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Join Date: Jun 2004
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Bradley's Initiation (Horror)
Hi,
This is the first chapter of my newest Horror Novel. It is nearly complete and I am looking for opinions on the story, writing, characters, setting, and so on. Any remarks would be greatly appreciated.
Thank you =)
Keith
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BRADLEY’S INITIATION
Chapter 1
“Come on, Frankie, get a move on,” Matt said, shouting almost directly into my right ear; the ear I nearly lost two years earlier in a devastating accident; an accident which stole Father from us, and nearly took Mother as well.
The spike of his voice, impaled my head like a stray bullet. Swiftly, I raised my hand to my ear, in a gut driven reflex, in an attempt to ease the bleeding pain.
Matt ran, and as always, I followed. We ran as quickly as we could through the woods––the always dark, always creepy, woods that rimmed Franklyn Cemetery.
“It’s nearly dark,” Matt shouted, this time graciously sparing my ear. “We gotta get to Brad’s, quickly, before the shit hits the fan again.”
“I don’t like this, Matt.”
Matt stopped abruptly, nearly forcing me into the back of his studded leather jacket, and turned his head, glaring at me with that look––that damn look, which was slowly etching its way into my deepest inner workings––a look he shredded upon me all too often.
“I don’t like this, Matt,” He mocked, shrewdly. “You always chicken out, Frankie; every goddamn time. Why the fuck, did we vote your sorry ass in anyways? Can you please remind me? I seem to have forgotten again.”
“Cause…” I really didn’t know. I was completely unsure of the answer. I did know, however, that I went through a whole lot of hell to get in, a great deal more than the others, too––I think; but why exactly? I really didn’t know, and possibly never would.
Ever since the most recent batch of disappearances, many of the kids from our school didn’t hang out much past dark––especially not around here––around the cemetery. Too many really strange things happen around here; but of course, there we were, running right along side the freakin’ place.
“Hello… Earth to Frankie!” Matt said, knocking his scabby knuckles into my sweaty forehead. They were always scabby––his knuckles; he had a nasty habit of punching things; trees mostly; but every once and awhile he’d pick some poor naive kid, who was hanging around at ‘The Spot’, to break things up a bit. I guess trees just hurt a little too much sometimes.
“Cause,” I paused once again. “I’m your brother?”
“Yah, that’s it, you’re my brother––my baby brother, and don’t forget it. I swear I’ll kick your goddamn ass if you fuck this up again, Frankie. Do you understand me?”
“Yes Matt, of course, I understand.” What an asshole, I thought. That’s what he was after all––an asshole, but I loved the guy; he was my brother; he watched my back; so I stuck by him.
The path was quite narrow, and eerily dark; even in broad daylight, the path was difficult to navigate. But it was often trekked by school kids, tramping their way through the woods, in an effort to bypassing the much longer route down Strider Lane, and then back up an around to Franklyn Circle, the cul-de-sac where the front entrances to the three schools and the police station hid.
The path opened up into Fleet’s Field; the field which set comfortably, tucked away just behind Fleet’s high school. We ran across the ballpark, up Steeple’s hill, and into the huge parking lot, where the town chapel and all three public schools rested in near ruin.
We ran toward the high school, carefully ducking clear of Mr. Ripley’s classroom windows. His lights were still burning bright, and we could see movement scurrying about inside. He always stayed late––Mr. Ripley, long after the janitor would leave.
He was having an affair with the school Principal; and everybody knew it; it was no big secret; Mrs. B, that’s what we called her; I’m not sure if anyone ever knew her real name.
He would always declare that he was up grading essays, there in his classroom, until all hours of the night and sometimes even, into the early morning; but we knew better; oh yes, we knew exactly, what it was he was grading.
On several occasions, Matt and the gang––myself included––had seen them having their way with each other; she was one hot shit, for a woman nearing her fifties. Matt would often make rude remarks, about how he’d jump her in a heartbeat, if the chance presented itself to him. I’m quite sure he was joking; well, pretty sure; I mean, it was very hard to tell with him sometimes––most times.
Swiftly escaping the bright light, which beamed out over the parking lot, from Mr. Ripley’s classroom windows; Matt and I sprinted to the far end of the building––the darkest end; not lit by any street lamps or spotlights from the school’s outer walls; the end nearest the northern gates of the cemetery.
Swiftly turning the corner of the crumbling brick building, which housed not only the high school, but the town sheriff’s office as well, the eye piercing beams of car headlights, assaulted my eyes; they were coming from the front parking lot. Matt fluttered back into the woods, ducking behind a large round hedge; I swiftly followed, tucking in closely behind him.
“Who is that?” Matt asked, franticly.
I raised my hand over my brow, in an attempt to shield my eyes from the glare of the light. “I don’t know… I can’t see.”
“Never mind, Frankie… Let’s go… Run!”
Matt took off into the darkening woods like a rocket; I followed; I always followed. Why? I did not really know, nor do I still today; however, when Matt would say, Jump Frankie… well, you know… I guess you could call me a fool; many did, back then.
I certainly didn’t always agree with him; in fact, I seldom agreed with anything he did––or said for that matter; but we were bros and bros stick together––right?
I ran my ass off, trying like hell to keep up with him; but my pudgy, short, legs just could not keep up with Matt’s track-star winning legs.
The path’s naked branches whipped at my eyes and nipped at my ears as we jolted our way through the ever-darkening claustrophobic path. It was the path which lead up to West Hancock Street––the street where Bradley lived, with his asshole stepfather, and that slutty mistress of his––the one he so terribly tried to keep under wraps, but just as any dark secret, it was just a matter of time, before it became unveiled.
The gruesome tale never left me, and most likely never will; not for so long as I shall live, Bradley made sure of that. His words ring clear in my head, still today, as if he had spoken them, just yesterday.
***
Bradley’s mother arrived home early from one of her month-long business trips. It was late; it was the night before Bradley’s 11th birthday, and she must have been planning to surprise him; for she had, gripped tightly in her hand, a neatly wrapped gift, when he found her lying there, sprawled out on the sodden floor.
His stepfather was sitting up on the edge of the bed when Bradley discovered his mother’s body. His stepfather was stunned; he was barely breathing; and to no surprise at all to Bradley, he was not alone. His mistress was with there as well, perched up against the back wall, and buried amidst the king-sized bed’s many lavish coverings. Her face bore that same stupid look, a look he’d seen countless times before, only now, this look was intended for him, as if to say he had something to do with this––his mother’s untimely death.
His stepfather had told him a short time later that night, that his mother had cracked, she had gone certifiably nuts. This made absolutely no sense whatsoever to Bradley; as he could not get the painful image of his mother’s body out of his head, even long enough to hear his stepfather’s excuses, much less attempt to understand them.
Bradley then gawked into his stepfather’s peaceful eyes; tears welling, gathering briefly in the web of lashes, which rimmed his lower lids; then he began to cry, as only an eleven-year-old child can––direly.
Her shrilly screams had shaken Bradley awake from a peaceful slumber and had gripped him by the throat––this is how he described the feeling, and this is how I relive it in my dreams.
She pulled a small pistol from her purse––the pistol his blood-father had given her, just before he died of pancreatic cancer, so she’d be safe on those countless, long, business trips into the city.
She pulled the trigger.
However, the gun malfunctioned; in a window-shattering, ear-splitting explosion, the gun backfired, taking part of her face and head with it. The impact had to have killed her instantly; that is what he wanted to believe; for it was that gruesome.
She fell hard, and fast, like a rock. The sound of her head, as it struck the hard, oaken threshold of the door, sent gruesome echoes reverberating eerily throughout the entire house, then, very suddenly, the air rested in a gloom silence.
There she lay, silhouetted in a puddle of dark thickening blood, sprawled out upon the sodden maple of her bedroom’s hardwood floor.
That was five years ago; Bradley never got over it. He heard every word, every sound… every whisper.
Each day I knew him, he seemed to suffer the trauma of that dark un-forgetful night. Darkness invaded his every dream, with each failed attempt at rest.
He had stood in the doorway of the bedroom that night, crying an endless flow of burning tears; his mother laid motionless, in a thick pool of blood; breathless; a gaping hole in the side of her head, the size of his Mickey Mantel signed baseball.
How could anyone forget such a tragic story? I relived it myself, over and over––sometimes asleep––sometimes awake, and it wasn’t even my nightmare. I still wish he had never told me.
***
Bradley never was quite the same after his mother’s death. You could say he was a bit of an outcast. He didn’t talk much. He had few friends. I think Matt felt sorry for him. He would always tend to go easy, whenever he’d beat the shit out of him.
Timmy, the elder member of the club––second only to Matt, who started the damn thing, back when I was just turning twelve––had a grand idea; he brought it up once, during the last meeting we had.
Matt instantly fell in love with the idea, and took it as his own; he set the plans into motion that very night.
Bradley was to become a member of our club.
Matt was the mastermind behind the Initiation process. I suppose that may be why my initiation was so goddamn shitty––no pun intended. He had special plans for Bradley’s Initiation, and for some oddball reason, he was leaving me out of the loop.
He wouldn’t tell me a goddamn thing. He’d just keep on saying the same thing, repeatedly. “This is going to be fucking great, Frankie!” He would say with that typical, evil snarly grin of his, the one that would often follow up with a night in the slammer, or a bright red ass, with welts. “Fucking great, I tell you, the best one ever! It might even top yours, Frankie,” he said with a snide smirk.
This didn’t settle well with me, not one bit, but still, even though I should have known better, I still followed.
Matt effortlessly leaped over the rusty steel of the guardrail; it came up on us very quickly; I barely had a chance to notice that the cover of foliage had cleared away.
He landed in the street, just a block or so from Bradley’s house and cast me a cold stare. “Let’s go, fat boy!”
I carefully lifted my right leg over the guardrail and stepped into the narrow street, glaring at Matt. “I hate when you call me that.” Then under my breath, added, “Asshole.”
“What did you call me shit-head?”
“Nothing.”
“I thought not. Remember what I said.”
“I know, I know… Don’t fuck up. Let’s just go, all right.”
Matt grabbed my right arm, and pulled me across the street, and into some tall bushes. “Wait here.”
“Where are you going?”
Matt looked frustrated. “I need to meet up with the others. I’ll be back, chill bro.” Matt ran off, disappearing into the darkness.
It was ungodly cold, and getting colder by the second. I sat on the ground, legs crossed, Indian style, waiting… watching my breath turn to fog, then vanish into the brisk night air.
Peeking through the leafy slits in the brush, I gazed into the headlights of an oncoming car; not many ever traveled this road; it pretty much led nowhere, but occasionally––rarely, there would be one––perhaps two. As the car passed, I noticed something odd.
“Police?” I said, softly.
There are only two police cruisers in Franklyn, and at this hour, they don’t leave the school parking lot, not unless there is a big problem somewhere.
Maybe there has been another disappearance? I thought. It’s the only reason.
I have to admit, I was scared. It was the first time Matt had not filled me in on the plans. Moreover, here I was, sitting alone, on a dark street, with some nut ball on the loose.
What is it they’re planning? I thought. What is it they expect me to do? Those thoughts ate at my mind and scared me half to death. This is Bradley’s initiation. Why does it feel like mine?
Several minutes had passed; it felt like quite a few actually––perhaps a half-hour. It was really getting dark; it was pretty much pitch-black, no lamps lit the street. I could see absolutely nothing, and the road was silent; my ears… well my ears were growing numb from both the cold and from the pure lack of noise––not even a cricket creaked on that night.
What are they doing? Did they ditch me? Are they playing some kinda cruel prank? It’s fucking cold out here; I’m about ready to vamoose, and head back home.
Just then, a massive hand grabbed my right shoulder; its fingers dug so deep into the flesh of my armpit, that I swore I’d have bruises for a month––that is, if I were to live that long, and at that point that was purely a mystery to me.
In one effortless swoop, I was yanked from the false security of the dense bushes, and sprawled out over the stiff icy grass.
Matt smirked. “You ready Bro?”
“Goddamn you… fucker!” I shouted, still lying on the ground. “You scared the fucking shit outta me!”
Matt and the guys laughed––it was more like cackling actually. They were all there, all five of them: Matt, Timmy, Robby, Steve, and Freaky Dave––the piercing king. I gazed at them with evil eyes----––as evil as I could make them, that is. I was pissed, I had every right to be, and I’m not just referring to the warm moisture in my underpants either, which quickly became an icepack. The guys laughed even harder as I pried the icy denim from my crotch.
Matt reached down and grabbed my hand, and pulled me to my feet.
“Bro, you need to relax.”
“Yeah,” Timmy laughed, “You’re gonna land yourself in the psych-ward.”
Robby laughed and with a patronizing snicker said, “Did Frankie, wettie his pantsies?”
“Enough Shit-ball!” Matt said, punching Robby in the arm––and hard too, “We’ve got work to do.”
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