Nail Bat Psycho (roots)

(excerpt: TLC is a collection of short to medium length horror stories I've written, I will release each one here. Because of the nature of the platform these versions have been adjusted to imply/ or vaguely describe their violence. Each TLC story was originally crafted with incredibly descriptive, graphic violence. The original versions are available elsewhere. If I manage to reproduce these stories with less violence, and they're still worth a read. I believe I've earned merit as writer. Thank you for your support.)

II: Nail Bat Psycho

A single bulb, sparked to life by the small tug of a chain that dangled from its frame. A low buzz kicked on; a moth fluttered around the light. A work desk beneath the light, covered in gruesome images drawn out by Vlad. Vlad's head rested on the desk. No movement other than a bandaged hand swatting at the fluttering moth every now and then. Beads of sweat formed and dripped off his head. Inside his head it was murky, nothing but smoke and darkness. Jolts of pain seized his limbs, causing a twitch about his body. Beneath the desk against his feet laid a fifteen-year-old dog. Long greyed out fur that once shone gold caressed its body. Tired, milky, brown eyes rested behind closed eyelids. The dog's rib cage rose up and down with each breath.

The moth flew too close to his face this time. He snatched it right out of the air, pulled off its wings one by one then sucked it into his mouth. Chewing on the insect until it was nothing but saliva and foam, he spit it out onto the floor. The floor covered by many stains of former insects caught by Vlad. His broad shoulders ached, everything ached, especially his head. Every single day he did nothing but lay on his work desk and wait. Wait for them, the voices.

Vlaaaaaaaaad

A soft elongated pronunciation of his name floated around the room. The room, his workshop. Filled from the floor to the ceilings and all around with shelves. Shelves with everything from tools, to Knick knacks. To jars filled with questionable liquids and even more questionable objects. The room no bigger than a half bathroom was where he spent most his time.

Vlad lifted his large head from the desk, placed his hands upon the desk and pushed himself onto his feet. Vlad stood at a mean six foot six, and weighed a whopping two hundred and forty pounds of muscle. Black hair clung to his shoulders, one of his eyes covered by a greyed eye patch. Scars and cuts covered his face, his teeth hadn't seen a dentist or a tooth brush in decades. Some were yellow as a school bus and some were black like the darkness that plagued his mind. He wore a faded out jet colored t shirt, with brown work pants and worn-down steel toed boots.

Ohh Vlaaaaaad, come to uuussssss.

Vlad's hands gripped the sides of his head. Quick whispers whipped and whirled around his mind at a painful speed. Exiting his work room, which was a roughed-up tool shed, the Arizona sun hit him dead on. Covering his other eye, he walked towards his house. Which was nothing more than an old two story farm house that like Vlad, had the life beaten out of it. Shingles hung off the roof, some scattered the ground. The siding of the house was chipping off and with every passing day more and more fell off. The porch railing was missing many of its supports and swayed if you tried to lean on it. The wooden steps groaned under his weight as he walked up them. The screen door's mesh is tore out and the door swung with ease on its hinges. Vlad opened it and passed through into the home.

Hardly any furniture was to anywhere, upstairs had a bathroom with a clawfoot tub in it. Cracked and stained, the bedroom up there had a mattress and a dirty brown sheet crumpled into a heap on top of it. For when he felt like sleeping, but he hardly ever did. The kitchen on the main floor, had a china cabinet that each pane of glass is broke, and there was no china inside. One single spoon laid on its ledge. The fridge sat open, a rotting stench coming from within. Its' cord laid unplugged next to the trash can that laid on its side. A dog bowl also sat askew to the trash can. The living room had nothing but peeling wall paper and a busted tube tv in the corner.

The basement of the house, lead to by another flight of groaning steps. Was still unfinished, concrete and dirt. A long flat metal table stood in the middle of the room; metal cabinets lined the walls. Sheets of plastic hung around his work space. But none of these rooms were his favorite, his favorite was the bathroom on the main floor.

The bathroom on the main floor only had the necessities in it. A single oval oak mirror, attached to the wall by a large rusted nail hung. To the right of it, a broken white porcelain toilet. To the right of that a mildewed, and neglected shower head spout and tap poked out of the wall. A fog paned window on the wall to the right of the tap and spout, covered in dirt and spider webs.

Vlad

The voice bounced off the cracked walls in the hallway, and echoed inside his head. Putting a hand against the wall he steadied himself and stared at the door to the bathroom.

"I'm comin!" He yelled to no one. Stumbling one foot after the other he approached the bathroom door. With caution, he placed a palm on the door. Opening the door a crack, he stuck his head through and looked into the mirror.

Kill them

vlad

vlaaaad

kill them all.

The voices spoke with purpose, filling his head with vile thoughts and words. Standing in front of the mirror now, he refused to take his eyes off the glass. A smiling Vlad stared back at him. The reflection depicted himself but never acted right. As he titled his head to the right, a single bead of a sweat slid down Vlad's temple.

After Vlad swallowed the lump in his throat he spoke up, shaking and asked the reflection;

"Who is it this time?"

Burning wood crackled inside the red brick fire place. Shadows composed of the flame's light danced across the walls. With her crochet blanket in hand, Mary rocked on the warm wooden chair in front of the fire. Humming a soft tune to herself, upstairs the baby let out a short cough in her sleep. Squinting her eyes tighter shut, sighing and returning back to slumber. Billy and his little brother Bobby laid in beds parallel to each other, but neither of them was asleep. They giggled and joked in hushed whispers. Their blankets pulled to their necks and wriggling bodies beneath.

Mona, the two-year-old retriever lay asleep on the area rug at the base of the stairs in front of the main door. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked, and rang out once it struck nine o clock. Mary looked out the darkened window, soft pellets of rain hit the glass and streaked their way down. Around a quarter after like always the front door opened. Allowing in the noise of rain to break the silence in the living room. Water dripped onto the floor as Henry slipped his shoes off. Mary greeted her husband

"how was work dear?" Henry walked passed her, Mona's tail wagged as Henry walked passed her and the stair case too. Down into the basement he went, Leaving Mary to stare at the door way after him. She looked at Mona

"well somebody didn't have a good day at work." Mary turned back towards the fire place. She looked down at the purple blanket from her hands, it reached the floor. Fixing the snag she had run into, her eyes flicked back to the fire place. In time to visually-miss the small blade come around the front of her neck.

Mary grabbed at her throat, her eyes turned to saucers. She tried breathe through her pain but a gloved hand covered her mouth. Henry held Mary's face in his hands until she didn't move anymore and let her limp body thump to the floor. Upstairs the boys stiffened, Billy hushed his younger brother. Bobby covered his mouth as he giggled again.

creak creak creak

Someone was coming up the stairs, they were being too loud. They both crawled under their blankets and closed their eyes so that they could pretend to be asleep. The door to their room opened, Billy kept his eyes closed tight. Trying to fight the urge to look, not wanting to get into trouble. Henry grabbed a pillow off the end of the child's bed. Billy kicked and squirmed but his effort was no use against his father's strength. During the struggle Bobby opened his eyes to see what the commotion was, shrieking at the sight. Henry turned around immediately, in one swift motion. He grabbed Billy's baseball bat from under his bed and lunged at Bobby.

Mona stood in the door way of their room staring at Henry, he pushed passed her into the hall way. Following the wall lights to the baby's room. Once inside, he walked up to her crib and looked down at her. He placed a warm hand against her soft cheek, he scooped up the tiny baby into his arms. Henry's eyes locked on the sleeping babe's. Tucking her hair behind her ear, swaying, he rocked her. Mona stood next to him now; he kissed the baby's forehead.

In one quick motion he stuck his arm out of the bedroom window. In it, a bundle of receiving blankets and a tiny squirming figure. Letting go of one side of the blanket, he watched it unravel like a aerial contortionist at a carnival. Henry walked out of the nursery. He found the top of the stairs and made his descent. Outside in their garden shed, he still clutched Billy's bloodied bat in his hand.

Vlad lay on the grimy bathroom floor. Hyperventilating while tears dripped from his cheeks. A bat full of nails, cast to the side, with fresh sprinkles of blood. The old dog pushed her nose against the door and let herself in. She hobbled toward him with aged legs and stopped to sit in front of him. The dog bent her head down and licked Vlad's face in condolement. Vlad retched and wrapped his arms around the animal, shaking as he spoke

"I don't wanna kill them no more Mona, I don't."