Shame

Thirty four years ago today, two young boys named Bobby Hanam and Kris Tote were the first victims of a demonic presence that fed off of children’s innocence and fear. One that has no face or body, but its aura causes a lot of pain and sticks its horrid nails into wounds.

June 4th 1998

On the outskirts of a small town called Coddleton, an unwelcome yet familiar mixture of rotting smells hang heavy on a school bus. Like a fleece winter jacket that has been sitting in a washer for two days. The bus chugs along the fields of a cow farm. Moving clouds play peek-a-boo with the sun, ripening the smell of manure and a child’s egg salad sandwich.

“Augh gross! Who the hell brought a stinky egg salad sandwich?” Yells Bobby from the front. He’s a pretty smart kid but he has a real knack for blunt comedic commentary. No one answers him so he turns to the back and stands up on the seat looking for the culprit.

Mrs. Daughty, a 40 year old teacher dressed in grey stockings, black skirt, button up beige dress shirt and brown sweater, is sitting two rows behind him on the opposite side saying:

“Bobby! Language! Now, please sit down!”

Bobby puts his hands up like she was arresting him for a DUI, then gives her a sarcastic “well excuse me!” look then sits down. He turns to his friend Kris, a freckled faced 11 year old with braces so big he should stay away from anything magnetic. He sipped his apple and grape juice box shyly.

“Hey can I have a sip of your juice? My stupid mom didn’t pack me one.”

Bobby waits with anticipation for him to say yes. The juice box slowly collapses and drains itself as Kris finishes it and throws it in his lunch box.

“Hey not cool asshole!”

Something Bobby heard his father say several times over the phone and in traffic when they went driving into the city.

He looks down at Kris’s open lunch box and sees an unopened can of Coca Cola. He reaches for it but Mrs. Daughty grabs him by the arm.

“Let me go you stupid cow!”

Disregarding his childish remarks and flailing arms, she drags him to the back of the bus. His fingers come dangerously close to swatting other children in their seats until she gets there. She props him up and shoves him next to a kid named Yo.

She leans down to meet his shaky eyes as her dry forehead and horribly colored black hair emit a weird musky and flowery smell.

“You know, a long time ago I could’ve hit you with a ruler, spanked your bottom, washed your mouth with soap…but today…I’ll let Carl take care of you.” An unsettling smile crawls on to Mrs. Daughty’s face after she says this. Keeping his attention, she slithers back to her seat.

Carl, a tall 14 year old pale skinned boy wearing a death metal shirt and torn black jeans, looks at him gleefully. While maintaining eye contact, he opens his backpack and takes out a sock with all sorts of stains and a roll of duct tape. He shuffles his way to Bobby and reaches down to his right ankle and pulls out a long knife. How a young teenager was able to bring a weapon on a school bus is beyond belief. Nevertheless, this is all quite real. He holds the knife to Bobby’s chin, balls up the sock and exhales a breath of ketchup chips and mountain dew.

“I’m not in the mood to deal with any squirming from a little twat like you. So stay still.”

He lowers the knife to Bobby’s pelvis and presses down on it. Carl takes the sock up to his mouth. Bobby, in horror of the smell, dry swallows, retracts his chin and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Open wide you little shit!” Carl takes the knife and puts pressure on his chin till Bobby tearfully and forcefully drops his jaw. He screams with wheeze and a shy squeal…but not for long. Carl stuffs the sock in Bobby’s mouth as it muffles his screams and oozes tears out of his eyes. Having torn off a piece of tape, he tapes the sock in place but becomes frustrated as to how he can go on with the final touches. His face relaxes as he places the knife in his mouth. With his hands now free, he tapes Bobby’s hands to his knees.

Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump Went Bobby’s heart as the awful taste from the sock became engrained with the roof of his mouth and each taste bud on his tongue. Ones that are used to his favorite candies. Gummy bears, Twizzlers, sour keys, pop rocks and what he calls pizza poptart. Something he made when he was home alone. He took chocolate sauce, chocolate chips, pop rocks and sour patch kids and just smothered it all on there. I want one so bad right now thinks Bobby.

That thought soon dissolves like his precious pop rocks, only that sensation is replaced with something on the other end of the spectrum of his fantasy. A feeling of being consciously alone. The floor of the bus becomes wet and soaks his feet. He looks down at his blue and white converse shoes that have now turned a weird shade between pink and dark red. Water splashes lightly up and down his feet.

The reality of what Bobby felt started to feel like a dream sequence. One that he couldn’t tell if he was imagining it or not.

Voices become isolated like an audio technician playing individual tracks one at a time. Bobby thinks that maybe the pressure of his hands on his knees and whatever germs and grub that swim in his mouth are making him see things. Nevertheless, he swears he feels the water pruning, coloring and chilling his feet. He’s even more certain that something is here. He looks at Carl as if pleading for relief to him from this nightmare.

Stop this, please, I swear I’ll say sorry to Mrs. Daughty thinks Bobby.

Carl continues to sit quietly, pretending to listen to music. Bobby knows Carl can hear him screaming through the sock because he sees the jack of his headset dangling off of him.

The windows, which displayed the beginning of a forest on the tail end of the cow farm, are now pitch black. His eyes blur then focus when his crush Sandy and her best friend Claire’s conversation boom loudly into his ears. He scoots forward until his feet press against the backrest in front of him; he then pushes himself until his feet are on the seat. Not able to see them because of his small height, he awkwardly attempts to scoot himself up until he can see the tops of their heads.

“Hey we should totally pants Kris when we get to the barn. He’s totally gonna freak!” Claire laughs with a high pitch squeak and giggle. “OMG that would be hilarious. He’s such a nerd!”

Bobby, nearly able to see them, tries to sit up higher but a heavy hand with animalistic claws dig into his right shoulder and shoves him down.

SIT DOWN BAD LITTLE BOY! An eerie devilish voice echoes through the bus.

His feet splash back into the water only this time it is far darker and thicker. He screams through the sock trying to say: “What’s happening?” However, all he can muster are quiet muffles and drool that squirt from the sides of the tape and dribble down his chin.

Desperate to get out, he tries to get up and hobble out the collapsible door at the front. It’s no use because his feet are stuck in the suction of the gucky like substance.

Two kids Bobby doesn’t know turn towards Carl and sit up on their knees. “Hey Carl can we see your knife?” Says the one closest to the window. Carl reaches for his knife and waves it back and forth as their eyes become entranced by it. “Whoa” said the kid closest to the window. “How sharp is it?” said the one near the isle.

Carl smiles and stabs the seat a few times in a mad and deranged fury. The kids look down at their now bleeding stomachs and lift their shirts. This has to be a dream thought Bobby as he began to hyperventilate. A horribly crude carving of the letter C appear on them as blood drips and seeps in to the waist band of their pants. They collapse in their seat with no reaction from anyone in the bus but Bobby. Am I the only one seeing this? Bobby asks himself. He screams his head off as the guck disappears and the windows become clear. Unaware of what is happening during his panicky and frightened screams, Carl cuts him free.

“Would you shut the fuck up? I’m cutting you free. Damn whiny little bitch.” Carl rips off the tape and Bobby spits out the sock and runs to the front as the bus comes to a halt. The bus driver sees Bobby smack his chest against the handle of the swivel that opens the door and opens it shaking his head.

Bobby runs out the bus and trips on a big rock and is met with the crunch of rock hard soil and patchy grass. Vomiting profusely, like the time he accidentally ate a slug that a bully put in his lunch, his face becomes extremely pale and sweaty.

All the kids shove their windows down, pointing and laughing. Carl pops his head out next to Kris.

“Hey hey puky boy! Want some slugs to go with that?” You didn’t do that, one of your dumbass goons did that trying to fit in with your stanky white ass. Thought Bobby as the puking stops.

Mrs. Daughty steps out of the bus and stands next to a ghostly pale shivering Bobby. Behind them was a red barn. A red that seems to have browned, peeled, grown patches of moss and shadows in the splintered decaying parts of the siding of the barn. Near the top were the words Collin’s Farm. The S is quite faded and Farm seems to be scratched up. As if someone tried erasing it.

“Alright everybody, shows over. Grab your stuff and wait for me at the front entrance of the barn.” She drops Bobby’s backpack at his now pink and wet shoes. He picks it up and throws it on his back. He looks at his shoes flabbergasted and alarmed that what he thought was a nightmare really happened. He is so addled by his shoes that he doesn’t look up while he’s walking until he smacks into Carl.

“EH! Watch it puky!” Bobby stands back and looks around at everyone who seem to be unaware of what he thought happened in the bus. Kris, who stands a few feet away from him, is kicking rocks around.

“Dude, what happened in the bus was so crazy!” Kris looks at him like he lost his mind.

Did he not hear me? Bobby asks himself as he stares at Kris. “Well it was ok?” Said Bobby a little irritated and confused at Kris’s refusal to talk.

Kris shoves his way through the crowd of loud blabbering children to get a better look at the barn and farther away from Bobby.

An old man, most likely in his 60’s, perplexed Kris. So much that while his curiosity tethered his eyes to this man, he didn’t notice Bobby weasel his way next to him.

This old man seems to be frankensteined into a one of a kind being. His right eye is cloudy with a transparent scar in his iris; his left eye is blood shot and appears wider with no eyebrow above it; Grey hair with coal dust and dirt are caked on his receding hairline; huge scars on both his forearms and his chest.

Noticing Bobby and Kris staring at him, he smiles with teeth stained with shades of death and swill. Like he went dumpster diving for food with his mouth wide open but was met with cigarette butts and unsightly left overs. They shake in fear as they shift their attention to Mrs. Daughty who was taking names.

“Sandy?”

“Here!”

“Carl?” Too careless to answer her, he just gives her a lazy head nod. “Kris?”

“Here.”

“Bobby?”

“Here cow!”

“Do you want the sock again funny boy?”

“No no no no, please don’t do that to me again. I’m sorry. Here.”

She shakes her head and checks his name off on the clipboard.

“Alright everybody, this here is Mr. Chuck. He will be leading us into the barn and telling us all the details for sleeping arrangements and activities tomorrow. Ok?

“Yes Mrs. Daughty.” Said everyone in unison.

This is gonna suck balls thinks Bobby as he kicks the deck.

“EH! Watch it sonny or I’ll whoop your little white ass so bad you’ll be screamin’ for ya mommy!” His accent is surprisingly deep and not so hillbilly. Language maybe, but none of the swagger.

Mrs. Daughty finishes up her attendance and signals Mr. Chuck to take the lead. He nods to her and smiles like a politician trying to cover up signs of being up to no good. This man is known to be a ghost. No records of his past or present work, not even what he knew or was involved with the Collin’s farm. Which in its hay day was a horse farm, but that’s only what was known to the public.

“Ok then, can I have everyone’s attention please. That includes you kicky magee and freckles.” His eyes dart to Bobby and Kris with a murderous intensity. Taking a few steps back, he grabs a wooden block that barricades swinging doors closed.

“When we go in, do not take pictures or touch anything. This place is old and worth millions.” He looks to the back to make sure everyone’s listening. He can tell everyone is a little scared and quite curious as to what could be behind those doors.

“It’s an old barn with holes in it and no animals. This is lame. I’m going back to the bus.” Said Carl. He turns his back and drags his feet back to the bus. Mr. Chuck grabs an axe and throws it at him

“Carl!” said Bobby.

Warning a bully he’s in danger is an odd thing to do. Carl turns around, sees the ax and cowers to the ground as it plants into the ground nicking the tip of his nose. Before he could scream, a man draped in torn black clothing appears out of the bushes and grabs him.

“Aaaah, my fucking nose you psychopath! Let me go you damn sea monster!” Carl smacks and punches the man’s back. Immune to his blows, the man keeps running until he disappears behind the barn. This leaves the children and Mrs. Daughty confused and frightened.

Mr. Chuck scoffs and lifts the wooden block.

“Snot nose punk.” He pulls the doors open as a pulley system locks them in place. The kids and Mrs. Daughty go in timidly towards the dark of the barn. The shuffle of their feet muffle the creaking of the small deck as Mr. Chuck closes the door.

Thump…thump thump…thump…tick…tic…tic toc…grumble…errrr…chew chew…gulp gulp.

Absolute quiet seems impossible but expected from nervous children. Little hearts beating slow, fast and sweating nerves. Bobby’s watch going on the fritz for no reason as the familiar feeling from the bus comes back.

Bad little boy’s gonna get it. Whispered the familiar eerie voice.

“Not that voice again, I already apologized to Mrs. Daughty. Did you hear that Kris?” Kris was nowhere near Bobby.

Chew chew Claire chews her gum nervously as she paws at Sandy’s hand until she can grab it. “I’m scared Sandy.” Sandy lets go of her hand to unscrew a bottle cap from her bottle of water and takes a big swig of it. “Teehee, you drink a lot of water fast!” Says Claire.

CLANK! CLANK! BOOM! BOOM! Two stadium sized lights come on, startling all the children and Mrs. Daughty. They look around at each other and their surroundings without taking in what presents itself in front of them.

Carl, sitting on a wobbly and old office chair, has gauze and medical tape on his nose and around his head at the cheek bone level. Mr. Chuck and the cloaked man stand on either side of him with their arms spread out like circus entertainers.

“Hello children…and m’ lady.” Mr. Chuck looks at the cloaked man. “Come on Duggy, show’em your pretty face. It’s not polite to hide in plain sight.” The cloaked man pulls off his hood showing a gaunt yet unscarred or deteriorating face. However, Duggy is far gone and has sickly skin. To top off his eerie facial appearance, his hair is black with a blue oily shine reflecting off the lights.

“What are they gonna do to Carl?” asks Bobby to the kid next to him. He shrugs his shoulder while gazing anxiously pass the odd trio that look like they are posing for a picture in the 1800’s.

“Excellent question little boy. What’s your name?”

“Butt breath.” Carl can’t help but say something sarcastic and shoot a shit eating grin. Mr. Chuck has no remorse or patients for piss ants. He takes out a taser from his pocket and shocks him right on the jugular vein. He convulses like an eel and his head flops to the side. Despite his erratic breathing and bleeding nose, he laughs hysterically.

“Why are you being so mean to him? Asks Bobby as all the children gasped at the horror of what was happening.

“EH! Shut your mouth! This little shit disrespected my farm.”

Bobby dry swallows and pisses his pants. “Heheheyyyyy, puky boy just pissed his pants!” Carl didn’t care if he got tased or smacked again. He just had to say something. Without hesitation Mr. Chuck smacks him and tases him in the temple till he passes out. He leans over to Duggy and whispers something in his ear. Duggy nods and drags Carl to a back door where a wheat field dancing in the wind appears.

Mr. Chuck keeps an eye on the door till Duggy closes it behind him. Before he turns back to the terrified kids and Mrs. Daughty, black and red veins pulsate out of his neck and his nails on his right hand grow four inches and turn black. You better behave little boy. Wouldn’t want to get into trouble. Bobby swears the familiar eerie voice is Mr. Chuck communicating telekinetically to him.

His eyes become wide as he feels goose flesh burst from his toes to his cheek bones. Seeing Kris closer to the front of the crowd, he sneakily makes his way to him. “Dude are you seeing this?” He whispers to Kris while Mr. Chuck eerily scans the other children. Before he can say anything in agreeance with Bobby, Mr. Chuck’s veins and nails retract to their normal farmer state.

“Alrighty then boys, girls and m’lady. On your right are cots made of fresh bills of hay. Anyone who shows no respect will sleep with the pigs.” No one moves, flinches or says anything long enough for Mr. Chuck to snap.

“A yes sir would be nice you little bratty brats!” said Mr. Chuck. Bobby is convinced that his whole neck, hands and eyes look like they are going to burst into flames. Like the burners on a stove top turning red hot. He also sees Mr. Chuck’s hands re-growing fingernails long and black. The longer he stares at the terrified children, the more the color of his hands turn a dark vomit green.

YOU’RE ALL BEING BAD LITTLE CHILDREN! Shouts the eerie voice. This time sounding like it’s coming from Mr. Chuck.

“Yes sir.” Says everyone like nervous yet obedient sad robots. Mr. Chuck breaks from his stiff angry body and smiles gleefully.

“Good. If you need to go to the washroom there’s an outhouse outback. Security lights do turn on around 10pm. Lights out at the same time. Ok?” Everyone says yes sir once again.

“Feel free to play in the fields.” Concludes Mr. Chuck.

“Uh Mr. Chuck. Could you go over the activities for tomorrow?” asks Mrs. Daughty. To which Mr. Chuck gives her a weak smile.

“It’s a surprise.” He goes out the back the door, not wanting to hear her ask any more questions.

*******************************

After dinner, Bobby and Kris go outside while it is still light out. No one seems to even notice they’re leaving the barn. What the kids and Mrs. Daughty don’t know about the dinner, is that Mr. Chuck fed them aged horse meat and boiled potatoes mixed with sawdust. In which most of the children felt sick so they went to bed early.

Kris is still not in the mood to be in close quarters with Bobby. So as they walk out into the field, he moves a fair distance away from him.

“I’m sorry for trying to take your coke. I was really thirsty.” Says Bobby to Kris who stands frozen. “Why are you being so butt hurt about this?” Bobby is pretty frustrated with Kris’s odd dismissal. They’ve been friends since kindergarten and out of nowhere he starts acting stand offish. Kris was never distant or quiet with him.

Before Kris, stands his father and himself at the age of 8. His father begins to pet his face with the back of his hand. “Your mother has been gone for seven days. I bet that bitch is out sleeping with every guy that has a pulse. But you’re a good boy, right Kris?” Kris’s cheeks flush as his father pets his face.

The dawn becomes immediately black, focusing only on the horrible event that was about to take place. Kris feels his bones become ice cold when he sees his father pawing and grabbing at his groin. “No! Daddy stop! I don’t like that! Please stop!” He runs towards his father who looks at him with red eyes. He stops what he’s doing to the younger Kris who’s crying without trying to make a sound. “Good boys do not talk to their father with disrespect!” says his father in a far lower, louder and distorted register.

Kris keeps running towards him screaming his head off. “Kris! What are you doing?” Cries Bobby as he runs toward him. However, Kris keeps going until he is submerged into a dark red bed of water.

To Bobby’s eyes Kris disappears and there’s nothing but golden wheat grass dancing in the wind. Glowing against the soft purple and red cloud sky as the sun hides little by little behind a forest. He looks around frantically running here and there. “KRIS!” He cries. “Kris where are you?” The more he runs the harder it is for him to breathe. He begins to wheeze as his feet lose control and balance of where they are directing him.

He falls to his knees thinking: I need my inhaler. He begins to crawl back to the barn but something tugs on his feet. He looks over his right shoulder to see if it’s the hand of Mr. Chuck but it’s just broken wheat grass that snagged on his shoe.

In the two seconds he was looking back, the whole field became littered with inhalers. He turns back wheezing harshly and starts huffing all of them, but they’re all empty. He sighs in panic as his throat slowly began to close. As he crawls slower and slower, the wheat grass becomes a freshly shaved soccer field. The inhalers disappear and his throat comes close to closing, causing him to collapse.

Four boys are beating up Kris quite close to Bobby. “BOBBY! BOBBY HELP ME! WHERE ARE YOU? OWWWWW!” Cried Kris as a past Bobby on the other side of the chicken wire fence looks at him. In desperation to get to him, Bobby crawls in between the boys. He grabs Kris by the belt and tries to swat away the boys’ punches.

“Please…stop…you’re hurting him.” He could barely keep his head up.

“I’m sorry Kris. I was too scared of the older boys. I should’ve helped you. I’m sorry.” Bobby’s vision becomes blurry as he sees the last blows to Kris.

Right at the moment he’s about to be met with darkness, he is submerged into the same bed of red water as Kris. Their bodies collide as a voice says: “See you again bad little boys.” Before they lose consciousness, they’re back on the bus heading back to the school.

“Hello everyone, I know you must be upset that Collin’s farm was lost in a tornado that thankfully missed us. But let’s just be happy that nothing bad happened and we’re all safe.”

For a second Bobby believes her, but he looks down at his shoes and they were still pink with chunks of tar.