by David Kempf
“Please don’t get the wrong idea, Chris,” said David seriously.
“What wrong idea would that be?” Christopher asked.
“This isn’t about being a best-selling author. I wrote that book as more of an amusement for myself than to have millions read it.”
“Okay?”
“Listen, we are sharing many secrets here. They must be kept hidden until the masters deem necessary. They do want you just as they chose me. Please don’t think that makes you Shakespeare.”
“I know that, David. They do prefer tales of horror after all.”
“Yes.”
“Do they often read bestsellers?” Christopher asked.
“No. I think you know why they chose writers such as us.”
“I do.”
“You will,” said David.
“I wrote this story because I was an angry youth, as you pointed out. I’m not proud of it and I suppose in many ways I had no right to be.”
“In most ways,” David answered laughing.
“Still, I felt like I wasn’t getting my fair share of recognition. I wanted to be more. I wanted to be important to other people but still not care what they thought.”
“That’s very interesting, Chris.”
“Why?”
“That’s the way I was. My whole life I felt like I should have been exactly the same way you just described to me.”
“I see,” said Christopher.
“We had to work a hell of a lot harder than you do now,” said David.
“Is that because I’m a typical American?”
“No,” David laughed.
“Why?” Christopher asked.
“We were technologically impaired compared to all that is available in the world today. Everything was much harder in those times.”
“They were bad times?”
“No. They were bittersweet times for my family and me.”
“So they were the best of times and the worst of times.”
“Shut the hell up!” David screamed with a smile on his face.
“Just trying to prove I have a good sense of humor.”
“I’ll be generous and say you’ve already done that.”
“Do you mean your mentor?” Christopher started.
“Yes?”
“He must have experienced even harder times than you.”
“Indeed, he did,” agreed David.
“Tell me.”
“Soon, I will.”
David smiled wickedly at Christopher. He could tell by looking at his mentor that this man had many, many phenomenal tales of old and ancient times. He couldn’t stand the waiting. He wanted to know what his powers and responsibilities would be. This was a hard sale after all. When one is willing to give up his human form in order to live forever, this is still a very price. It was a price his mother, father and family members would never be able to grasp or begin to understand. Hell, it was something most normal human beings could never comprehend. Perhaps that was for the best. The more things running around the planet like him and David, the worse a place it would be. Christopher was growing impatient. He felt the suspense was terrible. If he was going to turn into a hideous fiend, then let it be done and over with. This was obviously a slow process. He wasn’t even able to hear all the horror stories David had to tell. Christopher could read the fictitious ones, but the true tales of terror interested him the most.
“What now?” Christopher asked.
“Well, what do you think?”
“More stories I suppose.”
“Yes,” said David.
“Stories not read by many,” Christopher suggested.
“They haven’t been read by the living in a very long time.”
“This is very exciting,” said Christopher.
“Yes, it is,” David agreed.
“I can’t wait,” Christopher said.
There were more stories and great tales written by his mentor to be read. Christopher read them by the fireplace over a nice, tall glass of brandy. It was beyond enjoyable. The best work he wrote was never seen by anyone who was still alive. The masters were the exception, of course. Still, they weren’t exactly alive. They were immortal, eternal and terrifying. Since they were talking so much about youth, he took a particular interest in reading the tales of suspense David wrote when he was very young, growing up in England. He was influenced by the greats but some of the best must have seen his work and “borrowed” extensively from it. This was obvious to Christopher. It was also incredibly exciting.
“David?”
“Yes?”
“You are prolific and brilliant!”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my friend,” said Christopher.
“Why do you love my work so much?” David asked.
“It speaks to the ages.”
“Indeed, it does.”
“No denying that,” said Christopher.
“No,” agreed David.
“I want to show you one story about how I feel about my youth. Please let me show you,” said Christopher.
“Yes,” David smiled.
“I realize that it is not autobiographical, but the character’s emotions are still the same as my own. I would love to hear your opinion after you read it,” said Christopher enthusiastically.
“I can’t wait,” said David.
Chapter 13
Don’t Play it Again, Sam!
By Christopher Wisdom
Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday were never covered in this much blood! Sam Wood loved to play his game and pretend to shoot people. His game was called “Saddle up for Blood.” It was the most popular and violent western video game ever created. Sam even got to create his own villainous cowboy character, Evil Sam. Whenever Evil Sam got in the game, he was ruthless. He spared no one in town. Evil Sam killed every man, woman and child! He sometimes was at his happiest when he could hunt down the innocent in a particularly cruel manner.
“Stop playing that game, you’re going to warp your mind!” said Sam’s mother.
“Just a few minutes more, Mom, please.”
Sam was getting pissed off. His horrible mother didn’t understand that this was his chance to forget about how horrible his pathetic little life was. His life as a life-long loser, getting picked on all the time. There was a hatred and violence boiling up inside of him. A part of him that was angry at the world. He hated his mother because she allowed him to be….born.
“Sam, dinner is going to be ready in a few minutes.”
Who cares? Sam was now beginning to realize that he had killed all of the people in town including the women and children. He was now starting to notice he had a few animals left alive.
“Sam Justin Wood, you come down here and eat your dinner right now!”
Sam was starting to think that his life was just a living hell. He desperately needed the escapism of his beloved western video game. In the morning, Sam waited. He waited for his dreaded bus ride. The bus ride to the living hell his pathetic life had become.
The bully was always waiting first thing in the morning. Sam always knew exactly what to expect.
“Give me your lunch money or I’ll kick your ass!”
Sam had his pride. He always knew to stand up for himself. That’s why he literally got the crap beat out of him everyday. It was also every day that he took his punishment. The bus driver, his parents, his teachers never noticed his pain. He was getting more hurt each day. The family unit and the school system both failed young Sam badly.
Now back to the animals. Sam took out the scalper he’d stolen from the tribal chief he shot earlier. It was time to scalp the animals. First the horses would get it, then the cows. He even scalped the dogs and cats that were left alive. Sam was getting very bored now. He wanted to start the game over. He killed everyone again and again and again. It was time to make the game a bit more interesting.
“Son, you’ve been playing that game a long time, haven’t you?” his father
asked.
Sam didn’t want to hear a lecture from his mother or father again. He explained that he was playing a classic western game. It was a video game where you could be like John Wayne, Billy the kid, Wyatt Earp or Doc Holiday.
“Wow! That sounds like a lot of fun, son. Maybe I can play sometime. Dinner is in about an hour.”
Now that that inconvenience was over, he could get back to his favorite pastime. Sam thought; why not make some new characters up? What to do with them after they’re put in the game? Oh yeah! Shoot them, scalp them, torture them and kill them! Sam now had three new cowboy characters. One looked like his mom, the other like his dad and one looked like…the bully from the bus.
The next day at school the bully was at it again. Sam got punched in the arm repeatedly. His parents and teachers were useless. Sam couldn’t really count on anybody with the exception of his imaginary cowboy friends, who were always there for him.
Evil Sam went to work. He shot his mom, scalped his dad and buried the bully from the bus alive. It was great fun to watch them die slowly and painfully.
Sam realized something the next day during gym class. It wasn’t right to kill his parents and the bully. It was wrong to single them out even if it was just in a video game. What about all his teachers? Especially the gym teacher who made him feel inferior because he was smaller and weaker than other kids.
It was kind of a shame. He kept forgetting about how he loved to play the game for the game’s sake. Sam loved old western movies just like his father always had. He sometimes felt like John Wayne or Clint Eastwood. The graphics in the game were impressive. The look of the town looked like a genuine, old style western town. The townspeople looked real. He loved to walk in the saloon and feel like he was a part of the west. Sam loved to play cards and to win at poker. When other players were cheating, he would shoot them in the face! Evil Sam never, ever tolerated a cheat. Sometimes it was fun just to play the game.
The worst part of his day wasn’t being beaten up on the bus. It was watching the rich kids with their fancy clothes and cars. Sam was a sixteen-year-old without a car or learner’s permit. Sam took the bus every day and got beat up every day. The rich kids had to go. Evil Sam decided that he needed to pick out a few rich kids to turn into western characters.
“Sam, your grades in Chemistry are really slipping,” said his teacher. “I don’t want to see you fail. If you are going to go to college, you’re going to need a scholarship. So I’m afraid I’m going to have to talk to your parents tonight.”
Evil Sam took his family phone off the hook. It was real easy. It was time to play the game now. He shot everyone in town. He used his shotgun, his rifle and even skinned a few of the animals alive.
“Sam, did you take the phone off the hook?”
He didn’t have time for his parents’ nonsense right now. Evil Sam was busy learning how to be the best killer he could be.
Evil Sam woke up with a feeling in his gut. He wasn’t going to take it today. This was going to be his day. Every dog has his day and today belonged to Evil Sam. The bully thought this was just another morning bus ride. He was wrong. Evil Sam grabbed his testicles and squeezed with all his might. The bully screamed out in a terrible pain that everyone in the bus could hear.
Evil Sam smiled. This was the beginning of his day. Perhaps he could finally be like the hero he was when he played video games. Well, he wasn’t always a hero when he played those games. It was one game in particular. It was his game. Now he could bring the game to life, or start to do so, anyway. He could change his miserable life for the better. It was time that all the bullies, teachers and adults knew his terms. He made up his mind that from then on everyone was going to start playing by his rules. His rules would rule. It was a radical change. It was time for that change. Sam would not be a laughing stock anymore. He was now Evil Sam.
The principal called a meeting with Sam, his parents, the bully and the bully’s parents. The idiot bus driver was also present.
“Don’t you think that you should behave yourself on the bus? I think you know better than this, Sam.”
Sam didn’t listen to the principal. He knew that no one was concerned about all the bullying he faced everyday. Sam fought back once and now he was branded as the bad kid.
“We didn’t raise you as a bully. What’s wrong with you, Sam?” asked his mother.
What’s wrong with me? I don’t know, Sam thought. Maybe I just want to ride on the bus in the morning. I want to ride and not get picked on or made fun of. When I haven’t done anything wrong, I don’t want to be a victim. Sam is a victim. Evil Sam is no victim. He plays by his own rules.
Sam was suspended for three days. As expected, his parents grounded him which, of course, included no television of any kind. No video games! There would be no saddling up for blood for a long time. So they thought. Sam decided he would break free that night and sneak into a store. A store that sold…video games was all he needed.
Evil Sam snuck into a local department store and waited in the bathroom. Once the store was closed he could make his move. Evil Sam walked to the video game section and found his game. He also grabbed the game system he needed. Since he was already there, he found a nice, small color television, too.
There were no guards in this store. There was an alarm system but Evil Sam didn’t mind. He threw a larger TV through the window. The alarm was loud but now he could leave and make his journey back home. A journey that would lead him back to the days of the Wild West again.
Evil Sam’s parents were asleep and didn’t hear him come back inside the house. He turned off the sound, which made him angry, but he wanted to be able to keep playing. There was no doubt his father either had his game hidden at work or had thrown it out entirely. No doubt about it. Everyone liked playing games. His parents played games. The bullies played games. The teachers played games. The principal played games. The idiot bus driver played games.
Evil Sam only liked playing one game. This time out he killed everyone in town really slow. He couldn’t hear their screams because he had the sound turned off. The only way he could think to make up for the silence was to slowly torture his victims with every kill. This brought Evil Sam great pleasure. He couldn’t wait to continue playing his game tomorrow. First, he would have to hide his game and TV.
One thing was certain. No one understood the terrible rage that existed in him. It was like everyone around him was looking at a different person. He loved to watch the masked killer movies that had been made before he was even born. There was something disingenuous about putting a mask on the serial killers, in his mind. Why keep a mask between psychopaths and their victims? There was no reason for that and he would not have any of it. Evil Sam liked how a strange cowboy could kill you and you would see it coming. He would do it right to your face, and you would see his instead of some stupid Halloween or hockey mask. The victim could look into the eyes of the killer. There was something chivalrous about the old west and downright cowardly about the current point in history.
This was the kind of rage that had to be seen. You couldn’t just throw some mask over it. It was doubtful that anyone could ever suspect a rage like this – a never-ending mean streak of sadism and the potential for a shocking bloodbath. If people were just able to step outside of their little, adult, self-absorbed world then perhaps they could see it coming. This was doubtful indeed. Adults were as stupid as they were selfish. That was saying a lot because they were awfully selfish. Indifference and ignorance could come at a very high price. The price could be a high body count.
Instead of being immersed in the gratuitous violence, Evil Sam was having a different experience tonight. He was genuinely sorry for all the people who had to live in this phony, materialistic age of greed. He was a cowboy, after all, just trying to make his way in the old west. Evil Sam would ride his horse and capture outlaws. Sometimes he was the outlaw. He could be a wanted man with a huge bounty on his head for the trail of corpses he left behind. Nev
er afraid to do the dirty work, he would collect scalps, fingers, thumbs and any evidence of proof of life. This was, of course, when he was the hunter and not the hunted. Evil Sam loved the thrill of a hunt. It sure beat the absurd thrill of playing football for some loser of a coach. Most coaches were pathetic wannabes. They failed in their own lives and now, pathetically, were trying to live them over again through their children.
That’s not the way cowboys do it!
“I left you a list of chores to do, Sam.”
There was no answer. His mother spoke again.
“Sam, you’re going to be so busy over the next three days that you will really regret getting suspended. Now get to work!”
Really regret it? That’s funny because there was a whole lot of regret when anyone crossed the path of Evil Sam. However, he did do a few chores so as to keep up appearances. He used to be such a “good” boy. Whatever the hell that meant. Deep inside he was someone who did not understand life. The world didn’t make any sense. Well, the real world made no sense. The cowboy world was pretty straight to the point. No one had to be a victim in the old west. You could always fight back. No one needed a gun if they had a knife. Sometimes he only used his gun when necessary, like when he was attacked by a posse. If he took someone prisoner then he could have fun and really take his time. It was a great joy to really take the time to use a knife in the way it was intended.
His parents looked around the house and couldn’t believe how much work he had accomplished in one day home from school. Sam knew that he would have to play it cool until they fell asleep.
“You did good today, son.”
He wasn’t going to say, ‘oh shucks, thanks Dad.’
“You can have your computer back, but no video games!”
It wasn’t video games in which he was interested at the moment. It was finding his principal’s home address. He would be Sam for his parents until they fell asleep. Then he would be Evil Sam. Who was the real Sam anyway?
