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Story listed as: Fiction For Teens | Theme: Science Fiction | Subject: Horror / Terror | Published here : 10/27/2015
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Parasites 
 
By Samuel Lowery
Born 2001, M, from Alanson, Michigan, United States
Parasites
Parasites. They control you, they take over you, and they kill you. That was at least what a parasite was doing to Henry Target. In this case the parasite was affecting Henry’s brain. For months it had been reaping its way through him. After a while effects had started to come in. Henry’s speech and thoughts had been impaired in such a way that they weren't even his anymore. It was as if Henry was the background to his own consciousness and imagination.

Sadly at the time when the effects started to show through in Henry, the
parasite had taken over so much that it made Henry not want to confront the problem. By now it certainly was a problem. The problem with his thoughts was that they had been construed into inhumane ideas and plans. Ideas of murder, torture and illegal expression. The plans consisted of ways to execute the ideas. This would never of been the thoughts and plans of the regular day-to-day Henry Target. Before all of this he was only a human being, and no parasite.

Pre-parasite Henry was a thirty-two year old man with brown eyes, darkened
black hair, and a five-foot ten stagger who had lived in Dearborn, Michigan all his life. He had been working as an electrician who mainly fixed the wiring of the apartment building that he lived in. Henry had only become an electrician because that was what his abusive father had been and wanted him to be. All of Henry’s childhood life had been abuse handed down to him by his father. This was until Henry accepted the fact that his father would be the one to plan his life. It was also until his father died from an overdose of his prescription. Perhaps the abusive father was why his parasite lead him towards inhumane actions.

Henry was now becoming tired from a “long” day of planning. (The parasite
was really the one planning.) Even though it was only five thirty in the afternoon he was still tired. So Henry strolled from his desk which sat in the corner of his bedroom and under the warm sheets of his bed. Then within an instant Henry fell asleep.

When Henry awoke it was eight-twenty-two in the morning and he had noticed
that his bed sheets were soaked in a crusty red material. Blood. Blood had covered his sheets and had stopped pouring from his nostrils. After analyzing his sheets, Henry walked across his matted carpet towards his bathroom. After opening the thin wooden door he turned on the light and looked into the mirror. He saw the dried blood that had surrounded his mouth. There had been a lot of the blood to. The nosebleed was probably caused by the parasite forcing its way through his brain. Even with this event, Henry didn't care. At this point he only cared about what the parasite made him think and do.

*****

Today would be the day that the parasite finally forced its ideas and into action through Henry. On this February the fourth, 2015 Henry and his parasite would finally take control. Control of what though? Control of themselves, the town, or just what they believed was control. No, they would take control of another human being. That human beings name was Zachary Keenstone.

Zachary Keenstone was a new author who had only been writing for two years
and had one book published. Zachary was thirty-five years old and had lived in Dearborn, Michigan all his life just like Henry. Unlike Henry though, Zachary had a good childhood. His parents were loving, kindhearted, and both worked at a local tax returns office. In a way Zachary was the opposite of Henry. This didn't stop them from being friends for most of their childhood lives. They weren't good friends, but still friends. They were only friends until Zachary went off to college and became a different person. Being past friends though wouldn't save Zachary from Henry and his parasite.

It was now one-thirty-one in the afternoon and Henry was beginning to pack for his torturous meeting with Zachary. He packed a toothbrush, toothpaste, kitchen knives, a thick pillow, duct tape, rope, matches, and window cleaner into a small grey duffle bag. After packing those things Henry proceeded to take a shower and dress in blue jeans, a long sleeve shirt, a wool jacket, short socks, tennis shoes, and a North Face winter hat. Now Henry was ready to leave his small apartment for a trip of parasitic control.

Henry opened up the small wooden door of his bedroom that lead to his living area. He examined the room with its blue walls, scattered garbage, and glass coffee table. Another wooden door stood just across the coffee table. As Henry opened the door he ( or the parasite) realized what a mess the apartment had become. Still Henry continued to leave his apartment and walk down two flights of metal stairs to the exit of the building.

When Henry stepped outside into the cold Michigan air and snow, he searched the parking lot until he found his red Chevy. He opened up the passenger side door and placed the gray duffle bag onto the leather seat. When he walked around the car and opened up the driver side door, Henry stepped down into the car and waited several minutes before starting the engine. After finally starting the engine Henry shifted the car into the reverse and backed it into a bumper of the parked car behind him. Now ready to drive away, Henry looked up at the green road sign that said, “Alis Road”, and accelerated his car onto the blacktop.

The drive to Zachary Keenstone’s house would be a short one because
Zachary’s house was a well known destination for Henry by now. This being because Henry had researched Where Zachary lived. Now Henry looked outside his window and noticed the many local businesses and houses on the side of the road. Before he knew it Henry was only two right turns away from Zachary Keenstone’s house. First Henry turned onto Second Street where many houses had been abandoned. Then he turned right onto Chicago street where he slowed down his red Chevy to a until he was at his destination. Zachary’s house was a short tan building whose roof was covered with freshly laid down snow. The driveway was only about twenty feet long but had a concrete cover that had been cleared of any snow. Finally Henry pulled up into the driveway and prepared for parasites plans to be put into action.

Henry exited his car and walked towards the passenger door. He pulled the
door open and grabbed the gray duffle bag off of the seat. Henry then strolled across the concrete driveway up to the blue and metal front door. He rang the doorbell until a soothing voice called out, “Just a second”. Henry recognized the voice to be Zachary’s. The door then swung open and a face with blue eyes, dark brown hair, and dull skin stepped out. “Can I help you sir?”, Zachary said calmly. Henry answered with a scratchy yet clear voice saying, “Oh old friend, there is a lot you can help me with.”

“Excuse me?”, Zachary exclaimed in a questioned manner. Henry didn't pay
attention to what he said but instead dropped the duffle bag and unzipped the metal zipper. “Sir i'm not quite sure what your doing so i think i'm just going to step back inside.”, Zachary said in a worried voice. “You're not going anywhere but where I say you can go!”, Henry yelled. He then pulled out one of the kitchen knives from his duffel bag and hurled it at Zachary. The knife struck Zachary in the right calf knocking him down onto the ground and the knife further into his calf. Henry quickly ran over to him and began to drag him into the house. Zachary’s house was fairly new and consisted of many modern decor. From the modern paintings to the rugged couches, his house was actually pretty nice. The memories of the house wouldn't stay that way for long though. Soon they would turned into gruesome and unforgettable memories.

As Zachary continued to struggle for freedom, Henry searched for a place to begin. He found a white door that opened up to a dark basement. He continued to drag Zachary down the stairs, and each time he went over a step Zachary’s head banged against the wood. When they arrived in the basement they had been surrounded by cold, damp air, stone floors, and wooden posts that held the house up. Henry quickly realized that he had forgotten the duffle bag outside. Before leaving to retrieve the duffle bag Henry drove the kitchen knife deeper into Zachary's calf in order to insure he wouldn't move. More blood and screams oozed out from Zachary.

When Henry returned from the basement from retrieving the duffle bag he took out the rope from within and began to tie Zachary around one of the wooden posts. Henry then said,”Now its time for you and me to have a little fun. You're gonna feel pain and i'm gonna feel joy.” “Why are you doing this? Who are you?”, Zachary exclaimed with tears now dripping down his cheek. “You know who I am. Just think with that stupid little brain of yours.” After about a minute of pondering his brain for the people he knew, Zachary realized who this was. “Oh my God!Henry?...Oh it is you. What happened? Why would you be doing this to me? I'm your old buddy Zachary, remember?” “There's no friendship between us buddy! That ran out long ago just like Henry.” After listening to the sobs of Zachary for awhile, Henry retreated the basement and left to explore the house.

When Henry arrived on the main level of the house he walked over the wooden floor to another room that appeared to be the bedroom of Zachary. He then opened up a closet and pulled out the top drawer of a dresser. The drawer contained jeans and other leg apparel. After ruffling through the drawer Henry found two loaded pistols. He pulled both of them out from the drawer and exited the bedroom. Henry then proceeded to return to the basement. When he arrived in the basement Zachary noticed the two pistols and said, “What are you doing with those?” Henry responded by saying, “Don’t worry there just for extra precaution and in a not so extreme case, for blowing your brains out.” That last statement was what a sure way to show Zachary that Henry (the parasite) meant serious business.

The next event would be even more cruel and drowning. Henry reached for his duffle bag and pulled out the window cleaner. He then began to force the liquid down Zachary's throat. Zachary gagged for the window cleaner surely tasted awful. Henry poured the remaining cleaner into Zachary's mouth forcing him to drink most but some managed to escape. It didn't take long for the window cleaner to force its way back up through Zachary's stomach and throat. Within seconds the stone floor surrounding Zachary was covered in his own vomit. Henry had sure brought "his" own new definition to the word torture.

The parasite within Henry allowed Zachary to have the remainder of the day for his knife wound to worsen and for his thoughts to darken. Before Zachary was at the point of falling asleep he noticed a sketchbook and small pencil sitting over by the edge of the dried up vomit pool. It took awhile for Henry to look away but when he did Zachary took his chance, grabbed the sketchbook and pencil, and placed them uncomfortably under his bottom. When Henry left to situate himself in Zachary's bedroom for sleeping, Zachary pulled out the sketchbook and pencil. He began to write down in detail the description of Henry and what he was doing to him. He wrote about the kitchen knife thrown into his calf and the window cleaner poured down his throat. He also wrote about how he was brutally dragged down stairs and tied to a wooden pole. After doing this Zachary had become tired and decided to try and fall asleep.

The next morning Zachary awoke with Henry staring at him by his side. "Hey Keenstone, ready for another day?". Zachary said nothing for a minute and then decided on these words, "Please just let me go. Just stop doing this to me. I swear if you stop now I won't tell anybody." Zachary was of course lying but Henry didn't need to know that. "No way I'm stopping now Zachary. I'm having too much fun." Zachary realized that he may be tortured for days, weeks, or even months. That would only be if he was lucky enough to last that long.

Henry left the basement again that morning which gave Zachary a chance to think about escape. He fiddled with the rope that was holding him to the wooden pole. Zachary noticed that Henry really hadn't tied the rope that well. If he was quick he would be able to untie himself. Zachary then began to intertwine his fingers with the knot. Luckily it had been about ten minutes since Henry was last in the basement so that gave Zachary a long chance to untie himself. Finally he got his fingers through the right hole and the rope dropped to the floor. Almost at the same exact time the door of the basement swung open and Henry began to walk down the stairs. Zachary would have to be quick about his escape. When Henry arrived back down in the basement Zachary noticed that the two pistols were stashed inside Henry's back pockets. "Hello again. I think I'm ready for another round of 'what can we torture Keenstone with?'. Zachary responded with a statement that made it seem as if he agreed. "Yeah, maybe I am ready for another round." The round Zachary was talking about however was a much different round then what Henry was talking about.

When Henry turned around to reach for his duffle bag Zachary lurched into the air after him. He was only to be caught short by his injury and just barely knocked Henry to the ground. Zachary and Henry both fought against each other as they tried to move back to a standing position. Zachary then managed to knock Henry onto his side and grab one of the pistols from Henry's back pocket. When Henry felt the slight grab for the pistol he too grabbed one and sprung upward back onto his feet. Zachary realized that this could be the end. Maybe not the end for him but the end of another. This was going to be the most important action both men would ever take. After walking around the room circling each other both men reached for the trigger but only one managed to pull it and release the bullet into the other. Only one had managed to end it all. Only one had managed to stay alive, and only one had died.

The End?
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