Sick to his stomach Thomas limped toward his workshop at the back of the house. He was working on a quite exceptional piece of furniture – a rocking chair made of hardwood. It was a polished piece of art as he took a special care of the carvings. His rough calloused hands gently brushed against the oak, petting the flowery pattern like a lover does. However, as the night grew older his mood dampened when his ears started to bleed with sighs and desperate cries. With an irked sigh he swung open the basement door and continued his way down the wooden stairs. It would take quite a while for any sensitive eyes to acclimatize to such darkness, but he was all too familiar with it. There in a far-right corner crouched a petite young lady, her body smeared with blood, dirt and human waste. The rags she wore were drenched with urine and the girl’s toes submerged in feces. Her arms were chained to a hook that hanged off the ceiling, her muscles too tired to still pull at the restraints.

With yet another sigh Thomas turned to the pitiful look in front of him. “I suppose I should clean that up, eh?” He grimaced as he nodded toward the lifeless body that hung right across her. It was hanged by its neck, pierced with a rusty hook like a slaughtered pig. The rotten smell still hung in the air, mixed with a tinge of sweetness. It has passed already more than five days since he strangled it and the body was now comically bloated – frog-like with loosened patches of wrinkled skin. Dried foamy liquid protruded from its mouth and nostrils, the contents eagerly consumed by the persistent insects which swarmed the gaping holes and also munched on the spilling intestines. Chunks of meet were missing from its thighs and arms and even some from its belly, hacked and placed in the freezer while they were still fresh.

Tom nodded happily. “It would suffice for a while,” he smiled at the sobbing girl. He fancied himself strictly a carnivore, his diet consisting only of a “long pork”, sliced and diced into fine juicy stakes – medium rare just the way he liked them. He glanced at the sagged form one more time, tilting his head as he curiously inspected it. Now, decomposed like so it looked almost similar to him – an insignificant and pathetic being, good enough only for an animal to nibble at its remains. Inferior.

He could almost hear - from the pile of long abandoned bones that lied beneath the cracked decomposing floor – soft whispers of his name: “Tommy, oh Tommy,” similarly to chilly reaching tentacles of a sea creature it penetrated his soul and lured him down like a Siren of the ocean. No one called him Tommy anymore – the endearment was strictly prohibited as its mere sound curled his toes with dismay. His stomach churned and he had to blink at least twice to fight off the miserable thoughts which plagued his mind.

No. Thomas mustn’t lose his wits now – not at this time of the year. The sights and whispers slowly dwindled in the darkness of the night, merging into an almost overbearing silence that hung on his shoulders like a ton of bricks – even the girl watched him – fear reflecting in her bright irises as she shrunk further away. He scratched his overgrown beard, unconsciously combing away an infestation of lice. It itched and clawed similarly to his soul, like it wanted to rip away from its wretched host.

With a quick jerk of his hand he grabbed the living human by their hair, yanking back the girl’s head to look into her eyes. Relief washed over him as there were still traces of innocence left. Her bulging wide eyes pleaded for her life, riddled with agony and fear. Tom’s fingers found its way around her delicate neck and squeezed – just because of the sudden inclination to see better – to bring out the purity he so wished for. Her terror immediately expanded, making him moan with satisfaction. The thought of such power and control he had over the living was indescribable and he was able to turn off the light in her eyes just as quickly. Doing so he felt important, as if he was no longer an insignificant being others made him out to be. Tom forced himself to gather his scattered thoughts and freed the franticly jerking being from his massive hands.

“Your time has not come yet. Patience Thomas, patience,” he mumbled under his breath and stepped away. It was a difficult task as the touch produced a pleasurable sensation, his mind bombarded with never-ending images of violence. He remembered how he choked the life out of the previous girl, Lisa said the name tag fastened on the backpack. He stared into the depths of her eyes as she struggled to breathe and up until he felt the crunch of her windpipe. Upon the sound her eyeballs bulged out of the sockets, angry red capillaries protruding from the whites of her eyes. And just like that the innocence was lost and with it the feeling of gratification.

The notion of placing his fingers around one’s pulse made him always shudder with anticipation of the utmost supremacy and the process of selection was almost just as satisfactory. He only prowled at night hours, careful to disguise himself underneath the cloak of darkness. For all the sleepless nights resulted in a heightened agility of his limbs, making him move almost soundlessly, excluding a little blasted cough here and there. Night became his light and only than he transformed into a higher being – a predator that stalked his pray, waiting patiently for the right time to pounce. And as predictably as he assumed, like little useless rodents they crawled into their tents, completely unaware what is lurking in the shadows. He poked them out of their holes like sightless moles, for their feeble vision couldn’t distinguish the shapes in the darkness as quickly as his could. Tom preferred them young and blind to the horrors of life – their bodies vessels of purity. He swung at the rodents before they were able to squeal, rendered them unconscious before they even had a chance to realize what had happened.

Thomas’s mind drifted back to the usual stop where he had collected today’s mail. With envy and sheer admiration, he let his stream of thoughts travel to the main headline of the newspaper – the one written in bold. He secretly yearned for recognition and fame, however he was evidently not important enough to be on the first site – someone else took the piece of that cake. He wanted to take the person’s place and be able to capture as much innocence as they have. The person indeed was a master at their game – a skilled puppeteer controlling the flock of sheep without being detected once. Thomas nodded to himself, softly chuckling under his breath – promising to himself that once he too will take what is rightfully his. For he believed it was a basic right for one to be able to strip someone of their essence if only they wished to – as many times as they wanted, since desires were a mere instinct which one naturally isn't able to control. The blame is placed solely on an innocent little lamb that decides to part itself from the safety of the herd and venture out into the wild.

Regretfully, Thomas didn’t have a slightest hunch of a misadventure that awaited him. With a quick movement he unfastened the girl off the hook, but still left her wrists shackled. He decided to move her from the smelly basement, solely because of one selfish reason. The meat on her bones was already tainted with human waste and he worried for its quality. He in fact did not wish to feast on a steak reeking of defecation or have it crawling with insects. Tom yanked her frail body upstairs, ignoring the hard thumps each time her knees hit the wooden surface. Without a second look over his shoulder he dragged her tired body across the flooring, enjoying the sounds of soft cries each time her skin broke. What he did not count on was the will of survival – an instinct so powerful that left him flabbergasted once again. The small girl was a feisty creature and seeing she was so close to freedom sparked a tinge of hope inside of her. She started to fight like a ravenous beast, letting her metallic restrains hit against the solid chest of her captor. Her strength was pathetic and weak, sparking the hot flames of fire that engulfed the insides of Thomas’s chest. He did not expect the rage of such fortitude to consume his mind – he never allowed it to happen before – as he grabbed the hammer that hung above his head. Blinded with a powerful light he began to swing repeatedly, the forceful blows landing on the girl’s head. With each loud smack the facial bones cracked and inverted into her skull. Her left eye has spilled out of the socket and blended with the chunks of grinded bone, skin and hair. Thomas bashed the head so badly it was a flat mess of a brain matter and blood. The screams of torment slowly subsided into gurgles of anguish and finally with the last hit ceased completely, with pieces of teeth scattering over the floor. But before he was able to become aware of his hasty endeavor the corpse’s brain impulse produced one last reflex – as if death wanted a chance at retribution – the body’s leg forcefully spasmed. The lifeless limb managed to strike him right across the freshly sewn wound and caused him to stagger backward. He made one step too many, a step that made him sway at the edge of the upper stair. Thomas’s body weight struggled to maintain the balance but lost the battle as he tumbled toward the basement floor and hit his head against the hard, wooden boards.

***

“Tommy, Tommy come here love,” whispered a soft, honey-laced melodic voice. Thomas, no more than six-year-old boy turned to his dear mother with a wide smile on his face and ran into her extended arms. One deep inhale was all it took to sense a gentle scent of vanilla mixed with a sweet perfume sticking to her woolly sweater. The rim of her delicate mouth was smudged with juice of strawberries, similarly to his as they always picked them in the late summer. The summer was peaceful, beautiful but most of all it was safe. However, like most things, the beauty also has its ending point - it withers like a rose without a proper tending. And with an upcoming fall little Thomas withered along with it.

Soon enough happiness turned into melancholy, a deep well of hysteria his mother could not escape from. The dark beast dragged her with it, planting its claws deep into her flesh and in her place stood a monster with soulless frosty eyes. Thomas did not recognize this person that inhabited his beloved mother’s shell – it sure looked like her, but her behavior pointed to a skittish, agitated creature that bathed in its own body odor and pile of garbage for months to no end. His steps became calculated and careful as he tried to avoid the creaking of the floorboards. However, before he was able to memorize all the right steps, he had to endure the bitter taste of her frenzy. She swung at him over and over again, until his body was covered in black marks and until there were chunks of his hair between her tightly clenched fingers.

The silence was his cloak of safety, but silence was inevitably followed by hunger and cold. And it was on this faithful day in the middle of the fall that changed everything.

Thomas’s toes poked out of his worn-out shoes; its soles slippery as an eel. He had been playing near the stream, crafting tiny sailboats out of dried leaves when his leg slipped on the particularly treacherous rock. His instinct told him to scream – and he did so which turned out to be a terrible mistake. His mother flew out of the house, wobbling and cursing like a raving lunatic. Her eyes were rimmed scarlet red from the over-use of the peculiar white powder she always stashed so carefully. She snorted its contents multiple times per day as if it was her life-line - as if nothing mattered more.

With a ghastly roar of anger for being so rudely interrupted she grabbed the back of her son’s neck and shoved his head underneath the frigid trickling liquid. Thomas’s mouth opened in a sheer shock to scream, but the sound didn’t find its way past his small lips. The unmerciful coldness flooded his lungs and the ice turned into raging flames of fire. Black spots overtook his vision until his limbs stopped fighting the force holding him down. His last breath was long gone and so was the beautiful bright summer days when he had strolled through the gardens drenched in sunlight. 

And after the sun sets, darkness always follows.

As Thomas knew the instinct of survival was a powerful thing. And his was no different. His mother must have gone tired with the torment and dragged him out – half-dead, drenched and cold. His lungs felt frozen and constricted, the terrible reflex forcing him to wheeze and choke. The numbness began in his fingertips and started to spread all the way to his toes, his skin holding a strange bluish tinge. Tom’s teeth chattered and his fatigued body pleaded for the source of warmth. Seeing so, the monster watching from above did not relent as she blinked impassively and retreated from where she has so suddenly appeared.

Thomas heard the familiar sound distinctively – a turning of the key – as she barricaded herself inside. The cold did not matter right then as he realized she had abandoned him, left him there to rot. Thomas however knew the holes and little secret entrances of the house and managed to drag his half-paralyzed body through the small opening that led in the basement. The room was long abandoned and filled with dusty junk, but it was warm enough for him to cower in the far corner and try to banish the plaguing numbness. Days turned into a week as harsh pneumonia came, wrecking him with a never-ending trembling onslaught of cough. The creature lurking above him did not care for his pitiful cries, for the cost of his pain was far less significant than the aftermath of a magical dusty crack.

But Thomas still held on, still clinging to his frail battered body and even after his innocence was long gone – the naivete and purity of a child washed away in the stream that rushed just past his house.