“TONY!!! Please, please calm down! It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?! Not that bad?! What the hell do you know bitch?! Tony yelled, starring into his wife’s large frightened eyes.

Maria could tell by her husband’s ferocious expression that he had worked himself up into a state from which she could not retrieve him. She recognised the madness in his eyes and knew that it was there to stay. It would not leave him now until he had drunk himself into a coma. Not many things could get Tony so worked up, but once he was there, no one was safe. On this occasion the trigger that set him off was their son’s report card.

If there was one thing she could be sure of now, it was the pattern of Tony’s rage. He would attack the source of whatever had caused him grief, which of course in this instance was their son. Anyone who stood in the way, would also undoubtedly get hit in the wake of his wrath. It would start with verbal abuse, which would usually go on for a long period of time, before things got physical. She was not sure why that was. Maria liked to think that the extensive verbal abuse was evidence of Tony’s internal conflict with the impulses that drove him to attack physically. On more than one occasion however, it had occurred to her that perhaps it was evidence to the contrary. The thought that Tony may just enjoy drawing out the punishment had crossed her mind before, but she was always quick to shrug it off. The idea that her husband enjoyed causing pain so much that he would hold off physical punishment, until he was satisfied that he had broken down his victim psychologically first, made Maria feel sick. She did not want to believe that she had married such a monster. She felt in her heart that Tony was a good man, but even a good man could be overcome by madness once in a while. A madness that set free the darkness from within. A darkness which Maria believed lived within every person. An entity that grew by feeding on its host’s fear and pain, and when there was plenty there, it would become powerful enough to take over one’s will entirely.

If anything, Tony was the real victim, Maria would tell herself. It was the world’s fault. The cruel, unforgiving world, which had caused him so much pain over the years. There was enough there for the merciless darkness to constantly gorge itself in its limitless greed.

As Maria watched Tony pace frantically from one side of the room to the other, listening to a river of the vilest profanity flowing from his mouth, she realised that the man she loved was gone. He had been overpowered and was no longer acting of his own free will. Only one thing was certain now and that was the pattern. Any moment now he would call for their son and the abuse would begin. Maria knew she had to do something. She had a bad feeling that the horrid thing was going to hurt her baby really bad this time around. The abuse could go on for hours, before it finally got bored with the child and took to the bottle. At that point, it would get to work on her husband by tearing him apart inside, stirring up buried feelings of sorrow and regret, whilst all the while taunting him and beckoning him to drink.

The man she loved would remerge sporadically in his drunkenness. He would call out to God in anguish, pleading and begging for salvation, but the Lord never replied. Only the darkness seemed to hear him and it would mock his desperation. “Ignorant fool” it would say to him “You think He hears your pitiful cries? He does not care about you. Why would He care about some insignificant, weak little worm, sitting in a hole? You are nothing, so why don’t you just shut up and drink. You know that’s all you ever could do properly. Drink, drink and end it all. They will be better off without you. You cause them nothing, but pain. Just look at the hole you have them living in. Take yourself out and free them. Open your filthy mouth and drink.”

So Tony drank, and as he got drunker he would start cursing God for allowing his life to get destroyed. He would yell out all his frustrations at the Lord, often crying out “Why?!” and then demanding “Tell me damn you!” When he no longer had any more energy to yell, Tony would ask the Lord one final question. “Why have you forsaken me?” In contrast to the questions before it, Tony would always ask this, very quietly in an almost whimpering kind of whisper. It was just another question that the Lord never replied to, but it was only after He failed to answer this that Tony would seem to lose all hope. It was at this point that he would start to drink straight from the bottle, and from then on in, there would be no more intermissions for yelling, or anything else.

Before long his little ramshackle of a house would transform into a blur of smudged colours, but the voice in his head would always remain crystal clear, only growing louder as everything else faded away. The voice would become the only thing in the world that made any sense. It would become the voice of perfect reason, until there was no more reason.

The last time it happened, Tony very nearly drank himself to death. He ended up in hospital having his stomach pumped. If not for that, he would have surely died. Watching him now, Maria was afraid the darkness would have its way this time around, but at that moment she was much more worried about the imminent danger her son was in.

Maria knew that she would almost certainly fail, but she had to try for the sake of her child, so she gathered her courage and got up off the old tattered chair she was sitting in. She pushed herself up from behind the dining table that was in even worse condition than the chair. Her weight, which was no more than fifty kilograms was more than enough for the flimsy table. Its unsteady legs shook violently and made a loud creaking sound.

The old table was now surely on its last legs. Maria had asked Tony to repair it several times, even though she knew the chances of that happening were extremely slim. It was not so much that the state of the table bothered her, it was more that she wanted her husband to find some sense of purpose again. She could have probably repaired the table herself, only she could never find the time. If Maria wasn’t running around the house, cleaning cooking and doing the numerous other tasks domestic life called for, she was at work. Since the incident, Tony could no longer work and his weekly disability payments were hardly any contribution. So Maria often had to pick up extra nursing shifts just too keep their heads above water.

Tony spent his days doing little else but reading and watching television. Maria often found herself trying to encourage him to do other things, including some small chores around the house, like fixing the table. She just wanted Tony to find something that could lift his spirts, even if it was only by just a tiny bit. From time to time, Tony would show signs of happiness, and on those occasions, which never seemed to last very long, Maria would sometimes see glimpses of the man, she fell so madly in love with. As time went on however, she noticed that the glimpses were getting further apart. It was a long time since Maria had seen her last glimpse, and she was beginning to forget what it was. The fact of the matter was, Tony was depressed and he had been that way for almost the entirety of their son’s life. Their son was twelve now and would soon be starting high school, yet Tony’s depression showed no signs of subsiding. It only seemed to be getting worse.

The creak of the table caught Tony’s attention and his eyes became fixed on Maria once more, only now they were no longer his eyes. Maria wasn’t sure whether she was imagining it, but in that moment she could have sworn with a bible to her hand that she saw Tony’s usually hazel eyes turn pitch black. The courage, Maria thought she had mustered only a second before, vanished that instant. She opened her mouth to speak, but discovered that she had forgotten what it was she got up to say. Even if she had remembered, Maria wouldn’t have been able to say anything because of the lump in her throat. She could feel an actual physical lump swelling up inside her neck. It was growing so rapidly that she was already finding it difficult to breathe. Terrified and unable to comprehend what was happening, Maria let out a panicked shriek.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tony demanded. Maria noticed a look of genuine concern on his face and a wave of relief washed over her. The lump in her throat vanished, allowing her to breathe once more, but Tony’s look of concern, vanished along with it. His eyes narrowed and as his frown returned. Maria could sense the darkness creeping back, to resume control once more. Her window of opportunity was quickly closing. She had to do it now, while there was still a chance of reaching Tony. Lord help me Maria thought, as she made another attempt to speak. This time Maria managed it, although her voice did not sound calm and confident like she intended. “He just needs a little help honey, that’s all. It’s not that bad.” Her voice sounded shaky and the words came out muffled through her quivering lips.

Maria was too late, it was back and now it had seen her fear. Although Tony walked with a severe limp since the incident, it only took him three large strides to get to her, despite being at the opposite end of the room. The adrenalin pumping through his body made Tony’s permanently stiff artificial knee seem like little more than a leg that had fallen slightly asleep after being sat on for a couple of minutes. The small sized room was of course the primary factor that enabled Tony to get to Maria so quickly. It was in fact, tiny, considering it facilitated what most houses contained in at least two rooms. In that little house however, that was their lounge, laundry, kitchen and dining room.

Tony now stood directly in front of her, with his arm cocked back over his head and his hand clenched in a fist. Maria knew it was a scare tactic because Tony never raised his arm above his head when he intended to throw a punch. She knew full well that when he threw a punch, you didn’t see it coming. It was a warning gesture and just another part of the pattern. Yet despite her knowledge of this, Maria flinched and closed her eyes. It was not the threat of physical harm that frightened her, but rather the look of pure hatred in Tony’s eyes. She had never seen that before and she never wanted to again. So Maria dropped back down in her chair, shut her eyes and covered her face with her hands like a small child.

“That’s right bitch! Keep your damn trap shut and don’t even think of opening it again unless I ask you something! Understand?!”

Maria did not answer, she remained motionless with her palms still pressed against her eyes, paralysed by fear. Tony did not wait for her response, choosing instead, to call for his son. “Matthias! Get your ass in here!” he yelled.

While all the madness was going on, Matt was sitting in his room, on the other side of the paper thin wall, which was the only thing that separated him, from his enraged father. He was rocking back and forward on the edge of his bed. With his knees tucked under his chin and his skinny little arms wrapped around them, he stared blankly at the bookcase that took up almost the entire wall. His father had measured up his room before it got brought in. It was a perfect fit, with just enough space remaining, to allow for the door to open without obstruction. Hundreds of books were stacked along its shelves, but not a single one of them, had been chosen by Matt. Every book on those shelves was chosen by his father and Matt hated them all. In fact, he had not managed to finish a single one. They all made him feel sick, but it was not the contents of the books, nor was it even the fact that he perceived reading as a chore. His father was constantly hounding him about reading. Tony would frequently remind him about his lack of intelligence before sending him off to his room to read. This made Matt associate reading with punishment, but that was still not the reason why he felt such detest towards books. Rather it was the fact that books reminded him of his father. His father loved books and he read them all the time, but his father was almost always miserable. So for Matt it always seemed obvious that whatever made people feel the opposite of misery, was not to be found in books.

Matt’s stomach felt queasy. He decided the best remedy was to stop looking at the bookcase and to block his ears so he wouldn’t be able to hear his father’s vicious rant coming from the other room. Matt directed his eyes from the bookcase to the floor and released his knees from his arms’ embrace. He brought the heels of his hands up to his head and firmly pressed them against his ears. His father’s voice became muffled. Matt could no longer make out the words, but he could still hear the ferocity in his father’s voice. He continued to rock gently on the edge of his bed. He knew what was coming next because he knew the pattern. It would not be long now before his father called and he would have to face him. There was nothing Matt feared more than his father. Not anyone or anything could make him feel as terrified as his father could. The thing Matt often contemplated whenever the pattern begun was running, but he never did because deep down he knew his father would eventually find him and that it would only be worse when he did. Reminding himself that there was no escape, Matt tried to brace himself for what was coming.

“He’s not going to kill me” Matt murmured to himself, still rocking back and forth with his hands over his ears. He repeated it over and over again, trying to make himself believe it.

He hasn’t killed me before and he won’t kill me now Matt though, but he couldn’t actually be certain of that.

Although, there was definitely a pattern, the abuse got a little worse, every time around. On the previous occasion, his father had worked himself up so bad before calling for him that Matt was barely able to recognise him, when he did. He didn’t look like his father at all anymore. Hair glistening with sweat, dark narrowed eyes beneath a menacing frown and a curled upper lip, transformed Tony, into a real life monster. The expression on his face, reminded Matt of a snarling wolf. On that occasion, Matt was only able to look at his father for a mere second, before he felt compelled to drop his gaze, and he didn’t dare look up again, during the rest of the ordeal. He was certain that this time round, his father was taking even longer to work himself up. Matt imagined what he was going to look like now and the image scared him so bad, it made him feel light headed.

When his father called him, Matt was on the verge of throwing up and was feeling like he was about to pass out. His father’s voice sounded muffled under his hands, but he had called his name alright. As he uncovered his ears, Matt hoped he had imagined it.

Just a little more time. I just need a little more time Matt though. Deafening silence filled the house. He could not hear a single sound.

He’s calmed down Matt told himself with desperate optimism, as the nauseating feeling in his stomach began to turn into the soothing feeling of relief. The light headedness was gone and his vision was becoming clear again. Matt dropped down off his bed onto his knees and bowed down to kiss the floor.

I have more time shouted his inner voice excitedly, but it was interrupted by his father.

“Matthias! I said get in here, don’t make me come and get you!”

Matt’s knees were shaking so bad that as he stood up he almost fell straight back down again. As he waited for the strength to return to his legs, Matt tried to compose himself. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes trying to calm his wreck of a mind. That did nothing but add to his father’s frustration.

“Matthias!” Tony shouted at what must have been the top of his lungs. Realising his time was up, Matt made his way into the next room.

“Here’s the genius” Tony said as Matt shuffled into the room with hunched shoulders and a bowed head. Matt looked up when his father spoke and noticed that he did not look anything like the image he had concocted in his head. In fact, he did not look anywhere near as terrifying as he had on the previous occasion either. However there was something else about him that made Matt feel extremely uneasy. It was something Matt hadn’t seen before. Something outside the usual pattern of behaviour. Tony had an odd smirk on his face, which appeared to be friendly enough, but in his eyes, there was a hint of menace.

“Come on in professor. Please take a seat” Tony said motioning to the chair next to him.

Anticipating a trap, but not quite sure of what was about to happen, Matt looked to his mother. She looked small and helpless sitting with her hands tightly clasped against her chest at the other end of the table. In that moment she did not look like an adult at all, but rather reminded Matt of a little girl, no different to the girls in his class. His mother did not see Matt looking at her. She was blankly starring into space, eyes filled with terror, just as much a victim of the horror show, as he was. Yet again however, he was the one that put them in the situation. He hated seeing her like that so he decided not to stall any longer. He would take on whatever was behind his father’s conniving smile, head on. It was his mess and his responsibility to ensure his mother did not suffer because of him.

Not this time Matt promised himself. This time I will take it like a man and then ma won’t feel like she needs to jump in he thought, as he walked towards the chair.

As Matt sat down, Tony placed his hands on the back of the chair and pushed it in closer to the table. He continued to smile, but the menace in his eyes was still there. Realising that something truly nasty was imminent, Matt clenched his fists under the table and began to hold his breath in anticipation. “Read it” Tony said thumping his index finger on the table. Matt leaned forward and saw his report card. It was littered with Cs and Ds and at the bottom there was comment from his teacher.

“Matthias is very unenthusiastic about learning” Matt read and then looked up at his father. The smile was gone and his face was now expressionless.

“Did I say stop?” Tony asked.

“He spends the majority of his time in class daydreaming, which is very disappointing because he has a great deal of poten…” Before Matt could finish the last word in the sentence, his face collided with the table.

The impact finally put the old table out of its misery. Its thin wooden legs cracked and snapped, sending the table crashing down onto the floor. Maria shrieked and jumped out of her chair. Then Matt though he saw her lunge at his father, but he couldn’t be sure what he had seen because the entire room was spinning around him like a merry-go-round.

Despite the violently throbbing vein at the centre of his forehead and the river of blood gushing out his nose, there wasn’t any pain. He was however, extremely frightened, but he was not afraid for himself. Rather he was afraid for his mother, so he stood up and tried to focus his vision to see where she was, but despite his efforts, the room continued to spin like crazy. The spinning made Matt lose all sense of direction and upon taking his first step, he collapsed on the floor. He had managed to get back up onto his knees when he heard his mother scream. After that there was a loud thud and then he could not hear his mother anymore. A feeling of dread filled him and Matt immediately scrambled to his feet. Wobbling and zigzagging around the room he began to desperately search for his mother, crashing into everything that stood in the way. He called to her and when she did not respond, dread turned into sheer panic.

It was at that very moment that Matt felt a presence. Although he could not see it, Matt knew it wasn’t either of his parents. His parents were no longer there. Whatever the presence was, it was the only thing there with him now. Even once the spinning sensation diminished, Matt was still unable to focus his vision. The room and everything in it had turned into a bunch of fuzzy blobs and smudges. Matt strained his eyes desperately trying to identify the thing that was in there with him. He was already fairly certain the thing, wasn’t human, but that became abundantly clear when it let out the most blood curdling snarl. Prior to that moment he had always thought of it as a mere expression, but now he knew for a fact that the hair on the back of the neck could stand up. He could actually feel every one of his tiny neck hairs prick up, as he stood there anticipating his doom. Even though Matt had no idea what he was dealing with, it was the not knowing that made it truly spine-chilling. Whatever the thing was, it wasn’t anything good, and because he had never experienced anything like it before, his mind went wild concocting nightmarish images. His childish fear of monsters, which he had manged to successfully supress until that moment, came rushing back with full force.

Another snarl vibrated through the strange place that Matt would have normally recognised as his home. Now however, it seemed that the space had somehow transcended the material world and was lingering in a sort of limbo, somewhere between Matt’s world and a plain of existence, unknown to man. It was a strange distorted place, where everything was a blur and nothing was clear, except for the fact that it was the dwelling, of some terrible creature.

Along with the snarl, came the sound of thunderous footsteps, accompanied by the sound of clanging metal, which made Matt think of metal buckles strapped to a horse. However, the footsteps did not sound like a horse. It sounded much larger than a horse, but whatever it was, it was now standing directly behind him. He could feel its breath on his neck, even though only a moment earlier, he could have sworn, the thing was coming at him from the front.

Matt closed his eyes and clenched his fists. “This is a dream, it’s just a dream” he muttered to himself, before opening his eyes again to see if his wish had come true. It hadn’t, he was still in that strange distorted place, but something had changed. He could no longer feel the creature’s breath, nor could he hear its snarls or footsteps. In fact, it occurred to him that he could no longer hear anything at all, and it was in that deafening silence that Matt saw the white light. It started off as a mere glimmer in the corner of his eye, but by the time he turned to look it, it was already the size of a basketball and still growing. Then, he noticed, there were several other spots of light. They were all around him, and all growing rapidly. As he watched the light consume the blurry scene and replace it with whiteness, Matt wondered whether he was passing out. Then a different thought crossed his mind.

Is this the end? he pondered.

Just as the light was about to swallow up the place, something grabbed him around the shoulders. The suddenness of it made him shudder, but his initial shock was immediately replaced by a feeling of ease. He recognised his mother’s gentle touch, and the comfort that gave him, overpowered all else. The white light vanished and the strange distorted space he had found himself in, was gone. He was back at home, starring at his mother’s concerned face. The left side of her face was swelling up and her eye was already almost completely shut.

“You’re ok kiddo” she said softly. The sound of her voice made Matt break into tears, only he was crying out of joy. His mother was alive and she had rescued him from that unearthly place.

He breathed a sigh of relief and then, in a vain attempt to stop the tears, tilted his head back and squeezed shut his eyes.

“There, there” Maria said, rubbing Matt’s back “everything is okay”.

For a moment, Matt let himself believe her because everything did indeed feel okay. In fact, compared to what he had just experienced, everything was super. For a moment, he actually forgot the other key factor in his dilemma. Witnessing his mother fly face first into the floor, a moment later however, quickly refreshed his memory, about the raging lunatic factor that was his father.

Matt went after him, but he didn’t have to because Tony’s sights were already on him, Maria had merely been in the way. Realising that he was now the prime target, Matt tried to retreat, but it was too late. Tony’s fingers had already wrapped themselves around his ear. He tried to pull away, but quickly became subdued, as his ear was twisted. Tony began walking out of the room, dragging Matt behind him. Squirming with pain, Matt was desperately trying to move as quickly as possible, so as not to become separated from his ear, which meant having to prance on his tiptoes like a ballerina, until they finally arrived in Matt’s room. He felt his father’s fingers loosen and just as he thought he was about to be set free, his ear was twisted once again. Only this time it was twisted so hard, he heard something crack, but that was only child plays compared to what came next. In Tony’s next manoeuver, Matt’s ear was pulled with such force that he was lifted off his feet, before being thrown into the corner of the room. Matt thought it was a miracle his ear did not rip off because he was pretty certain that had been his father’s intention.

Matt’s ear was burning like hell and throbbing worse than the vein in his forehead had been after being smashed into the table. He figured pressing something cold against it would at least cool down the fire that had ignited on that side of his face, but he couldn’t see any objects in the room that would suffice for that purpose. So he just pressed his hand against it, but that only made the burning sensation feel worse. He also noticed that his ear was pulsating in time with his heart beat, which was worryingly fast.

What good is something cold going to be if I have a heart attack right now Matt thought, but then, something else occurred to him. A heart attack might be just the thing to save me from being killed.

Just as the thought occurred to him, Matt noticed his father turn around and step into the doorway, seemingly contemplating leaving. The throbbing in his ear was slowing down, and so he figured a heart attack was probably no longer on the cards, but then his father turned back around, and it became a possibility once more. Tony walked back in the room, but now he no longer seemed to be interested in Matt. His attention was on the bookshelf. He took a step towards it, reached out and grabbed a book. Although he couldn’t see exactly which book it was from where he was sitting, it was clearly one of the larger ones. Tony slowly ran his fingers along it, feeling the texture of its hard cover and then began examining the title really closely. He made it seem as though the few words that were on the cover had the secrets of the universe encoded within them. Confused and somewhat curious, Matt leaned forward to get a better look, but in doing so, ended up getting much closer to the book than he intended. He actually couldn’t have gotten any closer to the book, because it collided with his face. It hit him right on the bridge of the nose, and so blood began rushing from it once more.

“You wanted it. Now read, retard” Tony said walking out of the room and slamming the door behind him. “Don’t you dare get any blood on it” Matt heard his father bark, from behind the door.

************

“Five years I spent in that hell hole and for what? Answer me damn you!” Tony shouted. He had started drinking and so began his rant at God. It was a rant that Matt knew all too well. Next he would go on about being disbarred for life. Once he exhausted that topic, he would whine about being crippled and being robbed of the opportunity to become world champion. After getting that off his chest, he would start demanding that he be given reasons for all the sacrifices he had to make in his life. At that point he would also give a shout out to Matt, which was usually something along the lines of “I have sacrificed everything for the one and only heir you gave me, so why is he such a worthless retard?”

He would carry on demanding answers to a multitude of questions, before finally accepting the fact that he was not going to get a response. Then he would begin begging God for salvation, only to resume cursing Him again a short time afterwards, and it would go on like this until he finally passed out.

Matt could hear from the slur in his father’s voice that he was already quite drunk. He had only just moved onto to the topic of his disbarment, which meant that he was drinking even more heavily than usual.

He might not even get to finish the entire rant this time Matt thought. Either way, he knew his father was too far along the path of self-destruction, to be bothering him again. This meant he was now free to leave, and he would do just that, because there was nothing he wanted more, at that moment, than to go someplace, where he didn’t have to listen to those depressed poisonous ravings, any longer. His father had locked his door from the outside, like he always did whenever Matt was sentenced to his room for any significant period of time, but that was no matter, because he had a window that served as a perfectly good exit point.

Matt could still hear his father as he jumped the fence into the neighbour’s yard, and he could still hear him going at it as he made it onto the street. Although his exact words could no longer be heard clearly from that distance, Matt knew full well what he was saying. He was now talking about how he always chose to do the honourable thing, and about how that eventually led to his disbarment. Matt had heard him go on and on about how he made those honourable decisions for years. He did not know the circumstances in which those decisions were made, as his father never specified, but he also didn’t actually care, because things like honour, weren’t important to him.

All he wanted was for his father to be happy, like the father’s he would see picking up their kids from school. Matt would often watch those kids shying away from a hug or shrugging off a loving pat on the back, because they were too embarrassed to welcome the embrace in front of their friends. One incident especially stuck out in Matt’s mind. On that particular occasion he was on his way out of school, when he saw Sam, a boy in his class, ducking a hug from his father. His father’s response to the behaviour was to laugh heartily and chase Sam around the carpark for a good minute before finally catching him. When he caught him, Matt expected Sam to get an ass whooping, but his father only picked him up and embraced him in a big bear hug. After that he gave him a big theatrical kiss on the forehead to the amusement of several of Sam’s giggling classmates. When he finally put him down, Sam was as red as a tomato. He muttered something angrily under his breath, probably stating his disapproval of the antics, but that only triggered another hearty laugh from his father and put the schoolkids into another giggle frenzy. Sam turned to them and showed them his middle finger, but that only made everyone laugh harder.

Then, Matt witnessed something extraordinary happen. Sam’s dad put his hand on his son’s shoulder and gave him a comforting wink. It was an extremely special wink because it somehow told Sam that everything was and always would be okay. Matt watched the transformation in amazement, as Sam’s anger and embarrassment faded away. A smirk began to creep up Sam’s face and then Matt saw something that he himself had desperately wanted his entire life. For a moment, Matt could see the feeling of peace and content reflected in Sam’s eyes, but it was only just a glimpse, because a moment later it was gone. Sam’s frown returned and his eyes became cheeky as he showed his classmates the middle finger yet again. This time however, he could not maintain the frown and instead burst into laughter. The other kids laughed back and Sam gave them a friendly wave before getting in the car with his father. Somehow the wink had disintegrated his unease. Matt often thought about that incident, wishing that his own father was more like Sam’s.

He was nearing the shops at the end of the road when a couple of butterflies drew him out of his daydream. The butterflies were fluttering around in front of him, fighting the breeze that kept blowing them apart from each other. It must have been just after five o’clock, but the sun was still quite high in the clear blue sky. It was summer, the days were long and there were insects of all kinds going about their business all around him. Several other butterflies were floating about, in the neatly kempt gardens that lined the street, behind white picket fences. Every front yard, seemed to be decorated with beautiful plants, flaunting all kinds of flowers, in all sorts of colours. Other than the butterflies, there were bees zipping back and forth between plants, and in Mrs Morrison’s yard, there was the much more rarely seen, dragonfly, hovering over a small pond. It had been at least a month since the last bit of rainfall and the pond had reduced to a muddy puddle. In spite of the drought however, the gardens had been well watered by their owners, and the plants in each yard along the street seemed to be thriving, except of course, for the plants at Matt’s place. Their front yard consisted of nothing more than patches of dead prickly grass amongst an assortment of weeds. Bees and butterflies didn’t visit their yard and it certainly never attracted dragonflies. The insect that they had plenty of however, was the cicada and there seemed to be an influx of them that year. Matt could not remember any other time, in the course of his life, when the buzzing, clicking racket, was more prominent. It sounded like there were hundreds of thousands of the things, if not millions, just on that street alone, and yet as usual, not a single one, could be seen.

Even as he was passing by the shops, he could only hear cicadas. This wasn’t exactly surprising however, as the shops never attracted much activity. The shops consisted of the local butcher, a small grocery store and a tiny antiques store, of all things. Matt could never understand how any of the shops managed to stay in business, especially the antiques store, considering that Woland Peak was a town with a population of just over one thousand residents. There was another slightly larger grocery store, a couple of streets over, in the town center, where there was also a diner, a bar, and a gas station that simultaneously served as a repair shop. Also in town, was the council building where the mayor spent the majority of his days snoozing in between tea breaks. The sheriff was in a building across the street from the mayor, and he too, was not particularly prone to much activity. That is unless you count mindless banter with his two deputies, and the not too subtle advances at his young secretary, as action. The same building also housed the town doctor and the barber. The only other public facilities in Woland Peak were Matt’s school and the community hall, which mainly served as a church. The community hall, and Matt’s school, stood next to each other a few kilometres out of town. Directly opposite those buildings, was the entrance to the old apple orchard, which when counting seasonal workers, employed the vast majority of the town’s residents.

Matt hated the apple orchard and he especially hated the sight of the enormous pack house, which he concluded must have been the main source of the repulsive smell that welcomed him into school every morning. Just thinking about that smell of rotten apples mixed with bug repellent and fertiliser would make him queasy, but something far more dreadful than the thought of that smell was beginning to occupy Matt’s mind. In fact, he would have happily inhaled the smell in all its horrid glory, if it meant distracting his mind, from the thought that was creeping up on him.

In his mind, Matt was returning to that strange distorted place where the horrifying creature roamed. He had felt the creature’s breath on his neck, and heard its snarls, but although he never saw it, his brain, was sketching out an image for him now. Matt tried getting rid of the unwelcome thought by forcing himself to think of something else, but the tactic proved unsuccessful. Rather than sparking a new train of thought, Matt was merely repeating words to himself, which no longer seemed to carry any meaning, or bring anything to mind. Instead, only the image of the creature, continued to take form. He was picturing a distorted dark silhouette in the shape of a man, but the distortion was quickly diminishing and it was becoming clear that whatever the thing was, it wasn’t quite a man. Matt slapped his cheeks and violently shook his head to see if it was possible to physically remove the unwanted image from his mind.

For a second, the image did fade, but it came creeping back almost instantly. Desperately looking around for some kind of distraction, Matt spotted a small stone in the middle of the road some twenty or so meters ahead. Deciding to use it as a football, he sprinted up to it and gave the stone a hefty kick. However, as the road was steep, the stone came to a perfect standstill after rolling only three or four meters. So Matt went for it again. Although, he put all his might into the kick, as the road had only gotten steeper, the stone travelled an even less impressive distance. The ineffectiveness of his most powerful kicks did not deter him however, nor did the fact that the activity was quickly depleting his energy. Matt was only about a quarter of the way up the hill, but he was already feeling quite puffed. Usually he would have surely given up the seemingly pointless task, but on this occasion he had a very good reason to continue. He was no longer thinking of the strange place or the creature that dwelt there. His only concern now, was to get the stone to the top of the hill and as he proceeded with the activity a very different image began forming in his mind. He could see himself standing on Suicide Rock, looking out at the ocean and enjoying the cool breeze on his flushed face.

At the top of the hill, Matt abandoned the stone and after taking a moment to catch his breath, walked off the side of the road. He followed a well trampled path through the dense vegetation leading to the cliff’s peak. Before he could see the ocean, Matt heard somebody grunt from the other side of the shrubs. The clearing was just around the corner, but Matt did not need to see the person to know who it was because he had heard that grunt plenty of times before. It belonged to his best friend, Oliver, who often came to Suicide Rock to hurl stones into the ocean. He said it was a hobby of his, but Matt always thought of it as being more of therapeuti process. He had known Oliver almost as long as he could remember and could not recall a time were the activity was not part of Oliver’s routine life. Oliver lived on the same street as Matt, just a few houses down and they had been in the same class since Matt began going to Woland Peak School.

Matt had started school in the city, but that was before his father came back. The day that his father came to pick his mother and himself up from Matt’s grandparents’ house was the first time he met his father. Apparently he had also been there when he was a little baby, but Matt couldn’t remember that. While his father had been away, Matt was told, he was doing some important work, but over the years and after several of his drunken rants, Matt figured out that the hell hole to which his father so often referred, was in fact prison. He had spent five years in jail and when he was finally released, he moved the family all the way out to Woland Peak because that was the closest place to the city they could afford to live. For Matt, this meant having to change schools half way through his first year at school. Matt found it difficult adjusting to life in Woland Peak and it was particularly hard for him to get settled in at school. The kids at Woland Peak School were very different to the kids in the city. In the city, he didn’t seem to stand out like a sore thumb, but when he came to Woland Peak, he became the centre of attention, which was a major problem for Matt because he was a painfully shy child.

Within a week of having started at his new school, Matt was considered an odd ball. He began hearing the other kids whispering his name to each other before breaking into fits of laughter. Some of the kids even started calling him names and then one day a kid by the name of Peter pushed him off his chair. That was the day that Matt’s life-long friendship with Oliver began. Oliver had been sitting at the same table as Matt and was in the middle of his lunch when Peter decide to come and shove Matt off his seat. On his way down Matt bumped the table and that made Oliver drop his sandwich. Within seconds of Oliver’s sandwich hitting the floor, Peter was down on his knees crying hysterically. Oliver was by far the largest kid in the class, but like Matt he was also very quiet. The difference was that whilst the other kids thought of Matt as a weirdo, they all had the highest respect for Oliver and they all feared him. So when the teacher asked the five or so kids that had seen Oliver drop Peter, what had happened, not a single one dared to say a thing. Even Peter wouldn’t tell the teacher what had happened.

His entire life, Oliver was somebody that commanded respect. People feared him and they also wanted to be him, but hardly anybody really knew him. He was the epitome of the strong silent type. Oliver chose to open up to very few people, and for a reason that always eluded Matt, he was one of those select few. The first time Matt heard Oliver say more than a couple of words was the same day he had punched Peter. He caught up to Matt just as he was leaving the school grounds.

“Your problem is that you act like a little wimp” he said. That day, Matt learned the reason Oliver was so quite. It was because he never lied, so when he did choose to speak, he always said exactly what was on his mind. For those who were in Oliver’s close circles that meant often having to hear the cold hard truth that nobody ever really wants to hear.

As Matt made his way out of the shrub into the clearing, it dawned on him that he was about to get an ear full from Oliver. Up until that point in his journey, Matt had been so preoccupied with keeping unwanted thoughts from his mind that he had almost completely forgotten about the little bit of physical discipline he had been subjected to earlier. He decided to remind himself of his injuries by running his hand over his face. His face felt lumpy and his eyes began to water immediately, when he touched his nose. The sharp pain served as more than an adequate reminder, and it made Matt wonder whether he had broken his nose, yet again.

Oliver was standing about a meter away from the cliff’s edge, watching the stone from his last throw soar out toward the horizon before dropping down into the ocean. As soon as the stone hit the water, Oliver bent down and picked up another one, from a pile by his feet.

“Hey Oliver” Matt said, as he walked up behind him. In one fluid motion, Oliver leaned back, tossed the stone high up into the air and then without adjusting his footing spun around on his heels to face Matt. The throw along with the spin manoeuver impressed Matt and he was about to commend his friend on the skilful display, but that was before he saw the look of disappointment in Oliver’s eyes.

“Daddy been beating on you again, ha?” Oliver asked in a tone that seemed indifferent and unconcerned. The sight was nothing new for Oliver, he had seen it all before. “And you didn’t even try to fight back, did ya?” Oliver carried on, without waiting for Matt to respond. “How many times do I got to tell ya, if he hits ya, you sock him right back. It’s as simple as that. So why the hell didn’t ya?”

The question struck a nerve and this time Matt responded immediately without hesitation. “I didn’t because it’s not that simple!” he yelled “He’s huge, he would kill me and you wouldn’t dare touch him yourself.”

“You know I would” Oliver replied in a tone that made his irritability at Matt’s little outburst abundantly clear.

“Then why don’t you?” Matt snapped back.

Oliver’s irritation was now clearly visible on his face. The question frustrated him because he had explained the reason to Matt several times before. “I don’t do anything and I never will because you need to fight your own battles. Your dad aint the problem, you are! You need to save yourself from yourself!”

“You don’t know what he’s like” Matt cried.

Oliver summed up his view regarding this statement with a sarcastic “ha!” “How is your situation any worse than mine?” he asked.

Oliver’s step father was also a firm believer in physical discipline. He had beaten Oliver regularly for years, although over time, he had become more reluctant to put his theory on the importance of physical discipline, into practice. Oliver’s real father had been out of the picture since before he was born and David married his mother, Sandra, shortly afterwards. Oliver knew nothing about his biological father, except that he was Jamaican. This really won David over, who had some rather interesting thoughts about ethnicity. Thoughts that he of course only shared with Oliver, whenever Sandra wasn’t around.

As far as Sandra was concerned, David was the perfect man, but for her, the perfect man merely stayed put and didn’t stray. She was the bread winner in the family, while David stayed at home and looked after Oliver. Sandra knew almost nothing about David’s parenting style because she was hardly ever around. She worked out of town and would sometimes be away for days on end. Then, there was also the fact that Oliver never complained to her. This was partly, because he felt deep down that she knew and simply ignored the matter, because it was the easiest thing for her to do. The main reason Oliver never complained however, was because he believed in what he preached. Oliver understood, since the very first time David took off his belt that it was a problem only he could resolve. So he fought back the very first time it happened, and every other time after that. For a long time, his efforts did little more than amuse David, but then he had a growth spurt, and by age eleven he was fighting back so hard that David was letting him get away with almost anything. It had been almost a year since their last fight and everyday Oliver was getting bigger and stronger, while David was only becoming fatter and older. So with every passing day, Oliver grew more confident that the next time they clashed, it would be at his initiative. On that day, he would make David wish that he himself had been born a black man.

“My dad could kill David in a second. It’s different for you” Matt shouted.

“The only difference is that you’re a coward” Oliver replied in a loud but very controlled tone. This remark made Matt see red. He hated being called a coward more than anything else because it was something he believed deep down, despite always trying to convince himself otherwise. By saying it out loud, Oliver destroyed the delicate façade that Matt had erected in his mind and all of a sudden it was undeniably true. Blood rushed to Matt’s cheeks and his eyes filled with tears.

“Im not a coward!” he screamed charging at Oliver. In that moment he wanted to run off the edge of the cliff, taking Oliver down with him. For in that moment, he lost all fear and instead became filled with hatred. Hatred for Oliver, himself, and everything else in existence. In that moment he was ready to throw the whole world off that cliff. He closed his eyes right before impact, anticipating a long drop into hell and just like that the fear came back. The deadly consequence of his decision flashed through his mind as every muscle flexed in unison, redirecting his body, sending it crashing face down into the ground. The skin on Matt’s face tore as he slid along a mix of gravel, dead grass and dried up dirt. Although, the pain of having his face torn, was excruciating, it was quickly superseded by the overwhelming stinging sensation, of his cut up flesh, hitting the air. His body was moving too quickly, only his heart had seemed to have stopped dead in its tracks.

Then, all of a sudden everything else ceased to move as well. Matt felt something heavy on his thigh and then he was moving again, only this time, in the opposite direction. Matt opened his mouth to thank Oliver as he dragged him up onto his feet, but when he tried to speak a fist hit him in the mouth. It hit him so hard that Matt fell back and almost slid off the cliff again. When he got back to his feet Oliver already had his arm cocked back to throw another punch

“What the hell are you thinking, you idiot? Are you trying to kill yourself?” Oliver shouted. Matt tried to answer, but he only manged “I’m sor” before another punch knocked him on his ass. This time Oliver hit him in his already severely swollen nose and removed the little bit of doubt Matt had in his mind beforehand about it being broken. The blow had an interesting effect as it seemed to connect and unify the pain from all the lumps, cuts and bruises on his face. Instead of feeling like individual injuries, it now felt like his whole face, had been simply torn off. The pain was excruciating and it only got worse as Oliver continued to pummel him.

The attack did not last much longer, but Matt would have welcomed the pain back if it meant avoiding what came next, for in amidst the beating he returned to that strange distorted place, where he was once again exposed, helpless and at the mercy of a merciless creature. It was a monster that would have surely devoured him, had he not been brought back in the nick of time into the embrace of a sobbing, apologetic Oliver. Matt did not know how he escaped or what brought him back, but the thing he now knew for sure, was that it would happen again. He had a new problem that he would have to solve, but he was afraid. He was afraid because he was flawed. He was only human, after all.