The Worst Kind of Monsters
Page 27
I walked to the front slowly. I kept the revolver hidden behind my back. Not looking at the clerk, I turned toward the door.
“What are you doing, son?” the man asked, clearly not concerned.
I didn’t say anything, just kept walking. Almost to the door.
“Hey, stop!” the man yelled, the recognizable tone of adult authority freezing me in place. I gulped, sweat trickling down my spine.
I spun, bringing the gun up. I pointed it at the clerk, paralyzing him in his place. My hand shook and the grip was coated in sweat.
“My dad needs this,” I sputtered, the words fumbling off my tongue. “I-I’m really sorry…I didn’t want to do this.”
The man raised his hands, eyes wide. “Whoa, whoa, easy boy, easy. It’s OK, I’m not going to do anything.”
I pushed the door open with the beer. “I didn’t want to do this,” I was crying now. “Don’t call the police…please…”
I dashed out of the gas station. Tears flowed from my face, my vision blurred and dark. My eyes stung as I hopped back into the car, slamming my door.
My dad let out a whoop of delight and floored it. The car peeled out, the smell of burning rubber mixed with self-loathing and despair. I wiped my face, trying to stop myself from crying anymore, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I hated myself, hated what my dad had made me do.
My father was whistling to himself, oblivious to my sorrows. He rolled down the window a little more and the night air made my eyes sting. Ryan was silent in the back seat, not knowing what to do or say.
After a little bit, we pulled into our apartment complex and my father parked the car. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and turned to me, snatching the beer from my lap. He paused, the six-pack dangling in front of my face.
“What the hell is this?”
Stomach churning, I looked up at him, at the beer.
“W-what’s wrong?” I asked, wiping my face with the back of my hand.
“What’s…wrong?” my dad growled, dropping the beer back onto my lap. “I hate this kind of beer. How do you not know that? I don’t drink this shit!” He smacked the back of my head and knocked a couple more tears from my eyes.
“Are you doing this on purpose?!” he roared suddenly. “Do you think this is funny? Is that it?!” He grabbed me by the neck and slammed my head against the side of the car. Pain ignited across my skull and stars bloomed like distant fireworks.
“Stop hitting him!” Ryan yelled from the back.
My dad was shaking me, throttling me. “It’s like you’re retarded or something! Are you a retard!? ARE YOU!?”
“STOP IT!” Ryan bellowed.
My dad’s hands were burning a halo of fire into my throat. I hacked and gagged, desperate for air, my vision starting to darken. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe I did deserve to die. Maybe everyone would be happier like this.
“ENOUGH!” Ryan screamed.
He grabbed my hand with his, the hand I was still holding the gun with, and pointed it at my father’s face.
“I said leave him the FUCK ALONE!” Ryan howled, his voice deafening.
My dad’s eyes widened and he immediately retreated to his side of the car. His hands went up and he licked his lips, the sudden aggression catching him off-guard. I had never done anything like this before, never stood my ground against his onslaught of abuse.
“Are you ready to die, you fucking miserable piece of goddamn garbage?!” Ryan snarled, his eyes wild, his finger pressing mine to the trigger.
My dad seemed to relax slightly. “Huh…you going to shoot me, boy? Is that it? Going to kill your old man?”
“You’re goddamn right I am,” Ryan spat, his voice hot iron.
“Go ahead,” my dad said, a small smile on his lips. “Go ahead and pull the trigger. Just do it.”
“I’ve been waiting a long time to do this,” Ryan growled.
I felt Ryan squeeze my finger around the trigger.
“NO!” I screamed, “Ryan, STOP!”
Big, wet tears streamed from my face, my mind shattered into shards of hopeless sorrow and suffering.
I jerked the gun away from Ryan and I saw my dad snort and almost look disappointed.
Weeping, I put the gun to my own head.
“Is this what you want!?” I screamed, an ocean of sadness rising in my chest, filling me. “Will this make you happy!?”
The small smile fell from my dad’s face. His eyes grew wide, a sudden unease welling in his features.
“Why can’t I do anything to make you happy!?” I howled, voice cracking in suffocating hurt. “Why don’t you love me!? What did I do!? WHAT DID I DO!?” The gun barrel was shaking against my temple, my finger wrapped around the trigger like a snake ready to strike.
“WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH, DAD!?” I wept, openly sobbing, snot and tears flooding my face.
I saw something come over my father. His features grew soft and he raised his hands to me. “Hey…hey, it’s OK…” his voice was quiet, but shocked. “Please…put the gun down…please…”
“You’ll be happier if I’m dead!” I screamed. “I won’t be such a bother to you anymore!” I grit my teeth against the hoarse sobs racking my chest.
“Son…don’t do this…please…” His voice was gentle, his eyes sober and concerned, something I had never seen before from him.
I dragged the back of my hand across my eyes. “You don’t care about me, you hate me! Well, I’m sorry! I’m sorry for making you so miserable! I just wanted you to love me! I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME!”
My body shook as grief choked me. The gun dug into my skin and I closed my eyes, sobbing.
A hand touched my shoulder, gentle and reassuring.
My father’s voice was barely a whisper, emotion lacing every word, “I-I’m sorry…I’m sorry for doing this to you…it’s OK…it’s going to be OK…” He trailed off, his hand going to the gun.
Weeping, I let him slowly pull it from my temple.
“Why can’t you love me?” I whimpered, staring into my father’s eyes.
A deep hurt wrinkled my dad’s features, a sudden human pain that filled his eyes. He took me by the shoulders and pulled me to his chest, stroking my hair.
“Shhhh…” he cooed. “It’s going to be OK, son. I’m here. Shhhhh.” I felt something drip onto my head and I realized my father was crying as well.
I closed my eyes and hugged him, my body warm against his.
We stayed like that for a long time.
* * *
He never hit me again after that night. After some time we went inside and he kicked the woman out and went to bed. We didn’t speak about what happened.
That night in the car changed my father, opened me up to him in a way I didn’t think possible. He saw me differently, saw my suffering and how deeply it had damaged me.
Our relationship has changed since then. We’ll never be close, but it’s not as bad as it used to be. He’s getting older and I have started my first year of college. I don’t see him much, but when I do, we manage to hold a conversation.
I don’t see Ryan anymore. He simply disappeared after that night. Whatever my young mind needed from him had been filled. There were times I missed him and tried to talk to him, but I always found myself speaking in empty space.
I have scars, both mentally and physically, that can never be healed. The horrible memories my father burned into my mind will never go away. He created a fear in me I can never be rid of.
I don’t think my father will ever love me the way I long for. I don’t think he has the capacity. I’ve come to terms with that. I’m OK with that now. Writing this out will hopefully purge the remaining anger I have against him. I’m not sure if that’s possible, but I needed to try.
I’m tired.
I don’t want to be angry.
I’m tired of thinking about him.
My father, my monster.
15
Behind Hell
I’m a huge horror-
game fan and when I heard about a new one floating around the Internet, I was excited. On forums and chat rooms it was touted as one of the scariest experiences someone could play. Naturally, I was dying to get my hands on it. Despite all my searching, though, I couldn’t find anything about it other than the name. It was called Behind Hell.
After a couple days with no luck, I began to ask around online. Most people said they couldn’t find it either and you needed some kind of special access from the creators to play it on a locked site. This frustrated me and I refused to give up, diving deeper and deeper, desperate to play it.
I finally found someone who told me that I would have to email the creators and he gave me the address. He told me that he had been invited to beta-test it before release, but after getting in contact with the creators, he had declined to test it. I asked him why and he told me that the kind of feedback they wanted was “disturbing and unethical.” I asked him what he meant, but he refused to go into details.
I ended the chat and pulled up my email. I sent a quick message to the creators, telling them I had heard about their game and I was chomping at the bit to play it. I gave them a few details about myself, what kind of games I played, what kind of horror I found the most terrifying, and then sent the email.
It was only a few minutes later when I was notified I had received a new email. Excited, I pulled it up and saw that it was a response from the creators. I quickly opened it and read:
Thank you for your interest in our game “Behind Hell.” We appreciate your enthusiasm to the horror genre and it’s because of fans like yourself that we make games. Below you’ll find a link to the game site where you can play it. Your code is “Bunny.” If you enjoy our product please consider donating to the site. Now turn off the lights and enjoy!
Sincerely,
Behind Hell Studios
I couldn’t believe it. After days of searching, I was finally going to get to play the game! I obediently turned off all the lights in my apartment, sat down in my computer chair, put on my headphones, and clicked the link.
The page that popped up had a black background and a single button prompt that read “Play Behind Hell.” Smiling to myself, I took a deep breath and pressed it. My whole screen faded slowly to black and then a clock face appeared. It read two AM. I checked my watch and saw that it was actually two AM.
Cool, I thought. Off to a neat start.
Then the game began. It started off from first-person perspective, my screen displaying the view through my character’s eyes. The man I was controlling slowly rolled off a dirty bed in a sparsely furnished room. Everything looked plain and bare, the walls holding no windows and the floor was filthy. The room was dark and a flashlight was lying on the ground by a closed door, its white beam the only source of light. The graphics weren’t anything special, but they were serviceable for this kind of game.
I played around with the controls a little bit, getting used to the sensitivity and stiff animations. I walked over to the flashlight and I was prompted to pick it up. My character stooped and grabbed it, then spoke.
“I need to find the door.”
I started to feel the first pangs of disappointment. I had played so many games like this, where you needed to run away and find the exit while some monster chases you. I pushed those thoughts aside and told myself to give it a chance. I had just started.
I pushed the door open and found myself standing in a long, dark hallway. Once again the only light was from my flashlight. I began exploring and soon found myself lost in a labyrinth of plain concrete floors and matching walls. The only sound was from my character’s footsteps and I lost count of all the left and right turns I was making. Finally, after five or six minutes, I stumbled upon a room with a wooden desk in the corner. I approached it and saw there was a note on it. I picked it up and it read:
We must seal the door. We only have a few days left before the Tahlo returns. Everyone else has died. It’s just me again. If you’re reading this, please come find me. I will tell you what you need to do to be free of this place. I will tell you how to save yourself. How to save everyone.
—The Old Man
Interesting, I thought. At least this game has some story. Now if we could switch up the environment a bit, that’d be great.
I chose a branching hallway at random and once again found myself pushing through another dark maze. I noticed the sound had changed slightly and I could hear something else, something faint. I took my hands off the keyboard and pressed my headphones against my ears, listening. It sounded like something smacking its lips rapidly. Weird. I kept going and suddenly I was in another room like the last, but someone was leaning against the wall at the far end.
I approached him and saw it was an old man. He looked up at me and as I stood before him, he sighed heavily.
“Thank God. I didn’t think anyone else would come before time ran out. I know you’re probably confused, but I need you to listen to me. There’s a door in here; you’ll know it when you see it. You need to seal it. Once you do that, you’ll be free of this place. Free of everything.”
Suddenly, text popped up on the screen and I saw I could choose how to reply. I scanned my options and pressed the one I needed answering the most.
My character spoke: “How do I seal the door?”
“You’ll know as you continue on.”
A puzzle, I thought to myself. This better not be some stupid “find five keys to win” bullshit.
I chose another text option: “What is the Tahlo?”
“He is the creator of the world behind hell,” The Old Man whispered, leaning toward the screen.
My character answered for me: “I don’t understand.”
The Old Man folded his arms and leaned against the wall, sighing again, “Before God and the Devil, before heaven and hell, there was only the Tahlo. He created God. He created the Devil. He made them rivals and watched them clash, watched them fight over…well, everything. Eventually, he grew sick of their bickering, no longer entertained by their conflict. He made heaven and hell and banished both of them to their kingdoms. But then God created Earth. He created it as a loophole. You see, God couldn’t go to hell, but he could go down to Earth. But what did he find? His people already corrupted by the Devil. The Devil was fast in turning God’s creations against him. I’m sure you’re familiar with how things went from there, eh?
He continued, “The Tahlo had turned its back on them eons ago, instead focusing on other creations and experiments. But he has taken notice again. He has seen how HIS creations have snuck around his cosmic rules. And now…now he is furious and is coming back to wipe out everything.”
I leaned back in my computer chair, taking this all in. This seemed like a pretty detailed story for a cheaply made online horror game.
My character spoke: “So find the door and seal it before he returns. Is that really going to keep him back? One door?”
The old man spoke again: “It isn’t as easy as that. But yes. You will see. Now hurry on.”
I pushed a couple buttons, trying to get more dialogue out of the old man, but he just grunted at me and pointed toward another hallway. I pressed on. As I walked I noticed the cement textures had changed to wood floors. Eventually, after another series of patience-testing turns and endless walking, I came upon a door at the end of the hallway. It was plain wood with a golden handle. This couldn’t be the door I had to seal, was it? Couldn’t be; I hadn’t been playing for that long.
I prompted my character to open the door, and he went inside. The room was bare except for a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. And something sitting under it. I approached and saw that it was a dog chained to a metal spike that had been driven into the floorboards. It barked as I got closer and it looked to be a golden retriever. A button prompt came onto the screen: Pet the Dog.
I pressed the key and as my character reached out his hand and stroked its head, a voice boomed into my headset.
“KILL IT.”
It was a baseball bat.
I sighed. “Well, game, you’re a bastard for making me do this.”
My character picked up the bat, automatically turning back to face the dog who was looking at me, head cocked. I tried to execute an action but nothing was responding to my input. That’s when I noticed the little microphone icon in the bottom right corner of the screen.
“KILL IT,” the deep, rumbling voice repeated.
My character spoke then: “Come on, tell me to hit it.”
“This is getting strange,” I said out loud.
“What did you say? I couldn’t understand you,” my character said.
I blinked at my screen. “What the hell?”
“What did you say? I couldn’t understand you.”
My mind caught up. I was supposed to use voice commands to tell my character what to do. I grimaced, not wanting to say anything. I knew it was just a game, but I had a special love for dogs, and I really didn’t want to do it any harm. But I had done a lot of digging to find this game and I would be damned if I didn’t see it to the end.
I cleared my throat and spoke into my headset’s mic, “Hit the dog.”
Immediately, my character brought the bat down onto the dog’s back. The dog screamed and went down, rolling and howling at its spine fractured. My character didn’t move and the dog fell into a series of pathetic whimpers.
“KILL IT.”
I pulled a hand down over my face and looked at the screen. I was starting to feel uncomfortable. The dog in the game looked up into the screen and continued to whimper loudly.
“Hit the dog,” I said again, feeling my stomach churn slightly. Making me say it out loud was way worse than silently hitting a series of key commands.
My character brought the bat down again over the dog’s body and I saw bone explode out from the dog’s side, low-resolution blood staining its fur. The dog screamed again and arched its body, howling at the ceiling.