Mason's Television

by Jon Athan

  Mason said, “Yeah, yeah. Give me a few minutes.”

  “Now, Mason.”

  “I'm going, I'm going...”

  Despite Smith's demands for silence, the male students screamed and applauded as Mason marched into the room. Mason smirked and shrugged, blatantly proud of his newfound notoriety. He couldn't hear every single compliment, but he welcomed the encouraging words with open arms.

  Chapter Six

  Home

  A wave of afternoon sunshine poured into the home as the front door swung open. Mason marched into the house, his backpack slung over his shoulder. Isabel followed her son into the house, closing and locking the door behind her.

  Before Mason could reach the stairs, Isabel said, “Wait. Don't you dare walk away from me.”

  Mason stopped at the bottom of the steps. With cold eyes, he glared at his mother. His mother tried her damnedest to keep a steady face as she staggered, caught off guard by her son's gall. The boy huffed, then he glanced at the recliner in the living room.

  Bradley sat on the recliner, staring at the pair with a furrowed brow. Just a moment ago, he was peacefully sitting in the living room and reading emails while watching television. With the arrival of his wife and son, his tranquil evening was disrupted. He didn't know why his family was arguing, but he tried to keep an open mind.

  Bradley muted the television and placed his tablet on the coffee table. He cracked a smile and said, “You're late. I was wondering if I should order a pizza or, I don't know, start eating the neighbor's dogs.” The smile was wiped from his face as his family remained silent and serious. He asked, “What? What's going on? What happened?”

  Isabel said, “Well, Mason, tell your father what happened. Tell him what you did.”

  Mason glared at his mother again, striking fear into her tender heart. He was irked by her constant nagging.

  He sighed, then he said, “I got suspended from school.”

  Infuriated, Bradley stood from his seat and shouted, “What?!” He dug his fingers into his hair and said, “You better be kidding me, Mason.”

  “He's suspended for three days and he might get expelled after the faculty talks with the other parents,” Isabel explained.

  “Why? What did he do?”

  Mason shrugged and said, “I have no idea. I think my teachers hate me. You know how–”

  Bradley snapped, “Be quiet, boy. You talk when I let you talk.” He turned his attention to his wife and repeated, “What did he do?”

  Isabel explained, “He was... He was caught peeking into the girls' locker room. He was... ogling them from the entrance of the locker room, just staring at them like some sort of peeping Tom. They said with that and all of his other misbehaving, they had no choice but to suspend him. And, since he invaded the privacy of those girls, they have to tell the other parents. Everyone is going to know we have a little pervert in our home. Christ...”

  I'm a killer, too, mom – Mason had to fight to contain the urge to confess. He wanted to blurt the truth, he wanted to take credit for his crimes, but he knew he had to wait. Patience was a virtue, and he just had to wait for his rewards.

  As he glared at his son, furious, Bradley shouted, “I've told you over and over to behave yourself! I told you to watch your mouth in public, didn't I? I warned you about this, goddammit! Why don't you ever listen to me?” He stared down at his reflection on the coffee table. He shook his head and said, “Fuck this. It's my fault. I have to teach you not to do this again, Mason.”

  Bradley gritted his teeth as he unbuckled his belt. He tugged on the thick strip of leather as he approached the stairs. Mason kept a steady expression on his face, an unshakable semblance of control. He was not daunted by his father's challenge.

  As she watched, Isabel stuttered, “Wha–What... What are you doing? Wait... Wait a second, Bradley. What are you doing?”

  Bradley folded the belt and pushed Mason to the wall beside the staircase. The floorboards vibrated as his backpack fell from his shoulder. To Mason, it felt as if time had slowed to a crawl. He knew what was coming, but he didn't know how to accept it.

  Fight back? No, he would surely lose against his brawny father. Run? Running was fruitless when his dad had keys to every room in the house. Sit back? Enduring the pain was his best option. Fortunately, pain often aroused the deviant boy.

  Bradley held the belt over his shoulder, then he struck down at Mason's ass. He lifted the belt over his shoulder, then he whipped him again. He repeated the process, hitting the boy with all of his might. Each strike thudded due to the boy's clothing, but he still felt the pain.

  He was hit in the ass, legs, and forearm. Welts formed on his forearm with each hit. His milky skin was painted with tints of pink, blue, and purple due to the bruises. More bruises would surely materialize on his ass and legs, too.

  Yet, Mason endured the abuse. He clenched his jaw and grunted, but he did not cry. His face reddened and his legs trembled, but he refused to cry. Bradley stopped striking him upon noticing the silence. He held the belt over his shoulder with a trembling arm, perturbed by his son's resilience. What type of monster am I raising?–he thought.

  Bradley placed more pressure on Mason's shoulder and asked, “Why aren't you crying? Huh? It hurts, doesn't it? Doesn't it?!” He swung the belt and struck Mason on the small of his back. Bradley barked, “Cry, Mason! Tell me it hurts! Tell me you've learned your lesson!”

  Tears welled in Mason's eyes and a vein protruded from the center of his brow. A single blink would cause tears to stream down his cheeks. So, the teenager refused to blink. Instead, he stared at his mother with an unwavering glare. He didn't back down against his parents.

  As Bradley held his arm over his head, preparing another savage whipping, Isabel ran forward and grabbed her husband's arm. She gently pushed him away so she wouldn't challenge him, then she squeezed between the couple.

  A frog in her throat and tears brimming in her eyes, she said, “I... I can't watch this anymore. I just... I just can't.”

  Bradley furrowed his brow and asked, “What are you talking about? If you can't teach this boy a lesson, I will. Get out of the way. Move and–”

  “Go to your room, Mason,” Isabel said as she gazed into her husband's eyes.

  Bradley took a step in reverse as he lowered his arm. He was baffled by his wife's sudden determination to protect their son. He didn't see it as 'protection,' though. He was simply disciplining his son and his wife was interfering.

  Mason glanced at his mother, then at his father. He huffed and rolled his eyes. His mother's sacrifice was foolish and unnecessary. He grabbed his backpack, then he marched up the stairs. He stopped at the top of the stairs, then he spun around and stared down into the living room. He could hear his parents arguing.

  His father moved furniture, flipping chairs and hurling remotes at the wall in his fit of rage – the usual. His mother yelped and babbled – a nervous wreck. Her cry was accompanied by the sound of a brutal slap. The woman was hit, but, like a persistent chihuahua, she continued to bite and bark.

  Mason couldn't help but smile as he listened to the domestic disturbance. The domestic abuse was like music to his ear – the most euphonious love ballad he ever heard. Bobbing his head as if he were actually listening to music, the young teenager slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked to his bedroom.

  ***

  Mason slammed his door and turned the lock, then he trudged towards his bed. He tossed his backpack on the floor near his desk. He was suspended so schoolwork wasn't on his mind. He wasn't going to complete Hicks' worksheet after all. He fell face-first onto his bed and buried his face into his pillow.

  Through the speakers, the TV said, “So... I heard what happened downstairs, kiddo. You got yourself an old-fashioned ass whoopin', but you took it like a champ. It probably hurt like hell, but you didn't fold. Stay strong like that and nothing can break you. And, believe me, you're going to need all of the strength you can get where you're headi
ng.” Crackling and thumping sounds emerged from the television, as if someone had coughed into a microphone. The TV said, “I know you got beat, but maybe you wanna tell me why. So... how was your day?”

  Without lifting his head from his pillow, Mason confessed, “I got suspended, man. I'm kicked out of school for the next three days. I might even get expelled.”

  “Shit, are you kidding?”

  “No. I fucked up. I don't know what happened. One moment, we were talking in the locker room; the next, I was peeking into the girls' locker room. That bitch Coach Smith caught me and ruined everything.”

  “Masey, Masey, Masey... That wasn't very smart, bud. Not at all. We've talked about this before: you have to keep a low profile until you're ready for the big day. If you fuck it all up, then everything you've been planning will be for nothing. You remember the talks we had, don't you?”

  Mason lifted his head from his pillow and stared at his television. His television was acting like a disappointed parent – if it were human, he would have his hands on his hips while he tapped his foot. He didn't expect his television to scold him for his actions. Then again, the television – and all of its rich programming – acted as a secondary parent to him since his real parents couldn't be bothered to truly care for him.

  Mason sighed as he sat at the edge of his bed. He said, “I know, I know. I said I fucked up, didn't I?”

  The TV responded, “You're right, you did. That's not enough. You deserved that whoopin' and more for putting everything at risk.”

  Mason glared at is television, frustrated. The scowl was wiped from his face upon spotting his reflection on the screen. He lowered his head and stared down at his sneakers, ashamed.

  The TV asked, “Why'd you do it? What did you get out of it?”

  “I did it to... to prove myself. Yeah, I did it to show everyone in that locker room that I'm not some pussy. I don't back down from anything and everyone should know that. It got me invited to a party, too.”

  “A party?”

  “Yeah, some house party over on Vineyard. Everyone's supposed to be there.”

  “Okay, alright. So, when are you leaving, kiddo?”

  Mason furrowed his brow and tilted his head, baffled. His television gave him more shit than a constipated blue whale, so he didn't really understand its intentions.

  Mason said, “I don't think I'm going to go. Partying really isn't my style.”

  “Are you kidding? How stupid can you be?”

  “What do you mean?”

  The TV laughed, then it said, “Think about it: if you don't go, then you got suspended for nothing. You jeopardized everything for nothing. You might as well go to the party. Hell, it might even be a good idea. You can use the party to scope out some potential victims.”

  Mason twiddled his thumbs and nodded. He wasn't fond of parties. As a matter of fact, he stopped receiving birthday parties at seven years old per his request. He had a close group of friends, but he remained a reclusive introvert with psychotic tendencies. The television was correct, though. Parties were perfect for mingling – and targeting.

  Mason said, “I guess I can check it out. My mom should lock herself in her room when my dad's done with her. My dad... who gives a shit, really. I don't think he'll notice if I walk out the front door. Yeah, I can do it. I'll leave at six, right when the sun starts setting.”

  The TV said, “Perfect. You just try to behave yourself while you're there. Trust me, things will get out of control if you get into anymore trouble and I won't be able to solve those problems.” Accompanied by the sound of static, a chuckle emerged from the speakers. The TV said, “Now, come over here and put on a movie. You should calm your nerves before you go out there. Let me think... You've seen A Serbian Film a million times, right? How about we go for Evil Dead Trap today? You haven't seen that one recently, have you?”

  Mason nodded in agreement – a movie sounded like a good idea. He turned on his television, then he cycled through the menus. A USB thumb drive was connected to his TV. The drive, one of many, was filled with extreme horror movies from around the world – most of which he personally ripped from his DVD collection.

  He sat on the floor in front of his television, then he played the Japanese cult classic titled Evil Dead Trap. Without a wandering eye, he gazed at the television – hypnotized by the fictional violence.

  Chapter Seven

  The Party

  Tints of orange and red dominated the sky as the sun fell beyond the horizon. Children sprinted on the sidewalks, rushing home before nighttime arrived. A few teenagers casually strolled around the neighborhood, disregarding their parents' rules. And, of course, the hardworking 9-to-5 adults finally arrived home.

  Mason stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He glanced down the hallway to his right, peering towards the master bedroom. The door was closed, but he could still hear his mother's whimpering. Her sobbing brought a smile to his face. Should have kept your mouth shut, he thought as he childishly simpered.

  He tiptoed down the stairs, lunging over the creaky steps. He stopped at the bottom, shoulders high and head slumped. The living room television was on, tuned into a reality TV show that surely killed more brain cells than glue-huffing. His father slept on the comfy recliner, snoring and snorting. He didn't appear bothered by the fight.

  As he predicted, his parents were oblivious. He loosened his shoulders and raised his head, proud. He exited the home through the front door, quietly closing the door behind him. His parents were ignorant and careless, but they were not deaf. He walked his bike out of the driveway, then he cruised away from his home. His getaway was simple – no stunts, no bullshit.

  Mason lived in the affluent part of the city thanks to his father's job as a construction manager. His family was wealthy. He was the type of kid to get a luxurious car for his sixteenth birthday – a privileged douchebag, some would say. Vineyard Avenue was not far, either, and the neighborhoods shared a common economic status.

  In many ways, Mason and George were cut from the same cloth. The pair came from wealthy families. They were raised by negligent parents. They didn't care about school. They were focused on their egos. One sought fame, the other sought infamy. Their methods of reaching stardom, however, differed significantly.

  Mason weaved and bobbed his head as he pedaled into Vineyard Avenue. He didn't know George's exact address, but he didn't need it. Music blared from a blue two-story house towards the center of the block. The rap song – something with a mumbling rapper – could be heard throughout the entire block.

  He pressed down on the brakes and skidded to a stop near a bush in front of the house. He dropped his bicycle between two bushes, then he examined the house. The lights upstairs were off.

  So, he figured there were three possibilities: George's parents weren't home, his mom and dad were knocked out with sleeping pills, or George killed his parents. He went with the first option.

  The lights in the living room and kitchen were on, though. Through the blinds and curtains, he could see the silhouettes of his classmates as they mingled and drank. The music came from the backyard, though.

  Mason whispered, “The real party is outside, right? All the crazy shit always happens outside...” He glanced at the front of the house. He murmured, “Then, it goes inside when you get laid. That's how it is. Yeah, I think that's how it goes. Bang in his mom's room.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and smiled. Although he was a natural recluse, the youngster was excited. He walked through the open gate at the side of the house and headed to the backyard, ready to experience his first house party.

  Mason smirked as he examined the backyard, impressed. The backyard was large, wide and spacious. There was an in-ground pool and a hot tub near the back doors. Judging from the expensive grill and patio tables, the wooden deck around the pool appeared to be reserved for barbecues. The grass beyond the deck was lush and kempt, too.

  A few teenagers giggled as they swam
in the pool – one was nude, the others wore all of their clothing. Most of his classmates sat at the patio tables, smoking and drinking. A drunken dance, shambling and wavering, occurred on the grass.

  Mason furrowed his brow upon spotting his friends. Andrew, Zachary, and Dominick stood near the grill. After Andrew's empty threats in the locker room, he didn't expect to see him at the house party. In fact, he didn't expect to see any of them since he did all of the work for the invite. He shrugged it off, though. He labeled himself as a 'martyr' and approached his friends.

  ***

  Mason asked, “When did you guys get here?”

  “An hour ago. We were gonna call you, but we heard you got suspended,” Zachary responded. He swayed his head towards Andrew and said, “It was his idea.”

  Andrew took a swig of his beer, then he said, “I told them to call you. I knew you wouldn't let your dad keep you down. I knew it. Anyway, thanks for taking the fall for everyone. Thanks for getting us out here, man.”

  Mason was amused by Andrew's nonchalant attitude. He took advantage of his suspension, he took his sacrifice for granted. If it weren't for him, the group wouldn't have been invited by George. He understood Andrew's treacherous personality, though. He could read him like an open book. He wasn't bothered by it, either.

  The murderous teenager said, “Whatever. I'm surprised you got Dominick out here.” He nodded at Dominick and asked, “You sure you want to be here?”

  Dominick smiled and held his red cup above his head. He said, “I'm good.”

  “You're buzzed. Go home before you get shit-faced, alright? I don't want to have to carry you home.”

  “You won't, man, I promise.”

  “Yo, why aren't you drinking, you fucking legend?” George asked as he approached the group, grinning. He handed Mason a red cup filled with cheap beer. He said, “You did good today, man. I'm proud of you. I thought you were going to pussy out, but you actually went through with it. Everyone's talking about it.”