Box Set

by Kim Petersen

  The rage within Glen grew darker. His mind began to fog and he felt himself lost within the grip of a dark force. An unfamiliar sound escaped between his lips as they parted in a grotesque scream. All thought diffused from his mind and he felt as if he were now an observer of his own actions. As he tore his eyes from his mother’s limp figure, he felt the shroud of hostility and despair colour his heart black. He swivelled and dashed to his bedroom where he flipped the bed mattress aside and grabbed the dagger that appeared to dazzle with encouragement before him.

  He squeezed his hand around the mahogany handle until his knuckles became as numb as the hatred that choked through his heart. His teeth clenched tight as he stomped back to the lounge room. Ron was still huddling over his wife, and turned to catch the gold flickers blazing in Glen’s eyes as the dagger sliced through the air in one swift movement. The point of the knife embedded low in Ron’s back as if he were a piece of dough, and Glen twisted the handle as hard as he could before pulling it from his father’s flesh and stabbing him repeatedly. Glen’s ears were deaf to the low wails of his father that eventually grew silent as his lifeblood spilled out, and Glen bent to his knees to support the collapsing body. His daze was indifferent as he looked at his father for a long moment.

  Ron twisted his head and fluttered his eyes up towards Glen. He opened his mouth and a gurgling sound issued up from deep within his throat as he struggled to focus on Glen’s looming figure.

  ‘I’m … sorry,’ Ron choked.

  Glen peered into his father’s bloodshot eyes with the coldness of steel. A void of apathy enveloped him as he looked down at him, feeling only contempt.

  ‘Glen …’ Ron muttered, ‘please …’

  Glen saw the pleading in his father’s eyes. They were the eyes that reflected his own in colour and had sent chills down his spine many times over the years, yet now the man that had tormented and plagued his childhood with terror appeared weak and pathetic.

  He was silent as he lifted the bloody dagger, and without averting his gaze from that of his father’s, plunged the knife one last time into his heart.

  As Ron’s eyes closed for the last time, Glen imagined the pierced organ within him slowly pump its last breath of life through his father’s veins. When he was satisfied that he was dead, he pushed him away to land in the blood that had pooled over the floor and seeped into the cracks between the timber boards.

  He crawled to his mother’s body and his chest began to convulse as he took her in his arms as a flood of emotion bubbled to the surface and spilled like a rampant river down his cheeks. Tears mixed with the splatters of the fresh blood that marked his face fell pink, toppling over each other and crashing onto Helen as his arms cradled her close.

  Glen held her lifeless body until the tears dried and formed tell-tale remnants of their existence across the broad bones of his cheeks. He cuddled her until she began to feel cool against the flesh of his arms and her lips tinged blue. He looked down to her one last time and brushed his lips over her blood encrusted forehead before gently placing her on the floor once more.

  He closed his eyes, sighed heavily and dragged himself to his feet. He circled wide to avoid the spread of his father’s blood on the floor, then picked up the phone and dialled the police.

  Chapter Four

  G len returned exhausted from Rockton police station in the mid-afternoon of the next day. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so tired in all his life. He moved through the empty house like a ghost, pausing only to gaze at the blood that stuck thick and congealed on the lounge room floor beyond the length of blue police tape. The distinct sickly odour coursed sharply through his nostrils and reminded him of a slaughter house.

  He sighed and shielded his nose as he turned away from the only part of his parents’ bodies to remain in this house and a scene that resembled remnants of a bloody massacre. He would tackle the clean-up after he had some sleep. Fatigue flushed through him as he wandered through the house in a stupor. The cops had really gone out of their way to grill him at the station, yet despite all the questioning and suspicious glances, they had yielded to his story of self-defence. Well, it was a clear-cut case as far as he was concerned. Had his father not turned on him with the dagger after murdering his mother, Glen wouldn’t have had to snatch the knife away from him. He was only forced to stab his father after his relentless wrestle to retrieve the dagger.

  ‘He wanted to kill me,’ Glen murmured with eyes brimming with unspent tears. ‘He always said that my murder would be worth the jail time. My mother was the only reason I have lived this long; and with her gone …’ His voice trailed off as he burst into inconsolable tears.

  When the police had learned of his father’s violent history towards his wife and son, they conceded that Glen’s story could be true and had decided against pressing charges on the condition he attend counselling sessions. Glen hastily agreed and left the police station careful to conceal the triumph that played in his eyes. The old man deserved to die after what he’d done to us, he thought smugly. The only regret he had was not making it home in time to save his poor mother.

  He ambled to the bathroom and went through the motions of showering absent of all thought. When he finally fell onto the soft mattress, his mind swam with the image of the painting girl in the park, and it hazily occurred to him that he would miss his Saturday walk for the first time in months. And as sleep crept up around him, the last thought to mull through him reminded him that at least he didn’t need to worry about his mother anymore. I am finally free to move on with my life.

  Her skin shimmered golden and her dark flouncing tresses appeared sleek and shiny as it moved like a flowing veil under the sun. He could barely take his eyes off her, and even when he dashed a quick glance to the squabbling ducks at his feet, his heart lurched in case he missed something.

  Did I miss the way she curled her hair behind her ear before she leaned to dip the brush into the palette at her feet? Or did I miss how her eyes would follow the fluttery wings of passing butterflies? Glen fretted. He grinned to himself. What has got into me? He threw the last of the stale bread to the ducks. There was a short scramble among them as webbed feet wobbled for the final treats.

  Glen chuckled. ‘You guys are just greedy. Don’t worry, mum will save more for next week.’

  This statement struck a chord of disharmony within him and for a moment his thick brows clashed together in perplexity. He racked his mind but found no recollection as to why such a simple remark about his mother would cause this reaction within him, so he pushed the feeling aside with a shrug of his broad shoulders. He gave a sigh of contentment as he looked her way again. He watched amused as her gaze pursued two big butterflies fluttering together in an extravagantly winged dance. Their delicate black and blue wings carried them through the gentle breeze in his direction, and when she turned her head to watch them, Glen felt his pulse quicken and his heart skip a beat.

  He was sure his breathing stopped altogether when her eyes drifted from the butterflies and settled on him. She smiled and gave a slight nod of her head towards him. Never had he seen such a beautiful smile to dress perfect full lips. Never had he felt so totally absorbed in such captivating emerald eyes. He hadn’t realised how vividly green they were until now. She is breathtaking!

  He returned her smile with his own, feeling every bit as awkward as he knew he must have looked sitting there on the bench with no more duck feed to throw. He clasped his thick fingers together and began twisting them in a fumble on his lap. She waved her hand and beckoned him to come closer, and her teeth gleamed in the sunshine with the warmth of her smile. He looked confused, thinking he must be mistaken. He took a quick glance behind him. Surely, she’s gesturing to someone else? However, there was no-one behind him, and as he scanned the park, there was no-one anywhere. Strange. He shrugged.

  He felt a tingle of excitement, and was about to rise to his feet when he spotted it. There slinking unobtrusively towards her slithered a big black snak
e. Its dark scales shimmered in contrast to the grass not unlike her shiny hair, and the speed in which it moved escalated with each fluidly propelled thrust of its muscles. Glen’s joyous grin vanished in an instant, and as he opened his mouth wide to warn her, he stopped short as the snake’s momentum halted. Glen’s eyes widened in disbelief as the snake lifted its big head and turned bright yellow eyes on him. They were the most sinister eyes Glen had ever seen, and while they scrutinised him, he felt its penetrating stare bore into him with deadly precision.

  White fangs glinted in the sun with the draw of his lips and it appeared to smile towards Glen.

  ‘I am your serpent god. Together we will rid the world of the Ascended Angels,’ it hissed. His vulgar voice twisted through Glen’s awareness in a grotesque tendril.

  Glen frowned with the muddled thoughts that began to darken his mind. He clutched handfuls of hair between his shaking head. What has this to do with her? No! no!

  When he looked towards the snake again, it was gone. He skirted the grass with his eyes in bewilderment, and as he heard her screams pierce through his ears, he realised he was too late. He jumped to his feet and bounded the short distance to her, feeling the hot sting of tears as its fangs rip savagely through the flesh of her throat.

  ‘No, no, no!’ he cried out. He fell to his knees beside her and caught her body as she tumbled towards the ground.

  He looked down at her in horror. Blood gushed from an open wound, oozing between his fingers and leaking freely to smear over the grass. He closed his eyes hard against the grisly scene, his head hammering in pain with the terror that filled his senses. He wanted to scream out loud, but the words were stifled, falling numbly on an unresponsive tongue. Seconds later, he opened his eyes and through the thick tears that fogged his vision, looked at the woman laying limply in his arms.

  He gasped and blinked a few times trying to make sense of what he now saw, as he wasn’t holding the woman at all; he was holding his father.

  ‘Dad?’ he choked. What the hell is this?

  Ron shifted and opened his eyes. His blood-streaked face rested against Glen’s chest and a deep gurgling grunt emanated from his throat. Glen watched in exasperation while puzzlement etched over his features. He felt as if his movements had seized as he tried to look around for the woman, yet his body wouldn’t comply. I can’t move! he screamed internally.

  He peered at his father again. Hysteria verged on the edge of his soul, threatening to desolate his reasoning, and all he wanted to do was throw his father off him and run. Ron smiled up at him briefly before his lips merged together in a thin line. ‘Apepsis has claimed you.’ His lips barely moved as he whispered, ‘You are that of the black snake.’ He began to chuckle. It was a soft laugh that grew and contorted to a chilling chortle that spiked through Glen’s spine and ran all the way to his toes.

  ‘No! No, nooo!’ Glen screamed. With all his strength he willed his body to succumb to his demands, and as he let out an almighty roar, he flipped his father aside and bolted away. Running, panting and screaming.

  His distraught yells echoed through the house and eventually awoke him. He opened his eyes and looked around in a disoriented daze. His heart felt wild in his chest and his pulse still raced as he lifted himself from the sweat-soaked sheets and went to the mirror.

  He looked at himself for a moment. He squared his jaw defiantly and clenched his teeth. ‘You’re not getting her,’ he sneered.

  The black snake flashed a flicker of gold through his eyes before shrinking into the furthest parts of his mind. After all, if he was anything, he was patient.

  Chapter Five

  G len opened the front door before Jim had time to knock. He pushed past him and headed for the panel van, ignoring the concern and sympathy that flushed through Jim’s eyes.

  ‘Hey mate, are you okay?’ Jim called as he came up behind him.

  Glen shrugged and kept walking. ‘Sure, I don’t wanna talk about it,’ he said over his shoulder.

  ‘Okay … but are you sure you’re up for the exam today? We could postpone, the TAFE will understand,’ Jim muttered.

  Glen pulled open the car door and paused to throw him a hard-nosed look. He just wanted to put his parents’ deaths behind him. He didn’t understand why suddenly everyone he met acted as if he were an incapable human being. He noticed the compassion in Jim’s eyes and relaxed. He just doesn’t realise what this means for me, he reasoned. He was now free to live without the shadow of his menacing father in the background and he was already enjoying it.

  Glen smiled. ‘I want to sit the exam today; at least it will give me something to think about other than the funeral on Friday,’ he said.

  Jim nodded. ‘Makes sense; let’s go.’

  It was later that morning when Glen filed into the large hall area at the local TAFE with about 50 other young men ready to sit the final exam that would earn them a qualification as electricians. He was the first to finish, and when he handed his papers to one of the overseers, he fought hard to conceal a scowl as she discreetly offered her condolences. Argh! He thought as he walked briskly from the hall, these people have no idea what a monster he was. Well, they had never acknowledged it anyway; even if they did. And since everybody knew everybody’s business in Rockton, he was sure most people knew his father was a drunk that treated his family brutally.

  Hell, I did this town a favour. He smirked at the thought as he spotted Jim leaning on the bonnet of his panel van.

  ‘Geez, that was quick.’ Jim glanced at his watch. ‘How did you go?’ he asked.

  Glen grinned. ‘I killed it,’ he said coolly.

  Jim second glanced him and froze awkwardly. ‘Ermm … okay,’ he muttered; ‘Good.’

  Glen’s brows raised. Clearly that made him feel uncomfortable, he mused as they silently climbed into the panel van.

  Jim turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. He put the car in gear and looked at Glen.

  ‘So, listen, everyone is talking about what happened,’ he stammered. ‘They say you are a murderer.’

  Glen shrugged. ‘This town always talks; most of it is pie in the sky.’

  ‘Nevertheless, they talk, Glen. People are afraid of you. You attacked Larry at the pub on Friday night and then you went home and killed your …’ he stopped abruptly.

  ‘Father,’ Glen snapped.

  He brooded while gazing at the passing traffic through the window.

  He faced Jim. ‘I can’t believe you know about Larry. That had nothing to do with my parents. He was following me, he was being strange!’

  Jim kept his eyes fixed on the road. ‘Well, the way I hear it, you were being the strange one. I always liked you, you know that. You’re a good worker and I didn’t want to lose your skills after you became qualified … but,’ he paused and took a quick breath, ‘it’s not good for business, Glen. People need to trust the tradesmen that enter their homes.’

  Glen’s jaw dropped. ‘What? Are you kidding me? You’re letting me go – after everything?’ he barked.

  Jim kept his focus on the road. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled.

  Glen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then why did you bring me to the exam today?’

  ‘It was the least that I could do,’ he said quietly.

  Glen grunted and turned away with a scowl. He fought to remain calm as a sickly repulsion trickled its way through him. His eyes darkened as he blankly stared out the window.

  ‘You know, it’s the people that thrive on gossip that can’t be trusted, and the people that stab you in the back when you’re already half-way down,’ he hissed.

  ‘I … I … it’s not personal mate. Just business,’ Jim’s voice quivered with the fingers that trembled against the steering wheel.

  The mood between them became stiff and silent for the rest of the ride home, and Glen felt a wave of relief when Jim turned the panel van into his street. He was surprised to see Steve sitting on the porch steps as he stormed out of the car without a backwar
ds glance. He stalked through the front gate and up the path.

  Glen struggled to focus on Steve. ‘Hi’ he mumbled, brushing a hand through his thick hair as an uncoiling pain smeared across his mind.

  Steve rose to his feet. ‘Hi Glenno,’ He buried his hands deep into his jean pockets.

  Glen stood in front of the door and fumbled with his keys. I just have to get inside … inside, he thought. His head began to spin and he felt the familiar smog of darkness creeping up on him.

  ‘You okay, man?’ Steve said.

  Glen’s body stiffened. He stopped fighting with the keys and swivelled around to deliver a black look.

  Steve reacted with a visible shiver and took a step backwards.

  ‘I just got fired because apparently, it’s not good for business to allow a murderer to repair electrical issues,’ Glen growled, wildly waving his hands through the air.

  Steve’s eyes fell to the ground. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered.

  Glen became aware of a bristly sensation scorching through his temples and smouldering in his soul.

  ‘Are you throwing the town gossip around too?’ he spat.

  ‘What? No, man,’ he said.

  Glen menaced him. ‘Then why are you visiting the town murderer?’

  Steve raised open palms before him and stumbled back another step. ‘You’re my best mate, I came to see how you were.’ His voice was hesitant. ‘Why are you acting like this?’

  Glen watched his friend as he tried to collect the spiral of thoughts that funnelled through his mind.

  ‘What are they saying about me?’

  Steve shook his head and glimpsed towards the street, alarm wrinkling the edges of his eyes.

  ‘Steve?’ Glen pressed. Chaotic thoughts plagued him.

  ‘They’re saying you killed them both,’ Steve whispered.

  Glen was silent.

  Steve looked at him uncertainly as he began to switch the weight between legs in a rhythmic sway. ‘Umm … I … I didn’t tell the police what you said at the pub on Friday night,’ he mumbled.