July 15th, 1962
"Screwdriver, Chuck" He demanded from underneath the body of his beloved Cadillac Eldorado. He held out his hand impatiently, and after a few seconds rolled himself from underneath. "Where are you boy? I gotta close this bitch up!" Chucky snapped out of whatever fantasy he was in and faced his father. He was covered in sweat and oil. This summer had been hotter than usual, and years longer.
Chucky hopped down from the stool in which he always sat when "helping" his father with any repairs. "Sorry Pop" he said with a nervous chuckle. His father rolled his eyes and looked back at him. "I wanna know where your mind goes, Chucky." Chucky raised his arm slowly then scratched behind his neck. His usual nervous habit. His father grabbed the screwdriver from his son's free hand and rested his hand on his shoulder. "I think you've had enough for today, huh Chuck? It's too hot for this shit anyway" Chucky pulled his arm out from his collar and looked up at his father, happy that his long day of handing tools was over. His father reached for the towel on his belt, wiped his hands feverishly and dug into his pocket. He pulled out a small wad of crumpled dollar bills. "Run to the store, get me a pack of Camels and the rest is yours." Chucky smiled, grabbed the money from his father's hand and made his way out of the musty garage. "Hold on there, Chuck. You gotta bring Glen with you." Chucky rolled his eyes and sighed. "Come on Pop, that's bullshit, Glen did nothing today!" His father shook his head and pointed his finger at him. "I don't want to hear it, son. When Glen gets older he'll be working just as hard. And by the way, be lucky your mother didn't hear you cuss or you would be eating soap. Now get your brother!" Chucky wiped the sweat from his forehead, and reluctantly obeyed.
Chucky walked into his family home, it wasn't much, but it was always comfortable. He wiped his feet on the signature "Home Sweet Home" rug and made his way down the narrow hallway to his and his brother's shared bedroom. Glen was sitting on his bed, putting together a model plane. His favourite hobby. With the feeling of being watched settling in, he looked up and noticed his older brother standing there. "Hey Chuck! I'm just about done with this one. It's the biggest one yet!" Chucky crossed his arms and looked away from his brother. "Yeah that's great, but we gotta go. Pops said you have to come. Cigarette run." Glen's brown eyes widened. "Cool! Let me ask Ma!" Chucky shuffled over to his brother's bedside and pushed him down. "Like hell you are! If Pop's is sending you what do you gotta ask her for? Don't be a little bitch." Glen rubbed his arms in attempts to soothe them from the shove. "Fine. Let me put on my good sneakers." Chucky rolled his eyes and made his way out the room.
Chucky and Glen made their way down the dirt road to "Phil's Variety". It was the only store that let Chucky buy all the skin magazines his heart desired. Glen was walking backwards beside his brother, as to keep constant eye contact with Chucky as they walked. He was going over his birthday wish list, which model plane is coming out next, and how he's waiting for his membership for his favourite radio program to come in the mail. Every word hit Chucky's ear like a knife and he was getting a headache. He grabbed Glen by the shoulders. "Listen here. I'll buy you a soda and a candy bar on one condition." Glen looked up in excitement, it was a rare treat that his brother did anything for him. "What's that, Chucky? I'll do it. I promise." Chucky laughed. "Alright. You gotta just shut your fucking mouth the entire way there and back. If I hear so much as a peep from you, I'm leaving you out here alone. And the hobos and coyotes can have you!" Glen stepped back, heart sunken and continued to walk forward.
"Phil's Variety" had the best selection of everything from candy to cigarettes to nudey magazines. "Hello Ray brothers! How's your old man?" Phil asked from behind the counter. "Hey Phil, he's just fine." Chucky answered distractedly, his eyes were focused on Playboy's Summer issue, Sports Illustrated's Bathing Suit edition and so on. His adolescent day dream was distracted by the shrill sounding voice of the girl who lived down the street. "You know those aren't real, right?" she teased, pointing at Miss July's exposed chest. Chucky looked up to meet her gaze. Tiffany Valentine. She must have been no older than nine years old. Her hair was almost as messy as her clothes. Chucky quickly closed the magazine and threw it back on the shelf. "God damnit, Tiffany. I'm trying to read here, don't you have some dumpster to dive in?" He turned his back toward her, hoping ignorance would be enough to send her off. She laughed, and walked closer to him. "My momma always told me that you can smell something on a girl who sells things. At least, I think that's how it goes-" Tiffany's philosophy was cut short by another familiar sounding voice. Rachael Valentine was the girl everybody lied about sleeping with. She was the older woman every man desired. With her being about 15, and Chucky being 12, he was very aware on how it all worked. When Playboy wouldn't work for him, he thought of Rachael.
"I'm sorry about her. She hasn't quite learned her place, ain't that right Tiff?" Tiffany shot her a scowl. Rachael stepped a little closer to Chucky, almost seductively. "You're that boy who lives down the road right? Your momma is that real short lady?" With a loss for words, he sputtered "Oh, no!" Rachael gave a confused smile. Chucky reached his hand behind his neck and scratched feverishly. "I mean, that's me. That's just not my mother. Mines dead. She's my brother's though." Rachael tilted her head and grabbed Tiffany's hand. "Well, that's too bad to hear. Must be hard not having a momma. At least your brother's is taking care of you. We should be going. See you later, neighbour." She winked at him, and dragged her sister behind her. It wasn't until the bells chimed that he remembered where he was, and that if his father didn't have his cigarettes soon, he'd be seeing red.
Glen walked back alongside Chucky, as quiet as ever sipping on his Dr. Pepper. Chucky looked down at his purchases with disappointment. Somehow, in comparison to Rachael, the models seemed subpar. His disappointment was cut off with the sounds of bicycle brakes and snickers from a bunch of boys. "Well if it isn't Glenny Ray? Faggot boy!" The biggest of the group sneered, the rest joined in laughing. Just like in the movies. Glen hid behind his brother, and it made Chucky fume.
"What's this about? What did Glen do?" Chucky said approaching the bully, looking down on him. "Your brother owes me one dick suck!" The bully snarled and looked back at his jovial comrades, laughing as they tortured Glen, who was easily five years younger. Chucky could hear his brother sniffle behind him. He felt angry. But not a normal anger, it was the kind that bubbled and was set to boil over any second. His mind went blank and all that he could think of was his hands around the bully's thick, exposed neck. Chucky stayed in his fantasy for a moment, relishing over the idea of the fat son of a bitch begging and crying for air. It wasn't until he heard Glen's screams that he realized his fantasy had indeed become reality.
"Let him go, Chucky! He's learned his lesson come on!" Glen screamed through tears, Chucky looked up at the other boys who were standing silent, in fear they would be next. With one last look at his brother, Chucky tightened his hands around the boy's neck and glared at him. He couldn't help but laugh as he watched the same boy confront him and his brother, crying and whimpering flailing his arms like a fish trying to break free from Chucky's grasp. He tightened his hands more and more, until finally the crying stopped, as well as the boy's heartbeat.
Glen fell to his knees, hysterical. His Dr Pepper now spilled on the path being consumed by dirt. Chucky looked up at the rest of the group, and scoffed at one who had pissed themselves during the whole ordeal. "Now fuck off!" He shouted at them and watched them scurry like mice to their bikes and wheel away. He looked at his brother in disgust. "Glen, you have to defend yourself and stop your crying. You're too soft." He walked over to his younger brother and got down on his knees to meet his level. "Don't you dare mention anything to your mother. Or she'll suffer the same fate as that piece of shit over there. I mean it." Glen looked up at him whimpering. "Ma's right. You're evil" Glen rubbed his eyes and stood up, still looking at the ground. "Lets go. Quit your bawling" Chucky demanded as he got up and dusted his pants.
The whole way home Chucky was waiting. Waiting for the realization of what had happened to kick in, to be flooded by guilt. He didn't even move the body. He just left him there. But even though he had played the scenario a million times within the twenty minutes they had been walking, he felt nothing. Nothing but satisfaction.
"Jesus, I was about to get in my car and find you. Where have you been?" Their father asked as he ripped the pack of cigarettes from Chucky's hand, not wasting a second to light one up. Glen stared at Chucky intensely, unsure of how to answer. "We just took the long way, Pop. Sorry." Chucky went inside and put away his magazines under his bed as usual, and played out the rest of the day as if nothing happened. For a while, he had forgotten something actually did go down.
July 16th, 1962
Chucky slept well the night before. Glen did not sleep at all. "Glen, honey eat your breakfast. What's wrong? Are you sick? You haven't eaten anything since yesterday." His mother pestered at the breakfast table. Glen stared at Chucky, and his mother followed his eyes to him. "Charles, what did you do to him?" Chucky ignored her, as usual. He picked up the funny section of the paper. She practically jumped on the table to grab it from him. "Not today. What did you do to your brother?" Glen looked quickly between his mother and brother, and turned pale. He opened his mouth and vomited all in his breakfast cereal. Their father, looking down for the first time from his morning paper, gave a disgusted look. "Chuck did nothing, Minnie! Christ! Put Glen back to bed!" And with that, turned right back to the sports section. Minnie urged Glen out of his chair and gave Chucky a deathly stare. "You count your blessings you still have your daddy to protect you!" And walked Glen to the bathroom down the hall. Chucky gave his dad an appreciative look. He always liked his old man. "Thanks Pop." Still focused on his paper, he sighed and turned the page. "She's right, Chucky. I know she's not your mother but, she's been there since you were in nursery school." Chucky dug his spoon into the oatmeal that was practically untouched all morning. He never cared for oatmeal. And Minnie knew that. "Only because you knocked her up." He spat under his breath. His father slapped his paper down and hovered his hand on his belt, nearly spilling his coffee mug while doing it. "You watch your tongue, boy. She's a good woman. You just never gave her a chance." His father and Chucky himself both became distracted by the sound of the doorbell. They both shot each other identical looks and his father turned back to his coffee. "Get the door, Chuck." Chucky got up, kicked in his chair and paced himself to the front door.
Tiffany stood there. Her brown hair a little neater than yesterday, she clearly tried to put effort in her appearance. "What?" Chucky asked shortly, still annoyed from the spat with his father. Tiffany leaned in closer and with one hand cupping her mouth whispered "I know!" Chucky was confused, knew what? Where he lived? Who gave a shit? Then he remembered. "Fuck, I killed somebody." He said in his head. "You know nothing. Go home." He went to close the door but Tiffany caught grasp. "He was on Spooner Road, I was too. I saw you kill him, but he had it coming, he was-" Tiffany shut her lips and discreetly pointed behind Chucky. He turned to see Minnie, arms crossed. "Have you seen Jimmy Smith?" She asked shortly, worry in her voice. Chucky literally looked down at her. "I don't know who that is." She glared up back at him. "You took my Glen down Spooner Road. The boy was found dead there last night. Don't take him that way anymore. It wouldn't surprise me if you had something to do with it." She turned coldly and stormed back down the hallway. Tiffany still stood there, shocked. "I can tell she's not your Mom-" Chucky laughed at her. "No shit, Sherlock. Listen I gotta go-" Tiffany interrupted excitedly "But don't you wanna see the body?"
"Jesus Christ" he mumbled to himself. He stared down the creek at bits and pieces of the boy he killed. Tiffany rode her bike up closer "You may wanna cover your nose, he's starting to stink" she buried her face in the collar of her shirt. Chucky knelt down to look deeper into the creek, and closer at the mess of a body. "If you wanna know who cut him all up, you're looking at her." Chucky looked up at her. She looked proud. She looked fake. "You're full of shit" he snarled at her, she looked hurt. "I'm not a liar. My daddy taught me how to do it! And besides. He was too heavy to carry in one piece." Chucky rolled his eyes. He paced back and forth. "Glen's gonna fuck me over, I know it. If not him it's gonna be Minnie. That bitch has wanted me out as long as I can remember." Tiffany got back on her bike. "I don't know, Chucky. But your secret is safe with me." He watched her as she pedaled off.
Chucky spent the entire day by the creek. Thinking. Planning. He couldn't stay here. He wasn't free. When night fell, he finally left his spot by the creek and quietly made his way home. He looked in the window. Glen was going to bed. Minnie was working her way to her bedroom. His father was watching the news. Chucky decided he would stand there until they all went to sleep. Then pack his things, and leave Lakeshore.
Chucky kneeled down beside his brother, who was sleeping peacefully. Chucky knew he would never make it in the real world. He was too weak, too fragile, too slow. He was doing him a favour, he knew he was. Chucky grabbed the pillow from his bed on the other side of the room, and pressed it into Glen's face. He watched him struggle and when he attempted to scream out he pressed harder. Chucky watched the clock tick as he continued to struggle. After seven minutes, the struggling stopped. Glen couldn't even die fast enough.
He walked out to the living room. His father laid on the couch, snoring. Chucky always appreciated his father. Yet, it didn't seem to stall him. He looked at his father for a moment, and realized he never loved him. A boy should love his parents, but he never did. He gently put his hands around his father's neck, and flinched a moment when he opened his eyes.
"Chucky, what are you doing?" They both stared at each other, his father's eyes filled with fear. "You know what your mother's dying wish was?" Chucky didn't flinch. He didn't care, she was dead. "For you to do good things, this isn't a good thing, Chuck. She would be hysterical if she was here right now!" Chucky squeezed as hard as he could, he could feel his father's pulse getting slower, his breath getting scarce. "Say hello to her me" Chucky whispered. His father cried, and gave in to his imminent death.
July 17th, 1962
He waited until morning. He waited in the kitchen for her. He was filled with excitement from the core. "Did you sleep on that damn couch all night, Bill?" Minnie asked scratching her head making her way to the kitchen. She glanced at Chucky through her peripherals and became startled. "Jesus, you scared me. Why is your father still asleep? It's damn near seven o'clock!" She made her way into the kitchen and started the kettle. Chucky began laughing, hysterically. "What is your problem, boy? Go wake up your brother and father!" Chucky sat down at the table. "I don't know, Minnie. They're sleeping like the dead." Minnie scoffed as she rummaged around the kitchen. Her distrust clued in and she quickly walked over to her son's bedroom. Chucky closed his eyes and waited blissfully for the sounds of her screams.
Minnie wailed holding her son's body, questioning why. She ran out of the room, Glen still in her arms and towards the sofa, where she screamed even harder at the sight of her dead husband. Chucky was getting impatient. He grabbed the largest knife from the block and approached her. "It's hard, isn't it?" He questioned her tauntingly. She looked up at him with tears clouding her eyes. "Your father loved you, I don't know how but he did! Glen looked up to you! You should have died along with your mother you sick fuck!" Chucky scoffed, then laughed. "You would love that, wouldn't you?" He approached her slowly and pointed the knife in her face. "For the first time in my life, I think I want to treat you like I did my own mother." Her lips trembled, rocking her son back and forth. "I'm going to let you die in a pool of your own blood" Minnie screamed, and Chucky slit her throat.
Chucky went into his bedroom, packed some clothes and rummaged around the room for anything of value. Glen's newest model plane was worth thirty dollars at least, he grabbed it and threw it in his bag. He looked at the knife he left on his bed covered in Minnie's blood. He wiped it on one of Glen's stuffed bears and threw the knife in his bag. He looked under his bed for his trinket box, he opened it and looked for anything he could pawn. He picked up the only thing he owned of his mother's, her favourite lighter. "To my dearest Lee, love always, Bill" was engraved on the side. He threw it in the bag, twenty dollars he could get for it perhaps. He shifted his focus to his father's bedroom, Minnie never wore any jewelry but there was two hundred dollars in her jewelry box. An easy train ticket and room for a few nights.
He left his childhood home through the back door and ran through the field. He would never come back, but he would always remember the dirt road, the blood, the screams and the start to his addiction.
