Melissa of Writing Forward asked in DWYD 8, “What happened in the farmhouse?”. I’m glad she asked. Here is the longest installment ever in The Devil Wants You Dead series. It happens in the past before the murder took place and is told in third person POV. This time, David is the central focus of the story. Thanks to Sal for pointing out this website’s faults as shown in Internet Explorer. Hopefully, I’ve managed to fix the bugs and people can read DWYD 8 in IE. For new readers, part 1 and the rest are found below.
Is David really the bad guy? Read on and find out.
The farmhouse lay in a quiet corner in a field of green. The boys knocked. Receiving no answer, they cautiously opened the door and entered.
“Susie? Susie?”
Where was she? They were supposed to play baseball today.
Charlie started searching the kitchen while John and Ben went to the living room. David walked further inside and hoped they wouldn’t find her. He longed for the good old days when it was just him and the boys before she came and ruined everything.
Wait a minute…
He stopped and traced back his steps until he stood before the partially open the door. He peeked in. Golden dust filtered through the room casting a dull glow on two figures. One was larger and he was thrusting his penis into….
David backed away. Charlie shouldn’t see this.
“She’s not here,” he called out, loudly hoping they’d stopped. He aimed for the door and opened it. Charlie followed him with a look of disappointment. Good. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s go.”
It was then a shrill scream came like a cruel wave of fate that knocked them right over. At that instant, at that very second their lives were changed forever. Charlie immediately raced towards the source. John and Ben were already far ahead.
That bitch…
Looks like I have no choice…
His feet felt heavy as they took him out of the door and farther and farther away to the fields. They pounded onto the soft wet earth. Then they took him back into the suffocating darkness within the house. Running, running until they came into a stop in the room. Saw her lying on the ground, naked, bruised. The gag had slipped, her doe eyes were wide and frightened, fear mirrored pupils frantically moving left and right. Johnson had thrown Ben aside. He was already holding John up like a rag doll, his pants lying in a heap around his ankles, his limp penis hanging. He had his back to him. He flicked his tongue at the boy’s cheek. John flinched. Humiliation and rage burned within his irises.
David saw his brother on the ground. He was groaning with pain. Blood trickled down his lips and collected in a small shiny pool on the floor.
Something screamed inside David.
He lifted the hatchet and drove it inside Johson’s body. Cold steel met soft flesh. Like knife slicing into butter. Lift and swing. Lift and swing. He soon sank into a comfortable rhythm. The whistle of the blade whispered into his ear.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
He had to keep going.
Till he couldn’t see because sticky filaments of red coated his eyes. Till crimson blobs streaked the walls. Warm arms grasping his, pulling him back. He sank to the floor and cried. Charlie fiercely hugged him, wiping away the wet paint of blood splattered on their clothes. David traced the dried crust on his brother’s chin with his finger. He looked up at the ceiling, his chin under Charlie’s head. The fluorescent light bathed them in a soft aura, brothers at that moment fallen into a state of sin. They remained there for a period of time till John’s face swam into view.
“It’s not over yet,” he said. He and Ben gently took a numb Susie outside.
David nodded and pushed Charlie back.
Johnson’s corpse laid in a bloody mess in the room.
Methodically, he raised the hatchet and brought it down on the body once again. A clean cut above the knee. Another swing. Sound of bones crushing. He began to laugh.
John entered with another axe and helped David in chopping Johnson’s body into thirteen different pieces. He calmly pulled out Johnson’s tongue, sliced it and deposited the slimy organ on the ground.
On the other side of the room, Charlie puked.
Susie came back dressed. She and Ben were bringing bags, a mop and a pail. Together, they swept the remains inside and mopped the floor.
David’s feet felt heavy once again as he followed the others outside. Sporadic movie clips of memories kept flashing in his mind. It wouldn’t allow the truth to sink in.
Who killed Mr Johnson?
Not me, not me…
They stopped before the pig pen.
The initial plan was to feed the parts to the pigs. He opened his bag and dropped a couple into the trough.
“Wait!” John shouted. “We should burn the bags instead.”
“Shit!” Charlie smashed his sack against the fence. The body parts rattled inside.
“Sorry, I just thought of it.”
David turned to him, incredulous. His blank eyes stared back at his friend. A smile crept on his wet lips. “Too late,” he said. “I already fed Johnson to the little piggies.”
Ben stared at him and shuddered.
They piled the bags on the grass. Susie struck a match and saw her father go up in smoke. They watched, numb, mute and empty as the procession of orange flames licked and ate the flesh. Soft ashes rained and coated the lush grass like dew.
Susie grabbed her possessions and left town that night. The boys stayed. The next day they left for college.
David wasn’t the same since after the incident. Years later, Charlie committed his brother into the asylum.
* * *
“Fetch!” Ten year old Fred threw the stick. It flew over the air and into the Johnsons’ farm. His dog immediately raced after it.
“Look what you did,” his younger sister Ann said. They had been playing by the road for some time. “It’s at creepy Mr Johnson’s now.”
“It’s alright. Haven’t seen him for a while.”
Ann shook her blond pigtails and gazed into the farm with a worried expression. Then a wide smile lighted upon her face as she saw their dog coming back towards them.
“Lucy!” she said as it stopped before them, its golden tail wagging.
It lifted its head to look at her. What she saw made her scream.
In its mouth was a human hand.
To be continued
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Alright Kate! This is by far the best chapter yet. I love the gratuitous violence and intensity. Very gripping indeed (gripping with a cold wet hand that might have an ax in it).
Anyway, I’m glad I made it over here today. You made my visit memorable
Bobby, you made my day! ‘Tis the marking exam season yet again and I haven’t blogged nor popped open any sites for a long time (yeah, I hate it).
Thanks! I’m glad that you enjoyed the violence and for bringing your ax! Don’t whack any other reader’s heads off with it.