Created By

individulsong

Rate this Story

Embed

His name is Joey Bales. He was born and raised in New York, his father a gambler and his mother an alcoholic stripper. At the age of two, Joey had already learned the difference between red and white wine, his mother too drunk to find the milk for his bottles. His father spent his nights down in the back of the local hotel with a few of his buddies, Jim and Marty. Drugs, booze, and money were their game. And boy did they win. A few nights James, Joey’s father, would come home stoned and drunk, carrying a fist full of cash and wake up the house, demanding a celebration. Other times, still drunk out of his mind, he would come home with nothing and take out his rage on poor Joey, tucked up sleeping in his Lion King sheets.

Joey grew up indifferent to pain. By the age of six, his mother was suffering from heart failure, but his father couldn’t afford to take her to the hospital. Joey figured that his father didn’t even try to make enough money to support them. He started school at seven, behind a year already, and made no friends. He didn’t like school, and he was constantly beating the other children. Eventually he was sent home, and the principle asked to make an appointment with his parents.

The day was warm and incredibly uncomfortable as Joey sat in his father’s red, beaten up pick-up truck. Today was the day. His mother was lying, almost lifeless on her bed, where Joey had placed a mug of tea, a glass of water, and a bottle of Advil. He was doing his best for her, but something inside him frightened him beyond belief. As the engine curled up the drive to the school’s parking lot, there were several cars already parked. A young girl was holding her father’s hand, skipping to their car in earnest for a play date. Joey wished he could trade her places.

            “Get out of the truck, son.” His father’s voice was gruff, hoarse, and tough. Joey put both of his tiny hands on the silver door handle and pushed down as hard as he could, causing the door to shake and shutter, finally giving way and letting Joey topple out, catching his balance on one foot before he fell over completely. He shut the rusting door and followed his father up the path to the school’s entrance, the sun glistening on the newly cleaned glass doors, blinding his eyesight.

Inside, there was a young woman sitting at a receptionist’s desk.

            “May I help you?” Her voice was soft and sweet.

            “I’m here to see Principle Wexter.”

            “Oh yes! You are Mister Bales?”

            “Yes.”

            “One moment, oh, and by the way, he should be in class.” She was pointing to Joey. His father took a hold of his shoulder and pulled him to his side.

            “He’ll stay with me.” His voice dropped lower and his eyes squinted in the light, making him look less than human. The receptionist slunk back and hurried off to tell Principle Wexter of his new arrivals.

            “Sir, Mr. Bales is here to see you.” Principle Wexter sat behind a huge mahogany desk, it roughly taking up half of his office space.

            “Ah right. Send him in.” He had short, stubby brown hair, whiskers, a small beard, and spectacles, his nose long and pointy. His body type was big, large, and kind of fat. If you saw him on the street, you would think he was a very homey man, but here, at the school; his domain, he was nothing of the sort.

            “Mr. Bales, please come in.” Two chairs were aligned with the desk. Principle Wexter eyed Joey with suspicion, but as everyone took their seats, he turned his gaze to the man he wanted to speak with.

            “What’s this here trouble you got with my boy?” Mr. Bales said as Principle Wexter was about to address the matter.

            “He’s a bad influence on the other children, and he’s a danger to them as well.” Joey sank further into the chair. He wished he were anywhere but there.

            “You’re accusing my boy of bein’ a threat?” Joey could hear his father’s voice rising, and all too knowingly, he shut his eyes, hoping that nothing extreme would happen.

            “No, I am not accusing. I am simply saying that…” There was some kind of scream that passed through Mr. Bales lips. He stood up and lunged for Principle Wexter, all the while Joey watching; too frightened to move and transfixed as his father welded his fists into Wexter’s face.

Cries and screams were heard behind the office doors. The receptionist burst through only to find a bleeding, defenseless Principle Wexter sprawled on his desk, muttering incoherent words. Joey and his father had left through the window.

            “Daddy, is he gonna be alright?” Joey was afraid his father had done something terribly wrong.

            “I don’t want him to be alright.”

            “But….” Joey’s father turned on him, grabbed his shoulders, and started to shake them. The grip was so tight that Joey had to fight back swelling tears.

            “You listen to me! Everything I do is for a reason! No one tells me my family isn’t what they are.” Joey nodded furiously, hiccupping. “Wipe up your face. Get in the truck.” Joey did what he was told.

Four days later, Joey’s mother died, and unfortunately, waiting at the funeral were two police officers. Joey’s heart turned into stone that day. If there was an ounce of morality left in him, it was washed away when his mother died and his father arrested for the death of Principle Wexter. He grew up in Foster Homes, never being able to keep out of trouble for long. When he was an adult, he moved to a quiet town where no one suspected him, no one cared about him. He was just there. Perhaps the town’s people should have paid more attention.

            “May, look! Somebody’s in there!”

            “Don’t be ridiculous, June.

            “Really!”

Two girls snuck out of their homes late one night to explore an old, abandoned shed. What they hadn’t expected was Joey lurking inside, waiting.

            “You girls sure you’re supposed to be here?” May and June, clutched each other, frightened. They couldn’t see anyone, but the voice was gruff, so distinct.

            “We were just going home now.” May said, her voice a little wobbly.

            “I’m afraid that’s not an option now.” June let out a small scream and began to run. May was terrified, only watching her friend because she couldn’t move. June didn’t reach the end of the dirt path leading farther away from the shed, for, as her foot was just about to pass over onto open road, a heavy sack fell from a tree, landing on top of her. Her foot had triggered a string that led to the falling of the sack. Joey appeared from the shed, May’s eyes still tearfully glued on June.

            “She’s not dead. Just unconscious.” May looked up at him, uncontrollable cries sounding from her tightly closed lips. “But you I’m afraid…” Her eyes grew big. In such a matter of seconds she was lying on the wet grass, a dark liquid spilling from her neck. Joey had slashed her open with a gardening knife.

When June woke up it was nearly dawn, and she could see May lying on the ground.

            “May, I had the worst nightmare. What happened?” June crawled closer to her friend, only to back up quickly as she saw the dried blood and the lifeless gaze in her eyes.

            “MAY!” She screamed. Her tiny body stumbled back, but hit something warm and tough. She froze.

            “Yes, she does look rather sad in death. Don’t you think?” June’s sputters were her only answer. “Ah, well, what kind of person would I be if I didn’t send you along with your friend?” June shook her head.

            “No…”

            “Oh, yes.”

Joey placed his rough hands around June’s neck, and without so much as a shout or a cry, twisted it in a single motion. He took the two girls into the shed, leaving them there, running as fast as he could to the police station. Once the bodies were found, he stole a pack of cigarettes from the local grocer and walked out of the town, onto the next unsuspecting crowd.