I locked him in a box. He told me I was stupid, so I locked him in a box. He yelled. He threw things at me. I didn't like him. I told him to stop. He was supposed to keep me safe. They told him to, but he didn't want me in his house. They argued. He had to. He had dues to pay, or something. He never liked me. He was a mean man. I could see the look in his eyes, he wanted to do bad things to me. It started talking. It made me want to do bad things to him. It planned things in my head, It would. It was hard to keep everything It wanted me to do in my head. I would forget, I would forget what to do. I missed opportunities. But then I did it. I made sure to keep tense when he strapped me in the bed, like It said. Then get loose. Get up. When he was sleeping, I hit his head. Hard. Just like It said.

I dragged him out of the room. I threw him in the cooler. The big one in the basement. Just like It said. There was no ice in it, just a dank, empty cooler. Locked. Cramped. He didn't like it, no he didn't. He threatened to call police, but he can't do anything from a box. He was getting loud. I kicked the box. I kicked and shook it and told him he was mean. He yelled more. I didn't care. I covered him with blankets to muffle the sound. I turned off the light, walked away and locked the basement door. It felt good to get back at him. It told me I was good. Good work. I felt like hitting something. I punched the wall. I made a hole in the wall. Pieces of it crumbled. I laughed. I punched more holes in the wall, each one made me want to punch and kick and yell even more. I even made a dent with my head. More dents. Then I don't remember.

I woke up with bloody hands. I couldn't move some fingers. They hurt. It said to cherish the pain. I got up and fell down again. It said to get up anyway. I couldn't. I crawled down the hall. I would bump into the wall and dust and things would fall on me and I would cough and it would hurt. I made it to the couch. The TV was there. I could watch whatever I wanted now. No more yelling. I like Bugs Bunny.

The basement was quiet the next day. I didn't care. I could do whatever I wanted. The phone rang. I even answered it myself. It was a lady asking me about phones and other countries or something. I told her she was crazy for calling me on a phone about phones. I laughed. She laughed too. It didn't laugh. It told me that she was laughing at me. I told her to stop. She wouldn't. I yelled. I told her she was going to get it. I told her mean things. She stopped talking. I was angry. Slammed the phone down. I hit it and hit it again. I took the cord and pulled it out of the wall. It gave me the punching feeling again. I looked for every cord in the house and pulled until it broke free. Every single one. I was satisfied. Bugs Bunny didn't work anymore.

I was scared the next day. I had eaten the things in the cupboard and fridge. I ate a lot. I didn't know what to do. I went to the basement. Still no noise, no motion. I took off the blankets. It was saying scary things to me, I didn't want to listen. It was getting louder in my head. He was still. I opened the cooler, and he was still. Not moving. I shook him. So still. I panicked. Horrible feelings in my stomach. I closed the cooler. I wrapped it in more blankets. I hid it in the corner. I piled more boxes over it. I ran up the stairs and locked the basement door and blocked it with chairs.

You're going to get it now.

It was bad. I was bad. Bad.

I ran to the couch. I curled up, whimpering. It was laughing at me. Mocking me. Scaring me. Hours I was there, trying to be still. Somebody knocked on the door. I froze. I was already still, but I stopped breathing. More knocking.

"Mr. Marrow, we've been trying to call you. You neglected to keep up with your reports. We need to know how he's doing. Do you remember our agreement?"

Do it. Run. Fast. Feel it.

I did. I got up and I yelled and I ran. Fast. I plowed through the door, knocking over the men. For the first time since they took me there, I had left the house. But I didn't have time to think about that. It was yelling at me. I could do nothing but run. Far. I heard the men start up their car. People I ran past would stare. It told me to push them. I couldn't control myself. I shoved a lady carrying groceries to the ground, but I didn't stop there. I punched and kicked and pulled more and more. Yelling and screaming and pain. Red.

Hate.

Then I felt a sharp sting in my side. A spreading numbness, drowsiness. The men were running toward me, yelling. Fading.

I've learned to keep more things in my head since then. There are more people, more doors, more metal, more straps. It scolds me daily for failing last time. I can do it, though. I will show them I'm not bad. They will get It.


For The Blood is the Life: A Frightful Halloween Quest. An original doinker by me.

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