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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Horror
- Subject: Crime
- Published: 10/24/2020
The leaves made a soft rustling sound beneath his sneakers at one in the morning.
Tim Myles shuffled through the park towards the three senior students who stood near the swings. A nearby street lamp cast them in a muted yellow pall. They were only a year or two older than Tim but he saw they were all smoking, one holding what was likely a beer bottle in his fist. He fought back the uneasiness, the churning acid in his stomach that threatened to drop him to his knees and hurl.
No, he mustn't show weakness. If he showed them how scared he really was, then he’d have no chance of being accepted as a member of The Club. Tonight, he might very well become the youngest member ever.
“They'll make you a man,” his father had said numerous times over his 16 years. He'd been part of The Club himself when he'd been younger. “It made me a better man.”
Tim wasn't sure that his father was any kind of better man though. Of course, he'd never say it to him.
His father worked for Edwards Trucking and traveled all over the States. He was seldom home and Tim had an idea that his dad made pretty good money, but nowhere near what some of his dad's old school buddies were making.
He stopped suddenly. Wind ticked grit against his glasses and he decided he'd get contacts soon. At least he wouldn't look so geeky. Not that contacts would help with his muscles or lack thereof, or aid in making him look more like a movie star instead of a string bean with legs, or offer him a clear complexion.
But right now, Tim sloughed all this off. Tonight – early morning – he wanted nothing more than to show the old man that he wasn't a disappointment. That he could – would! - make him proud. He would be initiated into The Club no matter what. He would endure their initiation if it meant he would be accepted.
“The initiation is rough, boy,” his father had told him. “But after, you’ll have friends for life. Friends that will never ever let you down.”
The oldest of the boys, and leader, Wade Elway, tossed down his cigarette as he approached, crushing it beneath his expensive dress shoes. Those shoes had been shined.
Wade took something from his back pocket and shoved a piece of glossy paper with faces on it to him. Tim took the paper.
Could Wade see how his hands shook?
He instantly recognized the page as torn from Canton High’s yearbook.
One of the many student pictures was circled.
“You know who this is, don’t you, Peach Fuzz?” Wade asked.
At least he hadn’t called him pizza face. “Claire Canders,” he said.
His mouth was dry. She was not only the most popular girl in school, but was also the hottest - tall, blond, large full breasts, tight ass.
“Right-o. She is also my ex.” His grin made him look macabre.
Tim had seen Wade and Claire many times walking the high school grounds together; hand in hand, Wade strutting his stuff, muscles clearly defined beneath a too-tight t-shirt, just lapping up the fact he was Alpha male.
Wade said, “Bitch never put out, not once. She’s a tease, Timmy. A f**king tease. No matter. The Club asks that you kill her, Timmy.”
The words hung suspended over him like an executioner’s blade. Tim thought: Was this a joke?
“That’s your initiation,” Wade said. “You do that and you're in, got it?”
“I'll go to jail,” he stuttered.
“Only if you’re caught,” Wade said. “And you won’t be. Gus, over to you.”
Gus Allyn, Wade's best friend, knelt down, unzipped his knapsack, and drew out a grocery bag. With an overacted head bow, he tossed it to Tim. Tim caught it. He would have laughed if he didn’t feel so sick to his stomach.
Inside, Tim saw a ski mask, gloves.
He couldn’t kill anyone. He should have told his dad he wasn’t going. Stood up to him. Endured his fists.
But he hadn’t.
He was here despite his gut instinct.
Gus said, “Over to you, Mallow.”
Fred Mallow was the third of the committee tonight. Scrawny, shaved head, eyes as cold as blocks of ice, he was the scariest of all. He wore a jacket, hood up, casting Fred’s face in partial shadow.
He reached to the small of his back.
“Hands out,” he snapped
Tim did as instructed.
Cold steel sat weighted in his open palms.
“Untraceable,” Fred remarked. “The gun’s numbers have been filed off. Same as the casings.”
Wade said, “Make it look like a home invasion, okay? Toss some things, steal some things…then get out.”
Tim should throw the gun now, tell them he wanted no part of this. But his father intruded and he winced remembering the sound of his nose crunching under the power of a balled fist when he’d once told his father he wasn’t Club material.
“You’re my f**king son! It’s time your balls dropped!”
He looked at each of them, terrified of saying anything, waiting for them to burst out laughing. Kill? Kill Claire? No, this was a joke right?
Only, he knew they weren't joking and that made him start to sweat; he wondered if the boys smelled his fear, and then wondered if he'd put on enough deodorant.
He was thankful for the brisk September breeze that cooled his sweaty body.
Wade chuckled lowly, tipped his bottle to his lips, and gulped a long swallow, his neck working as he guzzled.
“You're moving up in the world, kid,” Wade finally said using the back of his sleeve to wipe beer that dribbled down his chin.
Like magic, Wade suddenly revealed a key between two fingers. “Never gave it back after we broke up,” he said, then gave him Claire’s full address. “She’s two blocks over. Her parents go away every second weekend to some bible retreat or some shit. She’s all alone.”
Tim was sent off with a whispered chant, “Tim Tim Tim.”
As he left the park, he tucked the gun in a jacket pocket feeling its weight even still. He strolled silently down the sidewalk. Thoughts of his father intruded. Oh, how the old man had urged him to make something of himself. He’d drink his beer and slur on about The Club and how he’d joined and his father’s father had joined, how it was a long family tradition.
Tim had even watched his old man call Wade's old man, begging him to talk to his son, about Tim getting in The Club this year.
As he neared Claire’s home, he slipped on the gloves. He paused only long enough to check that no one might be watching the street. Better safe –
Than sorry.
Sorry, Claire, he kept thinking.
He was so sorry for what he was about to do.
He moved across the side yard and slipped his key in the front lock, listened, and entered.
Light danced in a room downstairs, he noted right away. Music blared from somewhere in that light. Maroon 5 played loudly. Claire’s voice was singing along with the lyrics. She had an amazing voice, he thought.
Would she use that voice to scream when she saw him?
Go down and just do it, he urged himself.
He put on his ski mask. Do it quick, then run…
Carefully, he crept down the stairs, peered around the corner. It was a large carpeted rec room with a large bar in the corner. Behind the bar was a large mirror.
Although he couldn’t actually see her, the mirror offered a reflection of her, Claire in a sheer nightie, eyes closed, hands holding a glass near full of amber liquid, just swaying to the music.
She took a sip.
He swallowed.
Damn.
Was he really going to kill someone? Or return to Wade and the boys, face them, let them berate him, call him a coward? And then, go home and face the wrath of his father?
He took the final step down and turned into the room.
Hands shaking he realized he now held the gun. When had he done that? He aimed at Claire, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.
Claire’s eyes opened then and she caught him staring.
She gasped.
“I thought it might be tonight,” she said, eyes going to the gun.
Might be tonight? Had she known he was coming?
His finger squeezed the trigger.
The dull click seemed so loud in the silence.
The gun wasn’t loaded.
Claire crossed the room in two long strides. She lifted her leg and kicked out, landing a solid hit square in the chest.
He flew back – hearing, feeling ribs crack - and landed hard on the floor.
He watched Claire run to the bar and grab a large knife.
He rose quickly, wincing with pain. Move!
He scrambled up the stairs – hard to breathe - the pain in his side intense.
She hollered after him, “Did you really think you were their only initiate?”
He could hear the soft padding of feet coming up the stairs.
“My initiation is to kill the home invader they sent,” she said. “The gun wouldn’t be loaded, I was told. Wade still cares, I guess.”
Tim started down a long hallway that branched off the main hall.
“My dad was in The Club, too. He wanted a boy, but he got me instead. I might be the first female member.”
Tim ducked into the first room he came to. Obviously, Claire's. Posters of boy bands adorned the walls. A sleigh bed took up most of the small room, a few stuffed animals – a panda, a horse, a floppy-eared dog – were neatly placed on frilly pillows.
No time to think.
He flung himself into her closet, pushing past the many clothes in there, bracing his back against the cool wall. Sweat coated his shirt.
Plan: He’d spring out when she was close and grab the knife.
He tried to calm his breathing. The mask was suffocating. He whipped it off, stuffed it in his jacket.
So, Claire was an initiate like him. Such opposite ends of the spectrum they were. He was the least popular in school. She was the most popular. He might yet be the youngest member ever accepted. Claire might yet be the first-ever female member.
“Come out come out.” Claire taunted.
But they both desperately wanted to be part of The Club, that much was certain. That much made them the same.
He heard a floorboard creak.
She was close now. In the hallway outside the bedroom sounded like.
She had a knife. He had his hands.
Only –
Wait.
His fingers played along the hangers, searching, searching –
There!
He squatted quickly.
The bi-fold doors flew open.
Claire’s knife sliced in with brutal ferocity.
Using every muscle in his legs, he thrust himself up fast.
As she pivoted to slash him, Tim stabbed out hard and fast with the metal coat hanger he’d found….
And rammed the hook he’d straightened out through her left eye.
Driving it into her brain.
She staggered back and then collapsed.
Her body twitched.
He’d won! He’d killed her.
He had to do it, he told himself. It was necessary. It was self-defense.
Just over half an hour later he was back in the park. No way anyone would buy it was a home invasion, so he left the scene as was. Students and her friend’s would all be questioned no doubt, but he didn’t think his geeky self would be under suspicion.
Wade pumped his hand vigorously when he returned to the swings. “We have a victor gentlemen! Good job, Member.”
He nodded, finding it hard to disguise his joy. The world looked so much brighter. He wasn’t some loser. He was a member of The Club now.
Wade clapped him on the back. “It had to be done. Here's to Tim, our newest member. You killed a great piece of ass, buddy.”
“I don’t feel bad,” he said.
In fact, he felt the opposite of bad. He felt powerful, he felt really alive, he felt…aroused even.
“That’s good, that’s good.” Wade put his arm around him and guided him closer to a drunk Gus and Fred, both unsteady on their feet. “You are now no longer an initiate but a full-fledged member of The Club. Just like your daddy.”
His lips parted. He couldn’t hold back the smile.
“My daddy, your daddy, we’ve all been initiates,” Wade said. “It takes real strength to join. You’ve got a killer in you, Timmy.”
He was a killer.
“Now you’re tied to The Club forever, you get that right? We own you. Cause we know what you did tonight, understand?”
He understood. There was no walking away ever. He didn’t want to leave.
Wade leaned close and whispered in his ears. “Outcasts like you, we’ve made a few serial killers.”
Chills wracked his body. As he’d returned to Wade tonight, he had imagined different outcomes from his fight with Claire – strangling her, drowning her, slicing her throat.
Something had awakened in him.
Each image swam before him…each image made his pulse quicken as the spark in Claire’s blue eyes, the eyes that had once looked so alive, lost their magic and dimmed to lifelessness.
He pictured his father next. He could actually see his dad killing someone, he had to admit. He thought of his father trucking across the country, all the places he went, people he met.
Easy to remember his dad’s glass-eyed stare whenever he came home from a trip, but also, that hungry gleam in his eyes, too, when he struck Timmy.
And he decided later, as he headed home, that he just couldn’t wait for his father to see the better man he’d been made into.
How this “better man” dealt with problems, well, Daddy was going to like that a lot less.
The End
The Initiation(Douglas Richards)
The leaves made a soft rustling sound beneath his sneakers at one in the morning.
Tim Myles shuffled through the park towards the three senior students who stood near the swings. A nearby street lamp cast them in a muted yellow pall. They were only a year or two older than Tim but he saw they were all smoking, one holding what was likely a beer bottle in his fist. He fought back the uneasiness, the churning acid in his stomach that threatened to drop him to his knees and hurl.
No, he mustn't show weakness. If he showed them how scared he really was, then he’d have no chance of being accepted as a member of The Club. Tonight, he might very well become the youngest member ever.
“They'll make you a man,” his father had said numerous times over his 16 years. He'd been part of The Club himself when he'd been younger. “It made me a better man.”
Tim wasn't sure that his father was any kind of better man though. Of course, he'd never say it to him.
His father worked for Edwards Trucking and traveled all over the States. He was seldom home and Tim had an idea that his dad made pretty good money, but nowhere near what some of his dad's old school buddies were making.
He stopped suddenly. Wind ticked grit against his glasses and he decided he'd get contacts soon. At least he wouldn't look so geeky. Not that contacts would help with his muscles or lack thereof, or aid in making him look more like a movie star instead of a string bean with legs, or offer him a clear complexion.
But right now, Tim sloughed all this off. Tonight – early morning – he wanted nothing more than to show the old man that he wasn't a disappointment. That he could – would! - make him proud. He would be initiated into The Club no matter what. He would endure their initiation if it meant he would be accepted.
“The initiation is rough, boy,” his father had told him. “But after, you’ll have friends for life. Friends that will never ever let you down.”
The oldest of the boys, and leader, Wade Elway, tossed down his cigarette as he approached, crushing it beneath his expensive dress shoes. Those shoes had been shined.
Wade took something from his back pocket and shoved a piece of glossy paper with faces on it to him. Tim took the paper.
Could Wade see how his hands shook?
He instantly recognized the page as torn from Canton High’s yearbook.
One of the many student pictures was circled.
“You know who this is, don’t you, Peach Fuzz?” Wade asked.
At least he hadn’t called him pizza face. “Claire Canders,” he said.
His mouth was dry. She was not only the most popular girl in school, but was also the hottest - tall, blond, large full breasts, tight ass.
“Right-o. She is also my ex.” His grin made him look macabre.
Tim had seen Wade and Claire many times walking the high school grounds together; hand in hand, Wade strutting his stuff, muscles clearly defined beneath a too-tight t-shirt, just lapping up the fact he was Alpha male.
Wade said, “Bitch never put out, not once. She’s a tease, Timmy. A f**king tease. No matter. The Club asks that you kill her, Timmy.”
The words hung suspended over him like an executioner’s blade. Tim thought: Was this a joke?
“That’s your initiation,” Wade said. “You do that and you're in, got it?”
“I'll go to jail,” he stuttered.
“Only if you’re caught,” Wade said. “And you won’t be. Gus, over to you.”
Gus Allyn, Wade's best friend, knelt down, unzipped his knapsack, and drew out a grocery bag. With an overacted head bow, he tossed it to Tim. Tim caught it. He would have laughed if he didn’t feel so sick to his stomach.
Inside, Tim saw a ski mask, gloves.
He couldn’t kill anyone. He should have told his dad he wasn’t going. Stood up to him. Endured his fists.
But he hadn’t.
He was here despite his gut instinct.
Gus said, “Over to you, Mallow.”
Fred Mallow was the third of the committee tonight. Scrawny, shaved head, eyes as cold as blocks of ice, he was the scariest of all. He wore a jacket, hood up, casting Fred’s face in partial shadow.
He reached to the small of his back.
“Hands out,” he snapped
Tim did as instructed.
Cold steel sat weighted in his open palms.
“Untraceable,” Fred remarked. “The gun’s numbers have been filed off. Same as the casings.”
Wade said, “Make it look like a home invasion, okay? Toss some things, steal some things…then get out.”
Tim should throw the gun now, tell them he wanted no part of this. But his father intruded and he winced remembering the sound of his nose crunching under the power of a balled fist when he’d once told his father he wasn’t Club material.
“You’re my f**king son! It’s time your balls dropped!”
He looked at each of them, terrified of saying anything, waiting for them to burst out laughing. Kill? Kill Claire? No, this was a joke right?
Only, he knew they weren't joking and that made him start to sweat; he wondered if the boys smelled his fear, and then wondered if he'd put on enough deodorant.
He was thankful for the brisk September breeze that cooled his sweaty body.
Wade chuckled lowly, tipped his bottle to his lips, and gulped a long swallow, his neck working as he guzzled.
“You're moving up in the world, kid,” Wade finally said using the back of his sleeve to wipe beer that dribbled down his chin.
Like magic, Wade suddenly revealed a key between two fingers. “Never gave it back after we broke up,” he said, then gave him Claire’s full address. “She’s two blocks over. Her parents go away every second weekend to some bible retreat or some shit. She’s all alone.”
Tim was sent off with a whispered chant, “Tim Tim Tim.”
As he left the park, he tucked the gun in a jacket pocket feeling its weight even still. He strolled silently down the sidewalk. Thoughts of his father intruded. Oh, how the old man had urged him to make something of himself. He’d drink his beer and slur on about The Club and how he’d joined and his father’s father had joined, how it was a long family tradition.
Tim had even watched his old man call Wade's old man, begging him to talk to his son, about Tim getting in The Club this year.
As he neared Claire’s home, he slipped on the gloves. He paused only long enough to check that no one might be watching the street. Better safe –
Than sorry.
Sorry, Claire, he kept thinking.
He was so sorry for what he was about to do.
He moved across the side yard and slipped his key in the front lock, listened, and entered.
Light danced in a room downstairs, he noted right away. Music blared from somewhere in that light. Maroon 5 played loudly. Claire’s voice was singing along with the lyrics. She had an amazing voice, he thought.
Would she use that voice to scream when she saw him?
Go down and just do it, he urged himself.
He put on his ski mask. Do it quick, then run…
Carefully, he crept down the stairs, peered around the corner. It was a large carpeted rec room with a large bar in the corner. Behind the bar was a large mirror.
Although he couldn’t actually see her, the mirror offered a reflection of her, Claire in a sheer nightie, eyes closed, hands holding a glass near full of amber liquid, just swaying to the music.
She took a sip.
He swallowed.
Damn.
Was he really going to kill someone? Or return to Wade and the boys, face them, let them berate him, call him a coward? And then, go home and face the wrath of his father?
He took the final step down and turned into the room.
Hands shaking he realized he now held the gun. When had he done that? He aimed at Claire, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.
Claire’s eyes opened then and she caught him staring.
She gasped.
“I thought it might be tonight,” she said, eyes going to the gun.
Might be tonight? Had she known he was coming?
His finger squeezed the trigger.
The dull click seemed so loud in the silence.
The gun wasn’t loaded.
Claire crossed the room in two long strides. She lifted her leg and kicked out, landing a solid hit square in the chest.
He flew back – hearing, feeling ribs crack - and landed hard on the floor.
He watched Claire run to the bar and grab a large knife.
He rose quickly, wincing with pain. Move!
He scrambled up the stairs – hard to breathe - the pain in his side intense.
She hollered after him, “Did you really think you were their only initiate?”
He could hear the soft padding of feet coming up the stairs.
“My initiation is to kill the home invader they sent,” she said. “The gun wouldn’t be loaded, I was told. Wade still cares, I guess.”
Tim started down a long hallway that branched off the main hall.
“My dad was in The Club, too. He wanted a boy, but he got me instead. I might be the first female member.”
Tim ducked into the first room he came to. Obviously, Claire's. Posters of boy bands adorned the walls. A sleigh bed took up most of the small room, a few stuffed animals – a panda, a horse, a floppy-eared dog – were neatly placed on frilly pillows.
No time to think.
He flung himself into her closet, pushing past the many clothes in there, bracing his back against the cool wall. Sweat coated his shirt.
Plan: He’d spring out when she was close and grab the knife.
He tried to calm his breathing. The mask was suffocating. He whipped it off, stuffed it in his jacket.
So, Claire was an initiate like him. Such opposite ends of the spectrum they were. He was the least popular in school. She was the most popular. He might yet be the youngest member ever accepted. Claire might yet be the first-ever female member.
“Come out come out.” Claire taunted.
But they both desperately wanted to be part of The Club, that much was certain. That much made them the same.
He heard a floorboard creak.
She was close now. In the hallway outside the bedroom sounded like.
She had a knife. He had his hands.
Only –
Wait.
His fingers played along the hangers, searching, searching –
There!
He squatted quickly.
The bi-fold doors flew open.
Claire’s knife sliced in with brutal ferocity.
Using every muscle in his legs, he thrust himself up fast.
As she pivoted to slash him, Tim stabbed out hard and fast with the metal coat hanger he’d found….
And rammed the hook he’d straightened out through her left eye.
Driving it into her brain.
She staggered back and then collapsed.
Her body twitched.
He’d won! He’d killed her.
He had to do it, he told himself. It was necessary. It was self-defense.
Just over half an hour later he was back in the park. No way anyone would buy it was a home invasion, so he left the scene as was. Students and her friend’s would all be questioned no doubt, but he didn’t think his geeky self would be under suspicion.
Wade pumped his hand vigorously when he returned to the swings. “We have a victor gentlemen! Good job, Member.”
He nodded, finding it hard to disguise his joy. The world looked so much brighter. He wasn’t some loser. He was a member of The Club now.
Wade clapped him on the back. “It had to be done. Here's to Tim, our newest member. You killed a great piece of ass, buddy.”
“I don’t feel bad,” he said.
In fact, he felt the opposite of bad. He felt powerful, he felt really alive, he felt…aroused even.
“That’s good, that’s good.” Wade put his arm around him and guided him closer to a drunk Gus and Fred, both unsteady on their feet. “You are now no longer an initiate but a full-fledged member of The Club. Just like your daddy.”
His lips parted. He couldn’t hold back the smile.
“My daddy, your daddy, we’ve all been initiates,” Wade said. “It takes real strength to join. You’ve got a killer in you, Timmy.”
He was a killer.
“Now you’re tied to The Club forever, you get that right? We own you. Cause we know what you did tonight, understand?”
He understood. There was no walking away ever. He didn’t want to leave.
Wade leaned close and whispered in his ears. “Outcasts like you, we’ve made a few serial killers.”
Chills wracked his body. As he’d returned to Wade tonight, he had imagined different outcomes from his fight with Claire – strangling her, drowning her, slicing her throat.
Something had awakened in him.
Each image swam before him…each image made his pulse quicken as the spark in Claire’s blue eyes, the eyes that had once looked so alive, lost their magic and dimmed to lifelessness.
He pictured his father next. He could actually see his dad killing someone, he had to admit. He thought of his father trucking across the country, all the places he went, people he met.
Easy to remember his dad’s glass-eyed stare whenever he came home from a trip, but also, that hungry gleam in his eyes, too, when he struck Timmy.
And he decided later, as he headed home, that he just couldn’t wait for his father to see the better man he’d been made into.
How this “better man” dealt with problems, well, Daddy was going to like that a lot less.
The End
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Andre Michael Pietroschek
05/20/2022It takes skill to write in a classic genre and still be unique & unpredictable to the very end. You got it done well. Kudos.
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Douglas Richards
05/20/2022Thank you so much for the kind words. Made my day. I haven't read this story in a long while and am rereading it now. I forget what happens. lol Have a great day!
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Jason James Parker
10/27/2020A beautifully executed tale, Douglas. Your pacing and structure are so wonderful--I was hooked right from the start. : )
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