The Shawcrux Massacre

Andrew sat at the table, his mind racing with feelings of a dreaded nostalgia. He placed the letter he had written on the small wooden table. It was a cold and rainy December night. The rundown walls of the shack provided only a facade of cover from the storms. The sound of rain hammering down on the rusty tin roof drown out all other noise. The light of the lantern flickered, casting ghastly shadows on the walls. Andrew had never liked the woods, yet here he sat, in a rustic shack in the middle of the dark forests of upstate New York. He reached into his pocket, feeling the cold metal of the .44 in his pocket. He drew the gun and stared blankly at it. After all these years, this was how it had to be. He knew what he needed to do. Andrew checked the chamber one more time, as if some specter may have stolen one of the shiny brass bullets. He wondered if anyone would find him, all the way out here. As far as he knew, he was the only one who knew where the shack was, besides its deceased previous owner. The thought of Mr. Ed made Andrew shudder. It had been years since he last saw the old man. Andrew slowly set the gun down on the table and pulled a small black notebook and pen out of his coat pocket. Shivering, he began to write, and recount what had happened all those years ago......

How many years had it been? Andrew remembered the day it all began. It was a warm and sunny day. He remembered it vividly. He could almost feel the sun’s rays caressing his back. He was walking to school, dressed all in black as many teenagers did during THAT phase. Black hair, black clothes, chains on his ripped jeans. He disliked the attention it occasionally brought, but he had loved the music. The heartbroken symphonies dedicated to everyone who had felt hurt. As he sat there, visualizing himself back then, a small, sad, smile opened on his face. William walked behind him, his crutches clanking the whole way. William was special, and the best brother Andrew could have asked for. William was a loving and sensitive child, but was often picked on for his disabilities. Other kids had made fun of his speech and appearance. A singular frozen tear rolled down Andrew's rosy cheek at the thought of his younger brother. And then he remembered. He could see her, walking out onto the side walk, hair as black as night billowing in the wind. Pale white skin, complimented by vivid green eyes. She was beautiful. The way she walked, the way she spoke, it drove Andrew crazy. His heart thumped rapidly at the very thought of her. Her name was Alice Cole, and Andrew knew he loved her. As she walked by, she turned and flashed Andrew a heart melting smile, and continued on her way. Andrew stopped right there, in the middle of the road, jaw dropped and heart racing. He didn't even notice the figure approaching rapidly from his left. He didn't remember much after that. There was a loud crack and he fell hard. He remembered looking up and recognizing his assailant. Kyle Bradley, the schools fastest track runner. He stood there over him, grinning like an idiot.

"Whatcha doing Andy?" he said as he delivered a kick to Andrew’s rib cage. "You weren't staring at my girls ass was you?" He paced around him, like a shark around a dying seal. William stuttered in shock and despair.

"L-l-leave my b-b-bubby alone!" he yelled through tears.

"Fuck off, fucking retard," Kyle yelled, tossing a rock towards him. The stone clipped his crutch, but just enough to knock it out from under him. He fell heavily to the ground with a yelp. Andrew tried to stand. His side stung and cramped, and he was back down on the pavement. Kyle laughed and sneered. "Stay down, freak." He kicked him one last time and walked away.

Tears streamed down Andrew's face as he sat there, remembering the incident as if it was yesterday. The rain had died down, and crickets chirped harmoniously in the distance. He felt almost peaceful, out in the night by himself. He felt almost free, yet dragged down by his past evils.

"I'm sorry, William," he whispered to himself. "I'm so sorry." A soft breeze drafted through the shack, sending a chill down Andrew’s spine. He set the pen down for a moment, reconsidering the entire situation. The gun stared at him menacing from the table. Andrew picked the pen back up and continued writing.

That day was the beginning of the end. Andrew and William were late to school, and missed their first class. They hurried into the building, William still sniffling and wiping tears from his face. There she was; sitting in the cool sterile office. The whole room smelled like paperwork and cheap school supplies, but Andrew could smell her peach perfume from the door. She looked over and shot him dead with a smile.

"Hey Andy." That's all she said. Andrew was frozen in the doorway. His legs refused to move, and his heart pounded so hard he could swear she could hear it.

"Don't talk to her, she’s in a lot of trouble," The desk lady said.

He finally snapped out of it. "What’d you do?" he blurted, instantly feeling embarrassed and stupid. She smiled at him again. That deadly heart stopping smile that made his entire body tingle.

"They think me and Kyle have been drinking out in the groundskeepers shed." she replied.

The desk lady shot Andrew a nasty glare. "I'll sign you in. Get to class."

Andrew had heard about them drinking in the shed. He had even seen them walk out there during their lunch hour, hurriedly sneaking bottles of cheap liquor that burns as it goes down. He always wondered what she saw in Kyle. He was an asshole and a bigot. He had even been arrested for hitting her before, and yet she still went back to him. The rest of the day went by without incident. Andrew walked like a lifelessly zombie from class to class, and finally, home. The door to Andrew’s house always stuck and creaked as he pushed it open. His father sat on the couch. Richard Shawcrux was a man of God. The burly bearded man sat there flipping through a newspaper and toying with the cross on his neck.

"Where's Mom?" Andrew asked as he dropped his bag of books by the door. "Down by the river with William, drinking that demon water again." Richard replied, not looking up from the paper. After Andrew’s mother had a miscarriage with his younger sister, she had never been the same. He could always see the sadness behind her dark hazel eyes. She always smelled of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. She would take William down to the river, and try to hide her alcoholic tendencies, not that she was fooling anyone. She would always come back, stumbling in the door and knocking things off the coffee table. Andrew decided to go for a walk.

As he walked through the beauty of the pine grove, he had had a sense of bliss and completeness. The leaves rustled in the wind, branches snapped under his feet, and birds sang their sympathetic tunes in the tree tops.

"Heya Andy!" Andrew spun quickly to see Mr. Gein. Mr. Gein was a strange man. He lived in the small shack Andrew currently sat in, all alone in the woods. He had been a butcher of sorts, so Andrew thought. He was very polite, and Andrew visited him almost daily. He stood there at that moment, his clothes caked in the gore from an animal he had butchered recently. "What are you up to kiddo?" he said through a toothless smile.

"I'm just going for a walk Mr. Gein. How are you?"

"Oh I'm swell kiddo. You seem a bit down. Is it your mother again?"

Andrew lowered his head and nodded. Mr. Gein could always see right through him. Sometimes, it seemed like Mr. Gein knew Andrew better than he did.

The door to the shack creaked and Andrew shot up, heart pounding. He knew it was just the wind, but the woods in the dark can be a terrifying place. The table started to tip and crashed to the floor, scattering pen paper and gun to the floor. He hurriedly picked everything up and began to write again.

The next day of school was going fine until lunch. Andrew sat alongside his brother, who talked pointlessly about his school work. Andrew mindlessly ate the slop the cafeteria called food. He couldn't quite remember what had been for lunch that day, something with carrots and peas. He remembered that part, because before he knew what was happening, a hand was mashing his face into a mess of the vegetables. He could hear William screaming and stuttering "b-b-b-bubby" over and over. He could hear Kyle's vicious mockery of him and William.

The rest was like an old movie for Andrew. He stood up and went to the bathroom to wash the mashed food off his face, then went outside. He stormed to the groundskeepers shed, his vision dark, and his mind angry and clouded. He flung the door open, and froze in shock at what he saw. There she was, passed out on the floor, a needle sitting on the floor beside her. Kyle lay just a few feet away, equally as unconscious. And there it was. Sitting on the workbench, giving him an icy stare. Its wooden handle was rotting and split. Its head was a rusty brown, except where the blade had been sharpened. Andrew lifted the hatchet, his mind racing about the decisions he was about to make.

"Andy?" He looked over to see her staring up at him with confused glossy eyes. Her gaze went to the hatchet. Before he could act, before he could think or move, the hatchet swung down onto her head, splitting it wide open in one swift swing. Crimson blood sprayed all over the shed, and leaked from the mortal wound in her head as she fell to the ground, dead. Andrew stared at what he had done, feeling excitement. He had never been able to get that feeling again. The rush was incredible. The power he felt, the lust, the vengeance. It was amazing. He quickly wiped the handle of fingerprints and gently placed it in Kyle's still sleeping hand. He stared once more at his work and smiled, licking the gore from his fingers. As he turned to leave, a small voice broke the silence. "B-bubby?"

The rain had started coming down again in torrents. The holes in the shack leaked, but he could not hear the drip, drip, drip of the water over the downpour on the old tin roof. He imagined the tears falling from his face made the same sound when they hit the filthy bloodstained floor. He set the pen on the table and stood. He couldn't do it. Not after all he had seen, all he had done, all he had been through. He couldn't, but he knew he had to. He knew what needed to happen, so Andrew sat back down, and began to write.

Andrew got home that day to an empty house. He quickly changed his bloodstained clothes. He had run all the way home, straight from the scene of his work. William had seen him. He saw Andrew swing the hatchet into her skull, right through her beautiful black hair. He knew William was at the river with their mother. William went home after the lunch period, as his special needs program only lasted that long. Andrew walked down to the river, hands jammed into his pockets to keep out the slight chill. William sat by the river side, tossing pebbles into the murky depths. Andrew sat down on a pile of sand next to him, saying nothing.

"Where’s mom?" Andrew asked him. William didn't answer. He just pointed over to where his mother had drank herself unconscious and passed out in the sand next to a bottle.

"You did a bad thing, bubby." William said. "You hurt someone." Andrew stared down at the dirt and nodded, saying nothing. "I have to tell mom, bubby. I'm sorry." Andrew stared out over the water, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

"I know buddy. I know." he said.

William looked into his eyes with a sad gaze. "I love you bubby. I'm sorry."

Andrew stood up and brushed the sand off his pants, tears now rolling down his cheeks. "I love you too buddy. I do"

Andrew took no pleasure in what he did next. Tears rushed down his face as he held his brothers head below the water, until there were no longer any bubbles, and his body was still and lifeless.

He collapsed to the floor of the shack, sobbing to himself. The damage he had caused could not be repaired. His actions had led to the false arrest of two innocent people, and the deaths of two more as well. His hand trembled as he cocked back the hammer. He quickly finished his paper, and signed it with his blood.