent.


    A creature, far beyond Brent¡¯s mortal comprehension, looks down at him. Its size and shape are ever changing. Its thousands of eyes spiral on fleshy rings around its horrific indescribable figure. A voice booms out from everywhere, nowhere, and from within Brent.


    ¡°Choose¡± it whispers deafeningly. A large decrepit tome is presented before Brent, with two options on each of the open pages. His eyes tear up from the intensity of the glowing letters and symbols.


    On the left hand page are two options. The first one reads The Age of the Universe, while the second one reads Infinite Wisdom. Beneath the options is what appears to be a sample of said thing. Both of them are impossible for Brent to look at directly. It¡¯s like looking at the sun if it was thousands of times brighter. Maybe it was inconceivable to his feeble mind.


    The right hand page had two more options. The first one reads Unending Wealth. Brent completely ignores it and taps his finger on the second one. The tome shuts and disappears from existence.


    ¡°That one will cost extra,¡± the voice booms quietly. Brent nods his head and the being reaches its hand directly through Brent, making him shudder. It pulls out a flickering bright blue blob. Brent can¡¯t seem to look at this directly, either; just like the images in the tome. The being draws a small pentagram and places the blob directly in the centre. Daunting red light appears from it, illuminating the clearing once again.


    The being bids Brent a hasty farewell and disappears from existence in the blink of an eye, leaving him with the strange ritual. He stands and stares, waiting for something to happen. Eventually, dust begins to pile up around the circle of the pentagram. The dust starts to spin along the pentagram¡¯s edge, making a large vortex. It spins faster and faster, turning violent and obscuring the blob in the centre. Then the blob shifts. A dark red glow emanates from the blob, slowly shifting into a humanoid shape. First the body forms, then the head, the arms, and finally, the legs. Though obscured, Brent recognizes it immediately. He collapses to his knees, tears soaking his pale cheeks.


    The dusty vortex collapses inwards, coating the humanoid shape in debris. The glowing subsides, dissipating in the eyes of the newly formed person. Brent looks at them, his stomach in his throat. The short brown hair, striped yellow shirt, black cargo shorts, and the white sneakers. It was all so familiar. All of it, except for the grotesque grey, bloated skin. Through choked, sloppy breaths the person speaks.


    ¡°Fa¡­ ther¡­?¡±