From the Files of the Fitzgerald Mental Institution: Volume 2
Tiny Terror: The Story of Tia
Copyright 2016 Steve Hasse
Following Orders: The Story of Obvious Owen
Copyright 2016 Jason Michael Hiaeshutter
Published by Matchstick Entertainment
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without
the prior written permission of the author.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead,
is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Tiny Terror: Story of Tia
Prologue to the film “Seth and Tia”
By: Steve Hasse
Part 1: Heretic
Dr. Bradford suggested that I write this to help me clear my thoughts and recall exactly how I got into Fitzgerald Mental Institution. It’s a long story but I am going to do my best to make it interesting. I love reading and have always dreamed of being an author. I’d like to believe my story could become a great novel one day that’ll help reach out to the ones who are considered freaks like I am. Dr. Bradford has been encouraging me to use my love for writing as a form of therapy. So the first question to be answered is, “how did I get here?” the next one is going to be “What made me act out?” everything is a bit of a blur so I’m going to do my best to help you, the reader, understand where I am coming from. So, let’s start from the beginning.
Here’s a quick summary about my upbringings: I was raised in an ultra religious household. My big sister, Autumn, and I were living with my mother who raised us both by herself. My father died in a car accident when I was only five years old so I don’t remember him much. From what I understand he was a kind man who loved us both dearly. At least, that’s what Autumn always told me. I was in the car when it crashed so mother has always blamed me for his death. She hated me. She yelled at me all the time, telling me that I killed my father. Growing up, she’d call me “Tia the murderer,” or “Tia the daddy killer.” He was driving me to school when it happened, so maybe part of it is my fault. I was never allowed to show my face when Mom was up. I had to spend my childhood locked in my room, cut off from the rest of the world. Autumn did what she could to help. She used to sneak books to me to keep me entertained. She was disgusted by how I was treated but wouldn’t dare say anything to stop it.
One day I was putting up a poster of my favorite pop artist, Elle. It was so pretty with its hot pink border. I would listen to her album , “Lost but Not Forgotten” all the time on my walkman. My favorite song on it was called “Hell on Earth.” It was about how she’d met a cute boy who she wanted to share a world in chaos with. It was the opposite of what you typically hear from most love songs. Usually they’re candy and flowered crap. Anyway, Autumn gave me the poster as a surprise, along with tickets to see her live. I couldn’t believe it. Of course, mother would never allow Autumn to take me out for such an incredible night so, we had to be sneaky about it. Autumn was a pro at being sneaky. She’d been sneaking around our mother for years, and knew at least a dozen ways to get out of the house without a trace. So I was hanging up the poster trying to get the tacs through the drywall. It was almost impossible to get them in, and my thumbs were getting sore. I heard a knock on my door and I stood in front of the poster to hide it from view as best I could. The door burst open and I saw my mother in the doorway. She was holding a giant, leather bound bible in her hands. “What is this ruckus you little heretic?” she bellowed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mom,” I answered.
She smacked the bible against her palm. “You’re lying to me you little sinner!”
“I wasn’t doing anything!” I said defensively.
“I am not gonna ask you again little girl! You tell me what that noise was!” She walked slowly toward me. She reeked of cheap perfume. It was so potent I started to gag. She looked sharply at the poster behind me.
“What is this?” she roared.
“That’s just-”
Mom shoved me out of the way, she tore the poster right off the wall and ripped it into shreds.
“I won’t allow this satanic rubbish in my house!” she screamed.
“But Mom-”
She grabbed my wrists and pulled me sharply towards her, “don’t you ‘but’ me you little heathen!” she yelled. “Tell God you’re sorry!”
I was shoved down to my knees in a praying position, warm tears rolling down my face. I didn’t know what to do, I froze in fear. Fear that God would punish me. I believed that God hated me as much as mother did because of what happened to my dad. He wasn’t going to accept my apology, so what was the point? Out of obedience, I did what mother ordered. I put my hands together. I was sobbing loudly and my eyes were a sea of tears. “I’m sorry God! I’m so sorry!” I cried as mother smacked the side of my face. She grabbed the back of my neck and shouted in my ear.
“God cannot hear you clearly, child!” she screamed.
My ear started to ring and my face felt warm. I choked on my own tears waiting for the whole thing to end. “I am sorry God!” I yelled as loud as I could. “Forgive me God, I have sinned again! Please forgive me God!”
Mother shoved me forcefully to the floor. “Get up,” she said, spitefully. “You need to be saved.”
“Saved?” She was going to take me back to church so she could shame me in front of the congregation. It was a place where I treated like some kind of a monster. I didn’t want to go back there. I couldn’t face those judgemental eyes again. I got up ready to beg my mother to not make me go. “Please no!” I pleaded. “I can’t go there, I’ll behave I promise! I’m sorry Mother! Don’t make me go!”
“You’re possessed by demons girl! You need God to save you!”
“God doesn’t love me anyway!” I screamed.
Mother grew red in the face. I could see her rage grow as she charged at me. I saw flashes of white as she slammed my head against the wall. “You will repent!” she shouted. “Repent! Repent as the Lord Jesus Christ commands!”
Mother grabbed my wrists again and yanked me to my feet. I was dragged out of my room, down the stairs, and into the car. It was a blur. I was scared and I couldn’t focus on anything. I remember the sun shining hotly on my face. I remember my mother chanting bible verses, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. I was sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. I was trying to remain in my happy place. I tried to recite the Elle song “Hell on Earth” in my head, but I couldn’t concentrate. I felt doomed and completely helpless. Nothing could save me at this point. I was going to be judged and shown for the monster my mother knew I was.
I was grabbed by the arm by my mother and yanked unceremoniously from the car. As she dragged me down the aisle, the congregation was already looking at me in disgust. They believed all the horrible lies my mother had told them. I was possessed. I was not right with God. I hated God. My mother kept referring to me as the bad seed. She talked about me as if I was being prosecuted during the days of the Salem witch trials. The pastor, old, bald, and ugly as ever, towered over me. “What has she done now?”
“She committed blasphemy to The Lord!” my mother screeched. She shoved me toward him. He grimaced, exposing his ugly, yellow teeth.
“Again?” he said. He didn’t want to hear my side. His mind was already made up about me. “Tia, you’re just a tiny little terror aren’t yo
u? When are you gonna learn?”
I sobbed. I looked around the congregation hoping for someone, anyone, to take pity. There was no one. I was hated by everyone. I honestly didn’t even know what I had done wrong. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say, I tried to-”
“To defy the Holy Ghost!” The pastor yelled. Spittle from his mouth hit my cheek. His breath was hot and smelled like cheap whiskey.
I began sobbing again. “Please, I didn’t do anything!”
Mother shoved me, “You liar!”
I looked up and saw the hatred in my mother’s eyes. It was at that point when something inside me grew. A rage like I’ve never felt before. I rose to my feet and shoved her back. “I didn’t lie!” I shouted.
Mother screamed and dramatically fell back, making the shove seem more forceful than it actually was. She wanted to make me look as out of control as possible. I stood and glared at my mother. From the corner of my eye, I saw the pastor come up behind me. He tried to restrain me so I bit his hand. He screamed in pain.
I faced the congregation and screamed, “I did nothing wrong!” Their judgemental faces remained and my frustration grew. In a fit of rage, I began smacking my own face. I closed my eyes and started screaming loud, blood curdling screams. I stopped and looked around. Mother, the pastor, and the rest of
From The Files of the Fitzgerald Mental Institution: Volume 2 Page 1
