The Sins of His Grandmother

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Chapter 5

He was mightily uneasy about his next course of action. He juggled the baleful thought in his head for hours as he trudged through the dense forestry. With each step he took, the confrontation between his good and evil conscience became more deeply embroiled in disagreement. Not only was it extremely cold, but his water sources were in the process of freezing over and the thought of drinking melted snow wasn’t the least bit appealing. To make matters worse, precipitation had dampened his blanket the previous night. Taking a chance at sleeping outside another night with only a jacket serving as protection against the elements was out of the question. His evil conscience was gaining a significant edge over its opponent. After a while of walking parallel to the pathway that would lead him to his desired destination, his gnawing stomach finally broke up the contentious conference being hosted inside of his head. With time working against him, he hurriedly dropped to one knee, slid his knapsack down his arms, and pulled out a leftover portion of roasted deer. Once he had briefly devoured his meal, he resumed his journey through deep, mushy snow. By noontime he had 15 miles left to trek. After three more hours of non-stop walking, 11 miles were left to go. By now the inside of his boots were soaked, making his migration on two sore feet even the more arduous, but he would not allow a little pain to deter him from accomplishing his mission. Another three hours drifted on by, and he was now six and a half miles away from where he wanted to be. He had picked up his pace. No longer was he contemplating whether or not he should go through with what he intended on doing once he would have arrived at where he was going. At this point in his outdoor sojourn, his mind-set was to just get it over and done with. With darkness now controlling the sky and hunger, thirst, and fatigue all taking their toll on him, his brisk tread turned into a jog. He was adamant about not making anymore stops. His grit paid off. At around 1:30 a.m. the following morning and after several months of solidifying his manhood outdoors on one of the U.S.’s most unforgiving terrains, Frederickstein had made it back home. It was now time to put his master plan into effect. But first he had to take a break. Once he had cleared the last tree, he hunched over, cupped his hands over his kneecaps, and began a life-or-death struggle to catch his breath. The density of the atmosphere - brought on by the initial phase of what would turn out to be a record-setting winter in Yarmouth - made it seem as though oxygen had been turned into a solid. Then, suddenly, he was struck with a lightning bolt of reality. No longer was he unnoticeable beneath the cover of foliage. As he tilted his head up and saw that he was just a few hundred feet away from neatly lined off rows of inhabited households, his head began to swing. His era of hermitry had come to an end. He was once again under the scrutinizing eyes of a judgmental society and felt naked. This was his Garden-of-Eden moment. Overcome with unwarranted fret, he crouched down and quickly began a mad scramble towards his parents’ home, fighting through severe asthma-like symptoms. Fortunately for him, their house was located on the block directly in front of him. He wouldn’t have to clandestinely roam into the thicket of the subdivision and increase his chances of the cops being called on him. Once he was approximately 15 feet away from the house, he proceeded to slow down and walk the rest of the way, making sure to remain as unnoticeable as possible in his crouched posture. His only thought as he steadily made his way towards the house was to get inside by any means necessary. Once at the side of the house, he rapidly spun around, pressing his back against it, and furtively sidled his ginormous frame around to the back of the house, where his parents’ room was located. The snow made long crunching sounds beneath his apprehensive footsteps. He was dreadfully uneasy about acting out the images that he had been visualizing in his head whilst making his way through the forest. He still had time to change his mind, nonetheless. He could simply ditch his plan, knock on the door, and ask his parents if he was welcomed back home. Of course their answer would have been “Yes!” but he wanted to murder them for the pain and suffering that he immaturely blamed them for putting him through the past several months. They never endured the burden of feeling as though they would be prey for some savage beast. They never experienced outdoor temperatures so cold to the point where it felt as though the air was permeating each and every one of their pores. Why should they live when they would have loved nothing more than to see the vultures, buzzards, and crows of the northeastern welkin encircling the sky above his carcass? The more he allowed his misleading thoughts to play out inside his head, the more disdain he instantaneously garnered for them. Turning around so that his stomach now faced the home, he inhaled a substantial amount of air and exhaled with enough force to cause his cheeks to expand as the air passed through the narrow spacing between his lips. He was nervous, but he felt as though he had to carry out his plan in order to prove that he could be honest with himself. Rolling up the bottom of his right pant leg, he gripped the handle of the hunting knife that was a key component in keeping him alive in his time of desolation and paused. He pondered how he had taken the lives of countless species of wildlife but had never deprived a human being of the privilege to breathe. After telling himself over and over that he would no longer place any thought on whether or not he would take the lives of his parents, here he was yet again contemplating what to do. Disappointed in himself, he yanked the blade of the hunting knife up out of his boot and drew a vertical slit down the inside corner of each one of his eyes. The tears of blood that gushed down his face symbolized the draining out of all his emotions. He now felt mentally capable to commence with the macabre slayings of his fathers. Ready to get out of the cold and beneath a source of shelter, he slowly stood up from his crouched position and peered into the couple’s bedroom window. In those days, families didn’t find it necessary to put up curtains or blinds in their homes. Everybody knew, trusted, and genuinely loved one another; hence, crime in the area was non-existent. Frederickstein was on the brink of eradicating a town’s primitive way of thinking once and for all. But just before he was able to do so, he encountered a setback: It was much too dark to see inside of the house at that kind of time. He couldn’t take the risk of breaking into the house not knowing whether or not his parents were asleep. As much as he didn’t want to, he would be forced to spend several more hours outside in the cold.

The glitch in his plan sent him over the edge. He recollected how his father would leave home for work promptly at 8:30 a.m. every weekday morning while his partner, the housekeeper, would remain asleep. So, while pacing around the house in an attempt to avoid getting sleepy and to keep warm, he drew up a plan B inside of his head.

At dawn’s breaking, it was time to execute his new idea. He made his way back around to the back of the home and turned on the clock inside of his head. The sun would rise there at approximately 7 a.m. each morning, so he was faced with the task of guessing when one and a half hours would have ticked on by. The more he counted, the farther his eyelids fell. But he had already managed to calculate an hour passing by. No way would he allow himself to fall asleep with only about 30 minutes left to go before he could take his first hot shower in months. He placed his hands onto the back doorstep for a few seconds and then pressed them firmly against his face in hopes that the cold sensation would revive him. It worked. “One, two, three….” He was back to counting in his head. Ten minutes left to count. Five minutes. Two minutes. He was now situated in a position at the back of the house that would allow him to see his father exit the home and begin his trot to work. But he never did. Another quarter of an hour passed by, and there was no still no sign of him. Frederickstein figured that he must have miscalculated his hour-and-a-half count inside his head. Besides, he had no idea what time it actually was when he began counting anyway. Furthermore, there was also the possibility that it could’ve been the weekend. His father never worked on weekends. He decided he would give him 30 more minutes to step outside the house. When those minutes passed with still no sign of his father, Frederickstein knew that something was definitely not right. His father would have at least stepped outside by now to smoke a cigarette had it been a weekend morning. With the sun now aiding his eyesight, he scurried back to his parents’ bedroom window and peeked inside once more. What he saw made him realize why his father never came outside. The room was completely empty. Not even a hanger remained inside the closet. Stunned, his curiosity almost led him over to a neighbor’s place to find out what had become of his parents, but presently he just wanted to keep to himself. Making his way to the back door, he attempted to open it, only to find out that the house had been unlocked all along as well. All the tired and stressed young adventurer could do was hang his head down and laugh to himself. At this point, he was far too weary to lose his composure yet again. After removing his heavily-moistened articles of clothing, he drifted straight to sleep on the cold, bare wooden floor.

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