Nothing in This World Can Be Endured Forever

When six rolled around, Bill began dinner. He filled one side of the sink half full with warm water and let the packaged steaks float around. The potatoes were another thing. They took much more time and care to not ruin them. Bill stood on a stool, hunched over the stove as the potatoes boiled in the large pot. He poked at a few of them with a wooden spoon, watching as the dipped under the surface and pushed others to the top.

Soon enough, the potatoes were done boiling. Bill took the heavy pot off the stove and limped to the sink. He dumped the contents into the strainer as steam rolled up to the ceiling.

As Bill was mashing the potato cubs in a large bowl, humming to himself, he heard the front door open and laughter fill the hall way. Bill’s heart raced. They couldn’t be home now, could they? It wasn’t time!

Bill glanced at the clock and panic flooded him. It was time, and he wasn’t done.

Eyes wide in horror, he mashed the potatoes faster. Just as he was finished and was about to add the butter, Jorg entered the kitchen. Bill’s mind was flying with excuses. None of them seemed good enough, but he was finished and had a cover over them by the time Jorg was at the sink checking the meat.

“Cutting it close, I see,” Jorg commented, picking the packages out of the water and getting a pan from the cupboard.
Bill hung his head. “I’m sorry, I was trying to make sure they would stay warm,” Bill spoke softly in a rushed breath.

Jorg turned to him, his eyes wild. “What?” he snapped, stepping closer to Bill.

Bill’s eyes widened. He’d spoken out, confronted Jorg. He dared to raise his eyes, looking through his lashes at his father. He’d screwed up, he was going to pay, and that was guaranteed.

A wide smile crept onto Jorg’s face. “Oh, you just wait…”

Bill was in for it, he was sure.

For the rest of that night and the next day, Bill was restless. A looming black cloud of fear stayed above him through his chores. Bill was only thinking of what Jorg had in store for him. He was hoping that it wouldn’t result in the worst punishment. Bill’s stomach lurched just thinking of it.

As he completed that night's chores, Bianca scoffed at him, scowling as she strutted past.

“God,” she complained. “Take a fucking bath.”

The next day came and went without any sign of punishment. Bill’s ankle was healing, and although it still ached, it was much less painful to walk on. Bill was able to stand properly to clean the tall windows. Requiring the use of a small step ladder, Bill was leaning over the top, his arm extended, trying to reach the farthest corner. The ladder, old and crooked, wobbled dangerously as Bill moved. Afraid to fall and break something Jorg liked, Bill gave up and left the corner and top part of the window unclean. Jorg wouldn’t even notice.

That night was easy on Bill. All he had to do was the dinner dishes. He was even allowed a small plate for himself. Bill gratefully scarfed the delicious food up, feeling as if it was too good to be true.

His belly ached unpleasantly that night. He lay awake looking up at the rafters. His thin fingers were laced together and placed on his lower stomach, trying to ease the upset organs just above his warm hands. Luck was on Bill’s side; the uneasy swirling and cramps died down and he was able to drift into a light sleep.

That night, Bill drempt a strange dream. A boy with neck length hair (the color was undistinguishable to Bill) had come to him in his basement room. The boy had taken his hand and showed him a new life, his life. A life Bill could live if he held onto the unnamed boys hand and followed him.

Bill awoke before he could finish the dream. No light was coming in through the small window over his bed, so he fell back asleep.

Bill’s next set of dreams were unpleasant and choppy. All were based on the same principle, though – Jorg and/or the rest of the family coming home before he was completed with the list of tasks he was given. All ended up with the same result: Jorg dragged him through the house by his wrist, silent and angry; to the one place Bill feared the most.

Bill’s eyes snapped open and dream blurred into reality. Before he realized, he was sprawled out on the floor, a huffing Jorg above him and his scalp aching. Bill cowered in fear, the remnants of his dream still confusing the situation.

“Do you know what time it is?” Jorg spat, bending over to spit in Bill’s face.

His fingers gripped Bill’s hair tightly, lifting the boy up and forcing him in a standing position. Bill’s face contorted in pain as his head was pulled backwards. His shoulders moved in pain in reaction to his head being forced to bend as far back as it would go.

“Do you fucking know what time it is?” Jorg spat again.

Bill took notice of the dim light coming in through the window. Bill was unsure if he should answer or stay silent.

“It’s eleven!” Jorg answered for him.

Bill’s hair was pulled tighter in Jorg’s grip, raising him onto his toes to try to relieve some of the pain. Jorg gruffly pulled him out of the small room.

“You fucking think you can get away with sleeping all day, hmm? We’ll teach you, boy. You’ll be afraid to even blink, let alone sleep, after this,” Jorg threatened, leading him through the basement.

Bill instantly recognized where Jorg was taking him. His eyes widened in horror, his heart pounded erratically in his chest. His body reacted without thinking of the consequences. His tried to pull himself out of Jorg’s grip, his hands trying to push his father from him. His legs kicked out at Jorg, trying to trip him up or at least make him let go of his hair.

Jorg let go of his hair, but grabbed Bill around the waste and carried his thrashing body, instead.

“No!” Bill screamed, struggling to get out of Jorg’s grip. “Please! Anything but this!”

Tears were filling Bill’s eyes now as his stomach clenched, his throat became dry and his mouth watered in fear. His head pounded with the thumpthumpthump of his heart. His chest became heavy and clenched painfully on his lungs and heart as they neared the feared place.

“Please!” Bill begged, almost daring to call out to his father by name.

They reached the far end of the basement, the part underneath the garage. This end had no windows, was damp and musty smelling. Jorg opened the small wooden door to the small closet in the darkness. Bill screamed, begged and cried for his father to not resort to this. He thrashed in his grip, trying to break free one last time.

Jorg used his strength to his advantage as he threw the small boy into the deep darkness of the closet. He quickly slammed the door and bolted the shiny new bolts and padlocks on the door. To ensure the old door wouldn’t give, Jorg placed a coffee table in front of the door, reinforcing it.

Jorg smiled as he heard Bill throw himself against the door, his pleas and cries muffled and making Jorg laugh as he walked away.

Bill clawed at the door, his crying consuming his whole body. Violent shudders ran through him, his chest tightened even farther and his head seemed to become too small for his brain. Bill continued to pound on the door, crying and calling out to his father, even calling him Dad. His voice soon became hoarse and he momentarily paused.

Bill was curled up into a ball against the door, his thin body shaking in fear, tears running down his face and his heart pounding just as fast as it ever had. With the violent shudders, his stomach clenched and Bill found himself suddenly retching the food that had stirred sickly in his abdomen the night before.

Acrid saliva burned his tongue afterwards and he spit into the darkness, more hot tears dripping from his face. His nose ran, the mucus running like his tears over his lips. Bill choked on another round of sobs, desperation getting the best of him in the dark space. He cried earnestly, unsure of when the panic filling his chest would subside, if it would ever. Bill wasn’t sure how long he was trapped in the small space, but he was soon rocking back and forth, whispering words of comfort from distant memories to himself.

“Nothing’s going to get you, Bill,” he whispered hoarsely to himself, choking down another sob as he rocked forwards. “You’ll be fine. The dark will go away… Nothing can get you…”

His fear didn’t falter, even with the whispered words. His chest clenched tighter upon its self as he heard the garage door open then close moment later. He backed himself farther into the corner, trying to get away from the walls that were closing in on him, suffocating him to the point where he couldn’t even cry.

Bill began gasping for air that wasn’t there, his eyes darting around the dark room. Faces laughed at him from the walls, appearing so suddenly it startled him. They were so clear, as if he was seeing them in a brightly lit room instead of the dark cellar. They all twisted into distorted, ugly human beings that laughed and taunted him. The faces spat words at him that made him afraid to look at any of them, but they were everywhere, surrounding him. There wasn’t a space in the cellar without a face.

And that’s when Bill passed out. His lungs kept straining for breath, but his brain told them to stop, take a rest and try again when the faces where gone, when the light returned and when the room stopped closing in on itself.

Bill awoke hours later, a rancid smell of sick filling his nostrils. He groaned and sat up, wondering what the smell was. His eyes burned from the lack of light and he blinked the sleep away before remembering where he was. Bill’s breath caught in his throat as his heart raced, his body seizing up as his eyes fixated on the figure across from him. All bones and covered in a black coat like thing. Bill didn’t dare take his eyes off of the figure. He whispered his words of comfort, but the figure remained, so he chanted the only thing that came to mind.

“If I die, it’ll be alright. Dad will find another. He will not punish me. If I die, it’ll be alright. If I die, nothing bad can happen. I will be safe. I will be safe…”

These words were words he whispered to himself in the night after the worst of punishments. He’d come to grips with the fact that death was after him long ago and comforted himself most nights with the thought that if he died right then, never to wake in the morning to do Jorg’s list of chores, that he would be alright. The afterlife wouldn’t be so bad, neither would death, thought the thought scared the living daylights out of him most of the time.

“If I die, I will be alright. I will be alright.”

The strong smell of sickness returned to Bill’s attention once again. Never taking his hands off of the figure sharing this room, he reached up and touched the side of his face. He felt his own sick there and almost retched again form the thought of the vile substance being on him, in his hair. He’d never get it out now, with the already sparse bath schedule.

A new fear, one unexplainable in Bill’s mind, arose. He suddenly turned to the door, feeling the need to get out of the room, away from the smell and the figure hunched in the corner, waiting for it’s time to pounce. Bill banged his fists against the door, screaming out for his father, anybody, to let him out, to please, dear God, please, save me. He was crying again and felt as if he’d never get out, never get away from the fears. He’d die here, forgotten by everyone, and never ever cared about.

Because the words did little to comfort him, his right thumb found its way into his mouth, resting against his pallet and barely touching his teeth as his mouth accommodated the appendage. He instantly felt comforted by his thumb. He liked the pressure against the roof of his mouth, the feel of it against his lips and how it didn't even touch his teeth.

He felt calmer.