The Little Black Book

Things are not always as they seem, and as we take a glance through the window of #34 Howe Street, we see just that.

What would appear on the outside to be a warm, loving and oh-so-nuclear family would instead turn out to be a dark, painful place, where it felt more like a house than a home. No wonder this impression was off, if you spent just one second looking at the Farce family's property you would think they were as normal as peanut butter and jelly. Two cars in the driveway, a neat and perfectly maintained lawn, a child’s toys in the garden, they appeared to have a nice life.

However, just as you should not judge a book by its cover, this home should not be judged by its veil of accoutrements. A keen eye could notice that the toys sprayed across the short grass hadn’t moved in years and that only one car leaves the home each day; the other sits in the driveway collecting dust.

Each day from Monday to Friday, at 7:30 am sharp, Mr Farce, Mrs Farce and their teenage boy, Marcus Farce, would step out from the confines of their home and bundle into their 93 Lincoln Mark VIII. They would return together at 4:30 pm. The curtains were always drawn shut and the lights were always on.

On the inside of the house, things were an unfortunately different story. The make-up Mrs Farce slathered on her face every morning was really to cover up the black eyes Mr Farce would dish out each night. The long sleeve shirts and pants Marcus wore helped to conceal the many bruises adorning his arms and legs from the constant beatings.

Life in the Farce home was a brutal affair it wasn’t a life at all. It was purely survival. You see, Mr Farce was a victim of his own father’s rage, and through his life experience, had become a possessive, selfish psychopath. He wouldn’t let Mrs Farce or Marcus out of his sight for one moment. He demanded everything from them and gave them nothing in return. Mr Farce didn’t even let Mrs Farce own a credit card. She had to go to him if she wanted to buy anything.

Chores and Mr Farces' fists were all Marcus could understand. For as long as he could remember, his father would shout, scream and punch his way into control. You could never show opposition, god forbid you ever asked for something. Marcus had lost count of the number of times he had watched his father strangle his mother and throw her around the house.

Marcus’ mother was a special woman. A lady of unbelievable forgiveness, a beacon of kindness and light, in a dark and painful world. For years now they had been planning their escape. It was a rather simple plan and if they were able to pull it off they could leave for good and never, ever look back.

First, Marcus had to steal his father’s little black book. Not an easy feat considering it never left his sight. This and the lack of freedom both Marcus and his mother shared meant they had to plan appropriately.

However, this little black book held a secret that would give them all the freedom they could have ever hoped for. Inside this little black book held a code. This code would open the safe in his father’s office. A safe that held all the money the family had ever owned. There had to be at least $20,000. He would take all the money they could grab, his mother would already have their bags packed and inside the trunk of the car, and they would leave together, for good.

Never before had Marcus put so much hope in four digits.

Today would be the day everything changed. Today would be the day Marcus stood up for himself and his mother. Today would be the day they became free from the shackles of an abusive father.

Marcus knew that he had one chance at grabbing that book. Every day at 5:30 pm, his father would take a nap in his office. Marcus would have to sneak into the room, slide the book out of his father’s jacket pocket, quickly uncover the code within its pages, and place it back where he found it without notice. If everything worked out, he could sneak back in later and open the safe. If it went wrong, he may very well die at the hands of his father.

The floor beneath Marcus creaked gently as he stepped. He slumped down to the ground on all fours to spread out his weight and breathed gently as he crawled towards his father, snoring heavily in his leather, Winchester chair.

Marcus stands over his sleeping father. He stares at the man that has caused him so much pain. His eyes drift to the desk where a silver, sharp letter opener sits upon a pile of papers and for a moment he thinks of driving the knife into the throat of the man that ruined his childhood and wrecked his mother.

Mr Farce shifts slightly in his chair and Marcus takes a deep breath. He has to stick to the plan. He slides his hand into the jacket pocket of his father and his fingers feel the firm edges of the black book. In a single, slow, smooth move he draws the book out of the pocket and holds it against his chest. His heart thumps in his chest like a pounding drum. Beads of sweat roll down his soft skin.

Marcus holds the little black book in both hands and as he opens its pages he notices his father's eyes staring up at him, a look of fury on his face. Within a second, Marcus’ vision turns black and he finds himself thrown into an altogether new place.

The blackness fades away and Marcus starts to pick out a spectacular array of colours in all directions. Not just colours, but shapes, strange otherworldly shapes. Towering purple vines stretch out above his head, anchored to the ground by vast tendrils. They sway from left to right, bumping into one another and holding there for a moment's notice, as if the vines are giving each other a warm embrace.

The ground beneath Marcus’ feet is soft and squishy, it shimmers the way a cuttlefish's skin changes, morphing from white to blue to red and back to white again, always in a state of change and disarray. The texture across the uneven floor changes too. Lumps grow out of the ground and deflate again as if the earth beneath him was breathing one continuous, massive sigh of relief.

Strange geometric leaves blow past him in a wind that smells of a distinct mixture of warm bread and fresh sage. They dance across the uneven terrain, lifting into the air for a moment before sailing back down to rest once again across the ground.

It is just then that Marcus feels the presence of something different. He turns his head to see a curious-looking creature, perched upon a vanta black cube with a peculiar, blindingly white circle encompassing it. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but he felt so afraid of this unknown force emanating from its centre. The creature upon the cube sits tall and is no larger than a book. As Marcus takes a step closer he begins to feel something terrible stir inside him. He takes caution now with each next step and as the fear inside him grows, so too does the creature.

The black cube begins to engulf the white circle and as the creature begins to grow so too does the darkness around it. In no time at all the shadow shape in front of Marcus has engulfed the world around him, the colours begin to fade and he begins to feel helpless.

Fangs begin to pour from the creature's dark shape. Ferocious claws begin to stretch out from within its smokey demeanour. A huge, scaly tail extends out and above and appears to prime itself to strike. Marcus felt the weight of a thousand suns press down upon him and collapsed to his knees.

Is this it, am I dying, is this the end, did I screw up again and ruin the plan. I can’t have, we were so close, Marcus thought to himself.

That is when it happened as if in fearing the worst, he brought about the only things that could be his salvation. Marcus heard his mother whisper in the same wind that brought the smell of bread and fresh sage. It was so obvious it pained him to think he hadn’t seen it already. What did she always tell him, every night when she was cleaning up the blood and pressing ice to his face, she would whisper in his ears, keeping quiet enough not to let his son-of-a-bitch father hear, “Never give up my son, never surrender”.

He felt her power deep inside himself. He felt his mother's love, her kindness, her light, fill him up. He felt strength surge through his body and he felt himself standing up straight once more. Marcus felt an object in his right hand and looked down to see what was there. It was a sword, fashioned from the tendrils of the great vines around him, as bright as anything he had ever seen before. A blade of light.

Marcus raised the sword above his head in both hands, its weight somehow lifting him up, dragging him higher into the sky. He stared deeply into the massive, black abyss in front of him. The great ferocious shadow creature, claws, fangs and tail dripping with ink-black puss.

Marcus swung the blade of light down through the darkness and as the sword pierced the unknown space before him, the massive blackness exploded into a cloud of smoke. Claws and fangs and tail were no more. Not even the blackness remained. The sword fell from Marcus’ hand and hit the ground.

After the smoke had cleared, all that was left was that little black cube with the peculiar bright white circle encompassing it. Marcus reached out and touched it, he wasn’t afraid anymore.

As he pressed his palm against the soft material it began to open up into a beautiful white flower that resembled a carnation and from inside this flower began to pour gems and precious stones and gold coins. That is when everything went black again.

At first, he heard his mother scream, “Marcus, hurry the hell up!”, and then his vision returned. He was standing in the office, the safe door was wide open and cash was all over the place. He turned to look at what he was carrying and found two bags filled with money, one in each hand. His gaze moved past the bags of cash and down to the ground, there was blood, lots of it. He went to move and kicked something metal, he turned to see what it was and saw that it was his father's letter opener, it was covered in blood.

Marcus picked up his gaze and followed it to his father's Winchester chair. There he was, Mr Farce, slumped over in his chair, head between his legs, hair a mess, clothes stained red. Marcus stood for a second, he felt the same fear as before course through his, shaking his very core, and then he felt it all disappear, vanishing completely.

Marcus tightened his grip on both bags of cash in his fists and sprinted out the door. His mother was waiting in the driveway, just like they had planned. She knew immediately what had happened when she saw the state of her son. They both climbed into the car. Mrs Farce started the engine and they drove off into a new life together.