Young Writers Society

“I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.” -- Edgar Allan Poe

“Stay behind me, Bard!” the eleven-year-old boy ordered his brother over the roar of thunder. Lightening flashed through the sky, as if to symbolize a cheesy movie plot. The gods dropped a bucket full of water on the two boys, drenching them and making their clothes stick to them in a very uncomfortable way.

The other boy – Bard – dove behind his brother with astonishing speed, water droplets joining their friends that flew from his soaked blonde hair turned dark brown. He proceeded to quiver behind the older brother with fear, clutching his slightly blue hands to his knees. His unusual bright blue eyes, however, shone with a determination to survive the disaster that they currently were situated in.

They pressed their backs against the splintered black fence of the house, their soaked woolen sweaters snagging on the wood splinters that jutted out from the wood. Don’t be seen, Bard reminded himself. Don’t be seen. They moved to a position behind the old shed, Bard’s brother’s shirt ripped and cold wind stung his skin. The boy swore and kept moving. That was his favorite sweater.

From the fantastic view of white paint peeling off of a wall, they could hear a sliding door being opened and something desperately running through the downpour. As it got closer, there could be a huffing and puffing heard from it.

Bard’s brother let a stream of thoughts rush through his head. Judging from the heavier footfalls, the running thing is a man. And, due to the amount of sharp breathing, fast footfalls, and the fact that the door was opened so quickly indicates that the man is scared. Since it is a man, the only person it could be – since me and Bard are right here – is my-

Bard’s father’s silhouette could be seen attempting to jump the extremely tall fence. Even though the man was over six feet tall, he instead just smacked his head against the fence and fell to the ground with a thump. Without thinking, Bard rushed to him.

The was blood all over his forehead that, due to the rain falling on his face and gravity, ran into his now-brown hair and beard. It stained them a reddish color, creating a sad feeling in Bard’s heart. Bard felt a grab on his shoulder and felt himself being roughly pulled into the back of the shed again.

“Are you mad?” his brother’s voice whisper-yelled in Norse. “She could have seen us!”

“But that’s Father!” Bard whisper-yelled back in the same language.

“Too freaking bad.” Bard gasped. He’s never heard his brother swear before. Wait. No, that’s a lie. But it was still surprising.

“We need to get him,” Bard insisted. “If she gets him, we will have no parents. Orphans!”

“What would Father want us to do? Better him be dead than us. One life versus two. It’s not really a contest.”

The father began to groan and sit up. He touched his head and hissed when he felt blood, possibly also being hurt from the touch. The man stood up, noticed his boys, and crawled to where they were. The blood started to run down his face, giving him a horror movie look.

“I can get you out of here,” he said in Norse. “I might be able to boost you over the fence.”

Both Bard and his brother shook their heads at the same time. “We’re not leaving you,” the older brother said confidently. “Since you aren’t dead, we’re not going to leave you.”

But didn't you say to leave him not five minutes ago? Bard wondered.

The father smiled at his son’s heart-warming words. “Thank you,” he said. He was about to say more when he heard another voice coming from inside the house.

He left the sliding door open, Bard’s brother realized. She knows we’re out here.

“Honey!” a deep woman’s voice rang out over the yard. “You need to come in! It’s pouring in here! Besides, I just want to talk about our little argument. It’s not such a big a deal of an argument to come running out here and hopping the fence.”

Bard’s father swore under his breath. She obviously must have been watching them through the glass screen window. The boys could hear her footsteps coming closer. Bard looked at the fence. He couldn’t climb it. It was too high, and besides, there were many splinters in it. He could seriously hurt himself.

And there was no place to hide.

“Boo!” the woman shouted, peeking behind the shed with an umbrella over her head. “Time to come in, boys. I want you to see something.” She acted like she was playing, like she was just coming to get them for dinner because him and his brother were playing hide-and-go-seek, while him and his sibling would giggle behind the shed and she would pretend to be baffled about their whereabouts.

Only this time, they weren’t playing, and they definitely weren’t laughing.

“Alright,” the eldest boy said. “We’ll come with you if you promise that you won’t hurt us, kill us, or do anything of that sort.” His face was set into a grim expression, which alarmed Bard. Usually, when there’s any sort of problem, his brother’s smiles could get him through anything horrible. But when his brother had that expression, Bard knew that it was pretty much hopeless at this point.

“Why would I do that?” she laughed, her own gray eyes sparkling. “I am your mother. There is nothing to be afraid of! Now, let’s go in.”

There was nothing to do but follow her. There was nowhere else to go.

Bard and his brother supported their father as they stumbled towards the house through the rain, which had let up a small bit. Bard looked behind his father and his brother did the same. His brother smiled – even though it was fake – and used his other hand to, uncomfortably, ruffle Bard’s hair.

That was the last thing that Bard wanted to feel. His brother’s touch, whether on his hair, skin, anywhere on him. He didn’t want it to be the bite of a knife or the slap of a whip that he would feel. Just… his brother.

Bard looked at his brother’s smile. That was the last thing that he wanted to see. His brother’s smile, whether false, fake, artificial, or genuine. He just wanted to see that dazzling smile again, forevermore.

“Come on, guys, let’s go in. If we die, let’s die dry,” his brother joked. That was the last thing that Bard wanted to hear. His brother’s voice. Joking, laughing, saying anything that could comfort him or strike fear into the boy. Bard didn’t care.

When they arrived at the sliding door with their mother’s silhouette blocking the kitchen from them, Bard felt a jolt. She didn’t promise to not hurt us, he realized. Oh, God, no, she didn’t promise!

Their mother, standing with her hands on her hips and attempting to conceal something black in her hand, ushered them inside. “Quick! Inside!” she ordered her boys. “I don’t want you getting even more wet!”

Their hair was brown, sticking to their forehead. Their clothes were clammy against their wet skin. Their eyes all had water dripping into them, and, if they could’ve, they could wring out a gallon full of water from their clothes and their hair, and they all stank of wetness. All three men thought the same rueful thought: How is being more wet possible?

Their mother marched them into the living room, not caring that all three of the boys were tracking water and mud all over the kitchen tile and the nice living room carpet. Noticing the stains, she laughed a little. “I’ll clean it up later,” she promised her husband.

“Anette, why are you doing this?” their father demanded. “You’re tearing our family apart!”

Bard’s mother whipped her head around towards them. “What do you think, Erik?” she laughed. “I would think it’s pretty obvious. You were a very bad boy. I am going to beat you for your… misbehavior.” Then she cracked the whip that she had in her hand in the air to show the boys that she was in charge and that they were doomed.

Then she smiled and a glint in her eye told Bard – a seven-year-old at this time – that she was completely and utterly mad. How him, his brother, and his father hadn’t noticed her descent into madness he could wonder later.

Their father paled into a vampiric white. “No,” he whispered. “No.” The father was scared to death. What had happened to the joyful woman that he had married all those years ago? The silly, quirky girl that he had met in fourth grade? Where did she go?

The boys had similar reactions. What was wrong their mother? Why is she doing this to them? And that was the tamest of their thoughts. Bard was crying inside and was starting to on the outside. His brother was just… shocked. He couldn’t process any of this in his mind.

She cracked the whip in the air again, silencing him. Their father crouched down to Bard’s level. “Sweetie, I am going to be fine. I'm going to be fine,” he reassured his son. Looking up to the other, his father nodded to him. “You will do good things one day, you hear? One day, but not now. This is my fate and I will accept it.” The gray eyes widened and the boy mouthed, “No.” Now it was his turn to cry. Their father stood up.

“I'm ready.”

The mother smiled and shoved him to the floor. “Lay down and take your shirt off,” she ordered. Their father did as he was told and she pointed towards the couch, which was right next to them. “Sit,” she demanded to the other boys. Bard and his brother followed orders immediately, not saying a word. They knew to not mess with their mother.

Their mother raised the whip -- the rhinestones on it glittering in the lamplight -- and brought the first blow onto their father’s back, drawing blood on the first try. His scream of pain echoed throughout the entire house, chilling the bones of all inside of it except for their mother. She just grinned slyly, madness twinkling in her eye, and brought down the next.

A few hours later, their father was reaching his limit. Nearly unconscious and numb, he creaked open his eyes into slits to view his beautiful sons one last time. One was curled up with his head between his legs and his brother was just staring in shock. He himself had almost no energy left. He might be able to say one more thing.

“Jeg elsker deg, mine sønner,” he forced out. He coughed in the middle of his sentence, spewing blood from his mouth. His voice was but a whisper, his cough but a small breath out of the mouth.

I love you, my sons.

Bard lifted his head up at the words and watched in horror as his mother, with the same sly smile on her face from the start, brought the whip down one last time to bring their father’s death.

Bard’s eyes scanned the scene. Blood was everywhere. On the mahogany television stand, on the white carpet, on the couch, all over his mother, it was coating the whip… and all of it had come from his father, who was currently lying on the ground with his back literally shredded into ribbons. Strips of skin hung off of the sides and, in parts, the muscle was stripped off so much that you could see the mutilated backbone poking up from the red sea of muscle that rolled up and down on the corpse.

Bard gagged from the sight and already sweet smell and threw up all over the floor. Anette tsked and mumbled something that the boys couldn’t hear.

She dropped her whip. Bard wiped the liquid vomit from his face and attempted to clear his throat and celebrated in his mind. She was finished! She wasn’t going to hurt them any-

Bang!

To Bard’s brother, it was all slow motion. He could see Bard celebrating in his head when his mother pulled out a shotgun from a dress pocket, smiled, and took the safety off. She aimed it at Bard, who hadn’t noticed it at this point. Then she fired.

It was loaded.

The slow motion slowed down even more as Bard’s body jerked back from the momentum of the bullet. Even more blood than before sprayed out from Bard’s head, reaching a distance far from the couch. Some of it splattered onto the poor brother’s clothes, soaking into the fabric. Bard’s brother snapped back into his senses and vaulted the couch, landing on the carpet with a muffled thump. His mother was caught completely by surprise. Then he made his way back towards the kitchen and into the pouring rain, which was so thick that the boy couldn’t see very far in front of him. Bard’s brother and made his way through the rain, wincing whenever a piece of frozen rain hit him.

When his pruned hands touched the splintered back fence, the eleven-year old felt a relief that he has never felt before. He needed to escape. Now. But as soon as he started to climb the fence, a hand touched his shoulder.

The boy mumbled a word that his mother wouldn’t have liked him to say and turned around, knowing who was there.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s just your mother. I’m sorry that I did that. I had to, to protect my brilliant son!” his mother cooed. “After all, mother knows best.”

“You’re not my mother,” the boy shot back coldly.

His mother’s eyes grew even colder than it was outside. She sneered and grabbed his shoulders. She was surprisingly strong. Her son struggled against her grip but it was no use. He couldn’t help being carried across the yard, through the kitchen, through the living room, through the hallway, and into the bedroom.

Jakob couldn’t even scream as the door closed behind him.

--

So since this AU is so different from Eddsworld I decided to just make this my own. I changed names, changed a few scenes that reference Eddsworld wholly, and just included my own ideas. Not Eddsworld's. So this is draft two. Enjoyyyyyyyy.