Norman Bates once said, “We all go a little mad sometimes” (Psycho). Marcus as a little boy suffered one of thee worse possible childhoods ever recorded that eventually drove him mad. He lived in an old crooked house with a yard covered with yellow dried out grass that if the sun hit it just right would combust into a flame and burn itself to the bug infested ground below. His yard was a prison as it’s fences were bushes with barbwire-like stems and leaves with a very potent poison produced out of the leaves and when touched by a human it felt like a knife going right through your hand and would drop you to your knees from the amount of pain it delivered ferociously. Would shut down in less than 5 minutes after contact, would shut down your body’s immune system and leave you helpless to the worlds disease.

Every day when he’d look outside his giant stain glass window he would see a bird specifically a crow laying in the yard, not a single movement came from it. It just laid there it’s little beak missing and both wings detached and a puddle of dark seeping red blood soaking into the planes of hell with a crowd of little maggots and beetles that have successfully invaded the corpse of the bird. The neighborhood he was forced to live in was not the greatest one either, as cops steered away from that side of town, and if forced by their commander to go in, they treaded ever so lightly that not even a rat could feel the vibration from their steps. This is the story of Marcus Stanford that will bring you a chill so stiff that you’d personally be better off paralyzed.

As a little boy Marcus Stanford grew up rather lonely and really had nobody to play with except the little boy across the old garbage filled street where the 10 watt light bulbs constantly flashed and made a terrifying squeal from the metal bending back and forth from the wind that they got. After the death of his dad he never really left the house anymore which created issues between him and his mother, because she never leaves the house and when she does she always seems to come home with a red and rather thick liquid splashed all over her clothes and skin. Marcus didn’t think much of it as he always thought it was paint, until Mrs. Stanford came home with a white threaded sack about the size of a giant black garbage bag. It was covered with the stuff she wore and further more in was dripping, thick red droplets hitting the floor and as she stood in the doorway looking at him with her bloodshot eyes that seemed to be as glossy as a wooden floor covered with 10 layers of polyurethane.

“Mom you’re home! Did you bring me a present from the city? Huh, did ya, did ya?” Marcus insisted.

“What are you staring at you worthless pitiful child go do something else than standing there watching me handle my work!” Mrs. Stanford yelled at the top of her lungs.

“You finally brought your work home? Does that mean I get to finally see what you paint?” Marcus asked while staring at the sack and listening to the splashes of the liquid hit the hard wooden floor.

“You are never to look in this sack, do you understand me boy!!!”

“Ye-ye-yes mother I… I will never look in the sack I… I promise” Marcus stuttered with his heart beating heavily.

“Now get out of my way you pathetic piece of s***.”

She pushed him out of the way and kicked open the basement door and latched the chain linked fence behind her and away she went down into the nitre covered walls that led to thee under crypt beneath their house. After she left Marcus couldn’t help but wonder what the heck was in that bag. When he went back to the puddle and realized that it had been stepped in. The foot print was still molded into it indicating that it was fresh. He followed the size 4 prints leading up the twisting dusty old creaking stairs and continued to follow until it reached the bedroom where his father used to work. There looking out the window was his friend from across the street…Jimmy, but he didn’t look like himself, as his face was whiter than fresh mountain top snow and he was shaking like a generator running on overdrive. You could tell that he was crying because of the sniffling sound he continued to make.

“Jimmy are you ok?” Marcus asked cautiously.

“Please Marcus you got to help me! M-m-my dog is missing. (He sniffles and begins to get teary) We have no idea where he went.” Jimmy replied with tears running down the side of his smooth cheek where his facial hair has not grown yet.

“My mother usually doesn’t allow me to go outside but if I’m with you I don’t see a problem with it, so yea ill help you find your dog. C’mon lets go.”

“(Sniffles-), alright thanks.”

As Marcus and Jimmy wondered outside of the old crooked house they failed to realize that the puddle was not just any liquid, it was blood, thick rich blood that would drive a zombie mad and a carnivore even madder. They wandered for hours upon hours with no trace of the dog anywhere. Jimmy said that the dog was barking a lot and then suddenly went silent. He got out of his cozy bed and went to go let the dog in and he was gone. All he found was his collar resting on the ground. He did find some liquid in the dirt but it was too dirty to tell exactly what it was so he freaked and ran as fast as he could to every single spot that his dog has went to before. No trace of him was found.

After searching the neighborhood for the large golden slick coated dog they finally called it a night Marcus and Jimmy headed home to recover their stamina and energy to prepare for another search tomorrow. Marcus scampered to his house and there were no lights on, not even his father’s lamp that sat up stairs in the room farthest to the right. This was rather meaningful considering that that light has never been turned off since his dad had passed away. Marcus knew that what he was getting ready to walk into what would be worse than hell. He slowly climbed the steps, one at a time and when he made it to the top of them, the door was wide open and drifting back and forth from the force of the wind that was being blown towards the north side of the house. The door creaked as it swung on the rusty three set copper hinges. As he entered the Victorian house there was nothing—no lights, no power, no heat, no sounds, no movement, except for the autumn leaves being blown into t he house making that disgusted crackling sound as they slammed into the dust and cobwebbed covered walls. The air was so crisp that Marcus could see his breathe coming out of his mouth like a fog machine. He could tell that it was getting colder because his breath didn’t seem to dissipate. His fingers began to lose their heat and the wooden floors seemed to stiffen and cause them to creak when stepped on. That took out his last option to be sneaky about his re-entry. He looked around to decide where his next move would be. It looked like his decision was made for him as a sudden squeal came from the living room. With each creak the floor made his heart would speed up, and after making it to the doorway of the living room he stopped, his face grew pale, his body began to shake, his heart started to hurt from the heavy thumbs it delivered. His eyes were wishing that they were no more and tears began to run down his cheeks. They never made it to his chin line as they froze be fore they could make it. The room was covered in the red, thick liquid that he had seen on the floor earlier but this time it was everywhere. The liquid was splashed, thrown, and dotted on every square foot of the floor, walls, and Ceiling. There was nothing untouched by the red substance. His whole living room would need a bath to wash away the horrifying scene that rests before his eyes. The sobbing continued and on the couch there she sat, sitting with her head in her hands, talking to herself in a crackly sobbing voice. When Marcus took the final step into the lounge room, the floor’s creak shattered the silence. Her head lifted and slowly turned, the sobbing stopped, and everything seemed to grow darker. Marcus felt paralyzed by the look she gave him. Her eyes were red way past being bloodshot, she had two trails of red tears that led from her eye sockets to the bottom of her chin where the two paths collided, which made a “V” on her chin. When she started to lift herself up he knew that the trouble has just begun.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN MISTER!” she screamed at him as if he knew better.

“I-I-I was helping Jimmy find his dog, he ran away and I wanted to help, I didn’t think it would be such a big deal mom”. His body was frozen, unable to twist, turn, or bend. He was stuck in a situation that could scare even god himself.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT DON’T YOU! RUNING AROUND WITH YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS HELPING THEM WITH THEIR PATHETIC LITTLE LIVES, THEY WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU BOY!” her screaming only increased with every breathe she took the house rattled with every word she spit at him as if the house was trying to yell with her.

“YOU’RE WRONG MOM! Jimmy is my friend along with the rest of the kids in this neighborhood! If you weren’t so busy doing your stupid job you would know!” Marcus’ face grew tight his heart hit its limit, everything began to fade his mom stood there and watching him struggle on the floor trying to stop the pain that gashed his heart.

“Sleep boy. It’s the only move you got left, hahahahahahahaha.” She grabbed him by the legs and dragged him up the stairs, purposely bouncing his head off the rounded splintered edge of each step. She slid him into his room turned with a grin stretching from cheek to cheek and locked the door behind her.

Marcus couldn’t remember what happened that night nor could he remember why his body ached so much. He inspected himself only to find cuts and bruises and a rather unusual string that seemed to be attached to his sore arm. On the end hung a piece of paper which had a note inside, it read “Here’s your way out.” He tugged on it only to find that it was inside his arm as well. He had 7 staples that were holding a cut together. He began to cry, but no tears ran down his face. He reached for the first staple and clinched it tightly he tugged on it which instantly caused it to bleed. He took off his belt wrapped it around his upper arm, his arm was too small for it to be fastened so he tied it. He took the old wooden rod from off the broom that rested in the dusty old corner of his room. After leaning it up against the window seal and snapping it with his leg, he took his pillow case and wrapped it around the broken end of the rod and stuck it in his mouth. This was to muf fle his screams and give him an opportunity to release the pain that was going to build up. Shaking ferociously, he grabbed the first staple.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” the first staple was pulled and his arm was gushing blood as if it was a faucet on full blast. After pulling the first three his teeth were beginning to bleed from the pressure he was applying to the stick in his mouth. Marcus tugged on the thread to see if it has come loose, not a single budge. He put the pillow case covered stick back in his mouth and began to pull the next ones.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” the screams increased with each staple until he reached the last one which was the only thing holding his wound from spreading completely open. It left him with two options, option A was pull the last staple and risk the loss of tons of blood which would then cause light headedness and confusion or there was option B. pull the thread and risk cutting the inside of his arm, the thread slicing into his boney long fingers, and/or the thread breaking and the key being stuck in his arm. This would then lead to him having to resort back to option A and pulling the last staple in order to dig around in his own arm for the key. Marcus narrowed it down to losing an arm or potentially keeping the arm which was option B. He tugged on the thread and It was a lot looser than before. With one gasp of air through his runny snot stuffed nostrils, he pulled and there it was the key to the door. Marcus stumbled for the door, inserted the key and slowly rotated the door knob until it clicked to notify him that it was ready to be yanked. With each second that passed he would slowly creek open the door. He could see the light shining through the entry way of the house. There was no movement no sound not even a slight disturbance in the unsettled Victorian house they’ve lived in for his whole life. Marcus peered around the corner everything seemed to be in the exact place they were years ago when his house actually looked good. He cautiously moved out of his room and towards the winding staircase at the south end of the house where the balcony sat. The doorbell rang, still no movement. Marcus continued to creep towards the stairs as they continued to ring the doorbell. With each step his heart would speed up and he would check his surroundings for anything unusual or mysterious, still everything checked out ok. With each stride down the stairs the echo from the doorbell seemed to get much louder. Marcus hovered c lose to walls to protect his back from any surprises. He peeked out the window to see no one but his own reflection looking back at him.

To Be Continued…