Aloyuise: Hollywood Horror
Sorry about the long wait you guys, I hate to disappoint my readers. I was sick with mono, and sadly I didn't get it by kissing anyone :(
But on a happier note, I'm feeling better so let's celebrate with a brand new chapter!
Special Shout Out:
To Miss Hollywood Horror Herself, My Idol, and Freakshow, Miss Sharon Needles. Her music and character inspires me, and she is the inspiration for all of the horror I write. Love you!
Mattiboi: Ask your questions, I encourage you to come to me for answers about my story. Sorry no spoilers! XD
Pumpkinking5: Cato received the electro-shock therapy because of his attempt to kill Dr. Cairo. I'm sorry that I confused you, but I always love the reviews you give me. They're so official, I love it!
Conspiration- ultd: I feel your Teen Wolf feels and raise you double! As for you thinking it's sexy, well from one wierdo to another, I'm with you! It's totally sexy and it's supposed to be sexy, in a twisted S&M kind of way.
CupcakeSprinkles14: The wait is over girl! Thank Gawd.
I walked out of the white parlors of Aloyuise, shoving my work clothes into my duffle bag, mumbling to myself how much I hated being me. Because of the Cato incident I had to pull a double shift to get out of probation, for free, thankfully Cato was incapacitated so I could tend to my regular patients. Needless to say I was exhausted, and surprise, I was scared… again.
Walking in the middle of the night, in downtown L.A. was probably the worst thing a guy like me could do. I mean, I'm not completely defenseless, I do have a switchblade strapped to my wrist, but I'd rather not use it. With all the hoodlums and gangbangers roaming the street with predator ambitions, it's pretty easy to not show up for work the next day, or the rest of your life. But those miscreants aren't the worst things on the prowl.
What with the police patrolling the streets or the Captain's gunman on the lookout, who's to say which is worse, regardless the streets are never safe especially at night. Captain James E. Davis, well he's the worst thing that happened to Los Angeles since the last quake. But don't you dare say that out loud, your tongue will be cut off for mutiny, and that's if you're lucky.
James E. Davis began his reign of terror in 1926, in a promise to lower the crime rate. Of course in all elections the lies are endless, but someone has to fill the shoes. What actually happened was he employed fifty plus 'police officers' into a gun squad that patrol the streets for crime. What he fails to mention is that this gun squad is made of mostly mafia members. The whole gun squad was a compromise and peace offering to the L.A. mafia to keep them at bay. During his public announcement, showcasing the supposed glories of the gun squad, he made it plain as day that all criminal were to shot for the kill on the spot. This is heavily abused and just an excuse to keep us scared, and them on top. He is virtually untouchable, and has corrupted this city dearly.
Those who were most imposed to the gunmen were homeless people, homosexuals, strippers (hypocrites), those who threatened the power of the police such as politicians, social reformers, and the protestors. All those who were scene as imperfect or insignificant weren't spared either.
So you can see now why I always have a blade and a constant fear, although that stems much deeper.
I only live a few blocks from the Institute so I just walk to and fro work and home. I've only worked til nighttime a couple of times, and that was when Delly and I decided to pull doubles together. Delly understands me better than anyone else, she has seen me at my most vulnerable and my most weakest. Seeing as how we've known each other since birth, due our parent's companionship, it's befitting. Though she doesn't know my deepest and darkest secret.
The gates to a two way Victorian home are the entrance to my home. Black metal spirals, and a rusty creak are the signifiers that I am home, safe and sound. I live above a quiet old couple, who simply adore me. Seeing as how I never cause trouble and have no problems that they know about it, I guess they would.
I unlock the door and throw my bag onto the sofa. I put the kettle on and used the latrine while the tea boiled. I sat at the table, sipping my tea and re living the horrors of the day. Cato this and Cato that. The day seemed centered around him, and I hope this isn't going to be a daily occurrence.
Dumping the rest of my tea out into the sink, I made my way for my bed. I threw myself onto the duvet I love so much and swathed myself in their warmth, comfort, and safety. Drenched in wholesome goodness, I drifted off to sleep. Into a familiar nightmare.
The family was an innocent, middle class one. The father was a banker, and the mother was a simple housewife. The three sons were budding in handsomeness, prominent in their youth. They had something valuable and coveted by all those who knew them. A happy home, and a happy life. Most of L.A. at the time were living in poverty, while the Mellark family survived comfortably.
They came in the night, the ones out to steal the happiness. They creaked into the house through the back door, neglecting to take care of the door. That was their downfall, the backdoor swings violently in the backlash creating a loud bang. The mother woke with a start and struggled to wake the father, but he paid heed to her suspicions and gathered his night cap and candle to investigate.
The father crept down the stairs and saw the thieves, and emitted a gasp. The thieves spotted him instantly with the flame, and followed suit as the father rushed back up stairs.
"Sue, call the police!" the father shout as one of the thieves tackled him to the ground. He put up a struggle but the other thief assisted the first, ending all scuffle. They rudely escorted him into the guestroom, and threw him onto the bed, knocking him upside the head with the blunt end of an object. The one thief pulled the phone wires out of the wall, while the other gathered the children and wife into the guestroom.
"Were the police called?" the pair of thieve questioned the wife.
The poor woman just whimpered in fear. She looked at her kids, and summoned what little courage she had, for her kids.
"I'll ask one more time, were the police called?" he asked her grabbing her hair and yanking her off her feet.
"Sue?" came a groggy husband slowly back into consciousness.
"The cops were called, and they will arrive sooner than you think." The mother answered defiantly.
"Wrong answer lady." He shoved her to the ground and the father went in and tackled the thief. The other thief yanked him off and threw the father across the room. The other thief, gather himself quickly and advanced on the father with a sickening 'thwack'.
The thief slowly turned around with the head of the father in one hand and an axe in the other. The boys, who had remained silent for so long, let out terrible screams of terror. The mother attempted to go to her sons but was stopped by the thieves.
"I love you guys so-" the words were silence with a sharp axe, and replaced by even louder screams as the mothers head rolled closer to the boys. Blood spatter everywhere, and the boys were grabbed by the two thieves, as sirens wailed in the distance.
"Marv, I don't think we will be able to keep them this time." One thief said.
The thief with the axe turned to face his partner in crime. "Then what do you suppose we do with them, idiot, you already told them our names, we can't just leave them here."
There was an answer with a quick flick of his partner's eyes.
The two oldest boys were sat back down on their knees. The boys, crying, made the mistake of looking into the eyes of their killer; as he viciously brought the axe down, cutting them off from life one by one.
The sirens rounded the corner, and the thieves took notice as the rounded on the last boy, huddled under the window crying.
"Let's scram Marv," the one thief said.
"We can't leave him either." Marv said.
"Listen, it's him or us, if he lives, we can escape, he we kill him, the cops will catch us." The other one said.
"Let's go then, but let's leave him with reminder to stay silent." Marv agreed.
They threw the heads of his family into the young boy's lap, and dwelled no longer in the Mellark residence, though the screams and tears of the youngest could be heard throughout the neighborhood.
The boy sat there in the puddles of his family's blood, too terrified to move. Drench from head to toe in the remnants of his dead relatives, the boy was retrieved moments later by the police.
The police officer carried the small boy out of the house, his badge gleamed and his name plate caught the street lamplight.
This caught the boy's eye, and it would be a name he would remember forever. The boy never made it to the car though; he collapsed from the trauma in the officer's arms.
He woke up in the middle of the night, screaming and sweating blood. Screaming even more when the heads of his deceased family laid on his bed with the same expressions of horror they had before they were murdered.
I awoke from the dream drenched in sweat and my pillows all over the bed. I scrambled out of bed and into my bathroom. I turned on the faucet and splashed my face with cold water and filled my cup. I dished out my pills from the medicine cabinet, and swallowed.
"Just a dream, just a dream…" I muttered to myself, but it wasn't. This is the most of the nightmare I have ever seen, and the most vivid at that.
Only two things are definite as of right now. I realized this as I stared into the mirror, shaking in fear.
It's getting worse, which means the medication is losing its grip on me. That is as equally frightening as the nightmare.
The other?
Well, James E. Davis isn't the same man who rescued me.
I really hope this story is living up to your expectation of my as an author. Please, please, please review!
XOxXx,
Crystal Heartlace