Click, Click slide

Can you hear it, I can the faint sound of something metallic pressing into the hard wooden floor and pulling something soft and fleshy behind it? Can you tell what it is? No, I can.

It’s a young boy only seven or eight, dragging his lifeless corpse of a body at least what left of it across the floor. He has no legs thanks to his parents, cut off roughly below the waist, it wasn’t a clean cut through either. His hands are the same, but he now has hooks in their place, his parents did that just for fun, but the boy had the last laugh. Later that night as weak as he was, he crawled into his parent’s room and as he did, he left this sound, click, click slide click, click slide. He crawled around the bed to his mother the crueller one of the two. So, with his mind full of rage and a joyous heart he raised his arm with his hook and brought it down on her throat, she awoke sudden and quickly as soon as her son removed his hook from her throat, she tried to scream but could only muster a terrifying and bloody gurgle as blood flooded her throat ever so often dripping from the hole her son had left.

But the boy was not done, not just yet there was still his father, so he crawled back around to his father leaving that sound, click, click slide click, click slide. His father was once a good man with a kind heart, but those days where long gone, they happened long before his birth and long before he met his mother. He didn’t want to give his father a slow and painful death; the boy knew his father was just blindly in love with his mother. So, the boy left his father laying in that bed next to his dying wife, his mother who he could still hear clenching the sheets of the bed, still gurgling trying to take a breath of the cool sweet air that she craved so desperately to survive, but he didn’t care she was the very meaning of evil, the very image of cruelty, not even the devil would inflict such pain towards their own son. So, the boy left his parent’s room, spreading that chilling sound wherever he went, click, click slide click, click slide.

The father raises to the warmth of the sun but there is no light only the colour of a soft orange and a beautiful dim yellow that raises on the far-off horizon. He shakes his wife trying to stir her awake to show her this beautiful sight, that glows before him outside his bedroom window. He finds it unsettling that her skin feels so cold as he peers down to view her limp and lifeless corpse with the colour of her hands and face stained in a dark crimson red. His eyes began to tear as he let out a sorrowful howl of absolute pain that could have been heard to the furthest edges of town. The father sobbed and sobbed for hours as his son listened from down the hall, the boy waited and waited for the right time to go and comfort his father, but there was never a right moment and then it began the rage filled screams and the heavy footsteps of his father charging about the house what was he looking for a smashed window, a broken door maybe a window left jarred open. No, he’s following the small, long scratches in the floor that lead from the boy’s room to the parents and back.

And in the end the boy die, almost a hundred and twenty-six years ago to date but the boys still around I can tell you that with confidence, I saw him dragging himself through the hallway of an abandon house that was once his home along with that ever so chilling sound,

Click, click slide click, click slide.

It’s Never The End