He’s deaf. The boy cannot hear a thing. He had this back to me, and I dropped a piece of firewood on the floor. It made a loud thumping noise, but the boy didn’t flinch at all. I stood behind him and clapped over and over as loud as I could trying to get a reaction out him, but he just stood there.
I moved in front of him and signed my name. He looked frightened at first, but a smile slowly spread across his face. I signed my name again and asked him his. After a few seconds of staring at me, he eventually signed minnow.
Confused, I asked him his name again. He repeated the word minnow. “Your real name,” I insisted. He signed minnow once again.
I asked him if the man was his father. “A friend,” he signed. “My father is dead.”
“How?” I asked.
“The everything monsters.”
He signed, “The things made of different creatures. They killed my father.”
I got angry and told him he was lying.
He shook his head and signed. “They killed him and ripped him from limb to limb so they could share his body parts.”
I fought the urge to smack him. “What about your mother?”
He hesitated and then signed, “My father killed her.”
I laughed and signed, “It sounds like your father deserved to die.”
Angered, he signed, “My father killed my mother, chopped her up and gave her pile of body parts to the everything monsters. They made him do it.”
I yelled, “Shut up!” And then signed that the creatures he called the everything monsters would never do something like that. They were good and pure and caring. They weren’t monsters at all.
He growled and signed. “That’s what they want you to think.”
I screamed as loud as I could just inches from his face. He started to sign something, but I grabbed his hands and pushed him backwards. I signed “Shut up.” Before he could lift his hands to respond. I stomped out of the cabin and stood on the deck. The boy was a liar, and liars deserved to die.
The boy came to, but he hasn’t said a word. I don’t know what to do with him. He won’t tell me about the pond, the man he’s with, the Gore… he won’t say a word. It’s so frustrating. I should hurt him. I should punch him and kick him and break his fingers until he talks.
I should, but I can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so weak. I want to help the Gore. I want to serve them, but the things I have to do… I’m not like that. They don’t understand. They’re in my head telling me to do these terrible things, not because they’re terrible… they’re not. They’re perfect. They’re beautiful. They’re the only thing that matters. I know that. I believe that with all my heart.
But he’s just a boy. He’s so small. How can I hurt him?
I should. I know I should. He means nothing. He’s worse than nothing. He’s an enemy to the Gore. The Gore’s enemy is my enemy. He dares to harm the Gore. I must make him pay.
But I can’t.
I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!
I am Lou. I help people. I don’t hurt them. I may not be real, but I do have a purpose. And that purpose isn’t to kill little boys. I don’t care how evil they are. They don’t deserve to die. Or at least, I’m not worthy enough to kill them.
The problem is I don’t know what to do with him now. I can’t let him go. He’ll tell the man about me, and they’ll come after me. They’ll kill me, and I won’t be able to serve the Gore. I have to live for them.
I know. I’ll give him to the Gore. I’ll take him into the woods tonight, and I’ll wait for the Gore. They’ll take him. They’ll know what to do with him. They will make him pay for what he’s done.
It’s the perfect solution. I won’t be responsible for what happens to the boy if the Gore kill him, and I will have helped the Gore at the same time. It is the perfect plan.
I woke up early and walked to the woods just at day break. I had to make my way through a heavy snow with big fluffy flakes that swirled in the chaotic wind, but I did it. I did it because the Gore need me. They wanted me to catch the boy. And I did. I caught the boy!
He stepped out of the tiny lodge just as I reached the edge of the clearing. He didn’t see me. He stretched and yawned and wiped his eyes. And marched across the fresh snow cover toward the tree line without a care in the world. The little thief didn’t even care that he was killing poor innocent Gores. He’s evil little boy.Little is the key word. He was so small he barely left footprints in the snow.
I skirted behind the trees and followed him until he was on the other side of the clearing and entered the woods. The little creep had a smile on his face. What an awful little boy.
He cut through a path that led him to what I thought was another clearing. When I got closer, I realized it was a frozen pond. He skidded across the surface with his hands out to help him keep his balance. I hid behind a trashcan near a picnic bench and watched as he stopped in the middle of the pond. He turned back in my direction. When he was satisfied no one was following him, he knelt down on the ice. An awful idiot boy.
He pulled out a large hunting knife and started chipping away at the ice. He stabbed at the frozen pond over and over again until his hand hurt. After resting a few seconds, he continued to try to break through the ice.
Several minutes passed, when he finally made a hole he was happy with. He put the knife down and stared into the hole. I moved around to the other side of the picnic bench to get a better view. He just continued to stare. I couldn’t figure out what he was looking at.
Suddenly he thrust his hand into the hole and pulled out something that was wriggling. I couldn’t see what it was. I crawled to a tree that was on the bank of the pond. The boy struggled with whatever he pulled out of the water. In a flash, he tossed the object to the ground, quickly grabbed his knife and stabbed it. The entire pond let out a screech of pain.
I couldn’t stand it any longer. I stood and leaned closer to the lake and the boy. Whatever he stabbed was trying to free itself from the knife. I stepped around the tree and the boy saw me. He stood, took a step and slipped on the ice. The force of the fall knocked him out cold.
I carefully made my way to the middle of the pond. My eyes on the boy the whole way. When I was sure he wasn’t going to come to anytime soon, I shifted my gaze to what he had stabbed. It was a hand, still moving, still trying free itself from the knife. Under the ice, I could see shadows of objects floating in the chilly water. Dozens of them. Hands, mostly. A few human heads.
I carried the boy, the knife and the hand back to the fire tower. When the boy wakes, I’ll ask him about the pond and then I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him to keep Jersey safe.