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By Kristy Robinett Jan. 19, 2007 Lucas stared down at the blood stained snow. The realization that the blood actually belonged to something…or someone had yet to sink in completely. He normally only saw blood when the moonlight peeked between the tall trees that enveloped his house. The teen stroked his long dirty blonde hair back in thought and weighed his options. If he called the police they would just think that Loony Lucas was at it again. His nightmares often gave way to 911 calls and Sergeant Rosbury visiting in the dead of night trying to sooth the demons that Lucas had battled for the last three years; since the night he found his mom and dad decapitated in the bedroom right next to his own. Sergeant Rosbury had a soft heart for the boy. Luca had never been very bright, but he also had never hurt anyone or anything. Not like the typical hick boy who was out every weekend tipping cows, shooting squirrels or taking batting practice to the mailboxes. No, Lucas spent his time with his nose in a book or chewing on licorice and drinking cream soda down at the five and dime, always polite. The community tried to pin the murders of his parents on him, but Scott Rosbury had done what every good cop was supposed to do – he investigated all leads until he found the true killer. Lucas followed the blood down the path until it stopped directly in front of the old white washed shed. Lucas and his dad had built the shed when he was only seven, even laying the concrete foundation below it. That had been a hot summer, but he found that he was good at hard labor. He had the muscles and took direction well. After so many years, the paint was chipping off where the east sun cast her rays. He looked above to the sky, not for a god, but instead expecting a vulture to drop his prey and explain the grotesque sight. He couldn’t help but notice that the trees looked like crystals, dressed in ice. The sun shone, but the frigid cold didn’t shake them of their covering. Lucas shivered beneath his grey plaid fur lined shirt. He bent down to touch the red coloring and sniffed. It reeked of death and decay. New death. He knew what that smelled like. He smelled it every night, all night long. His knees weak from memories, he slipped down into the snow. Holding his hands over his head he began to sob. With long hard gulps in between the tears he heard a voice calling out his name. Without getting up, he looked around into the woods, but only saw a chipmunk scurry into a log that had fallen during the last winter storm. “Lucas, stay in your bedroom. This doesn’t involve you!” The familiar voice growled at him. He looked around again, but nobody was there and he wasn’t near his bedroom. He shook his head, confused, fighting back the nightmares. Or were they actually nightmares or was it post traumatic stress? The town didn't have a therapist and the people alienated him even if he was found not to be the one. Except for Mark. He had Mark. He wiped his snot on the arm of his shirt, gathered his wits and stood up. The door to the shed was unlocked as it always had been for the last seven years. Dad had kept tools, salt for the driveway and miscellaneous items that he didn’t have a clue what they could ever been used for. He hadn’t the heart to throw anything away. It was his bond to his dad just as the dolls that his mom collected were his bond to her. Mark told him he looked like a sissy with the lace and dolls still sitting around. But he liked to hold them, his mom’s scent still on their petticoats. “Lucas! I told you to get back into your bedroom!” The voice again, this time nearer and angrier. Grabbing his cell phone from his front jean pocket he began to call for help, but his screen was blank. He turned the phone off and then on, but nothing happened. Either the cold or the wetness of the snow had broken his link to the outside. Lucas began to whimper small puppy cries. Fear edged up into his throat and yet he reached within his very soul, held his breathe and opened the shed door. ------------ About the author: Kristy Robinett (formerly Kristy Schiller) is an HR Specialist and freelance author. Feel free to visit her at www.tangledwishes.com Email: tangledwishes@yahoo.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com. Please link to this article rather than copying and pasting it onto your site (which would be unauthorized and illegal). |
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