Castle High's After School Horror

Bob falls backward and grabs his leg, tensing up as the pain shoots through him. He can feel the gaping hole the size of a bullet just above his knee. He looks down at the wound and screams. The blood is soaking his jeans and sinking through to the floor. He looks up at Mikey who smiles as he approaches Bob, placing the gun back in his belt where Bob can’t see.

Of course Mikey wouldn’t kill him right away.

"You killed your own brother," Bob says shakily. He props himself up on his elbows, trying to think of a way to stand up. He isn’t going to go down without a fight. Well, he isn’t gonna stay down.

"I had fun," says Mikey, thoughtful but casual. Mikey pulls out the knife. "I got my point across. I got to watch him suffer and bleed to death. And, hey, if there is an afterlife, he's with his girlfriends now. They’re probably fighting over him. Although, I don’t get what they see in him…"

Bob shakes his head solemnly, angered and tortured by Mikey's easy mention of three people that had died because of him. "You're nuts."

Mikey chuckles heartedly. "You’re upset because of Bonnie. Gosh, she was such a slut! She fucks my brother behind her sister’s back and leads you on during the final seconds of her life? Wow, don’t you have low standards."

Fury burns inside of Bob at Mikey’s insensitivity. There had never been a time when Bob wanted to hurt Mikey so bad. Bob immediately tries to stand up. The sharp pain erupts in his leg and he falls back down. Mikey looks away for a moment.

“Chelsea’s found a locked exit,” he mutters. “I better lead her away.”

Bob’s eyes go wide. He feels the slightest relief and hope in him. Chelsea could escape, call for help—

“Or come and try to play hero,” Mikey says. He smiles at Bob. “She’s coming to your rescue, Bryar.”

Bob’s eyes go wide. “Why? Don’t do that to her! Don’t hurt her! She never did anything to you.”

Mikey shrugs. “She’s coming of her own accord. I’ll send her away, don’t worry.” He crouches down in front of Bob and touches the knife to Bob’s cheek. Bob shudders as the dried blood caresses his skin.

“I just want you,” Mikey whispers.

Bob grabs Mikey’s wrist and twists it. Mikey falls to his knees and Bob reaches behind him for the gun. Mikey tries to pull his wrist from Bob’s grip at the same time twisting away to not allow Bob to grab the gun. Bob takes Mikey’s uncomfortable position as a chance to punch him across the face. Then Bob knees him in the side and pushes him away. Mikey grunts. He reaches over and stabs the knife into Bob’s shoulder. Bob brings his hands to Mikey’s throat, ignoring the sharp pain he is experiencing. His hands wrap around Mikey’s throat and he squeezes, aiming to knock all the air out of the mother fucker. Mikey scratches at Bob’s arms but Bob only squeezes harder. He breathes deeply. The pain starts to become too much.

“Bob!”

Bob looks back for just a second. Chelsea appears in the hall and gasps at the sight before her. Bob looks back down at Mikey and sees that he seems to have stopped fighting. His arms are on the ground, his face is red and his eyes are rolled to the back of his head. Bob pulls away. Chelsea rushes to him and grabs his arm, helping him stand up.

“Thanks for coming back for me,” Bob says, trying to not put too much weight on Chelsea. She seems fragile.

“No problem,” she says, smiling sadly. She gives Mikey a horrified stare. “Is he dead?”

Bob notices Mikey’s chest moving. He shakes his head. He starts to limp away from Mikey. Chelsea loyally helps him. She notices the knife in his shoulder and gasps. Bob glances at it. He pulls away from Chelsea momentarily and leans against the lockers. He tries to pull the knife out, which only causes more pain. He lets out a shaky sigh.

“We need to get an ambulance,” says Chelsea.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Bob agrees.

“You’re all alone, Chelsea.”

Bob and Chelsea look at Mikey with wide eyes. He’s pointing his gun at Bob. Bob swallows.

“The only person that ever cared about you is gone,” Mikey says. “And it’s all your fault.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Bob says fearfully. Chelsea is gaping at Mikey with tears freefalling from her eyes.

“It’s not,” she says, sounding as if she’s trying to convince herself as well as Mikey and Bob.

“Oh, but it is.” Mikey stands, smiling. The gun still points at Bob but Mikey’s condescending, emotionless stare is on Chelsea. “You know it is. Little Beth and the twins and my brother and Ray. Gone, because you’re a little bitch.”

“Shut up, Way!” Bob yells, trying to think of a way out of the situation without getting shot again.

“B-Beth and Gerard are d-dead?” Chelsea mutters. She looks ready to break down.

“It’s not your fault!” Bob insists desperately. What is Mikey trying to do to her?

“Come here, darling,” Mikey whispers sweetly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Bob’s eyebrows furrow as Chelsea approaches Mikey. Then he sees the look in her eyes and understands right away.

“Chelsea, snap out of it!” Bob screams. “Don’t let him control you! You have to be strong!”

Mikey laughs loudly as Chelsea falls into his arms. He hugs her and rocks her side to side. Bob tenses. He’s got a leg he can’t walk on and a possible ally too emotionally and mentally weak to stay out of harm’s way.

Mikey grabs Chelsea’s face, kisses her forehead, and says, “Here, you can play with this.” He gives Chelsea the gun. She looks at it absentmindedly, with the same empty stare that Bob remembers seeing from Beth. “But only under one condition—point it at Bob.”

Chelsea does as she is told. Mikey smiles and waltzes over to Bob. He pulls the knife swiftly out of Bob’s shoulder, making Bob let out a yelp. Bob attempts to stand a little straighter, as to not feel completely doomed.

“Oh, but you are completely doomed,” Mikey says. He chuckles. “You wanna hear something cool?”

Mikey places the knife right on Bob’s throat. Bob’s heart skips a fearful beat. And he remembers: spontaneity. If he doesn’t plan out what he’s going to do, Mikey won’t be able to read his mind and stop him from doing it. He just has to wait for the opportunity. Mikey arches a brow at Bob. And Bob shrinks under his stare, realizing that there is no point. Mikey’s got a knife, a girl with a gun, and no conscience. Bob’s got a leg he can’t walk on and a death sentence.

Bob sighs, silently admitting defeat. “Sure,” he says, figuring that it wouldn’t hurt to ‘hear something cool’.

“Have you ever read A Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe?” Mikey wonders, grinning.

It’s official. He’s insane.

“No,” Bob replies, looking nervously between the gun pointed at him a few feet away and the knife in his throat. He feels very tired suddenly, as if the loss of blood is starting to get to him.

Mikey frowns. “Well, I’m sort of like the guy in the story. Smart, not insane. I wanna kill someone, I make all the preparation necessary. I made sure everyone else in the building left before I started anything. Every time there was a gunshot, I made it so that the people in this neighborhood that might've heard it and called the cops forgot about the sound as abruptly as they'd heard it. I set the mood with the flickering lights. Mind you, the rain was just a convenience. And I even made everyone think that their phones didn't have signals. I'm a fucking genius. This psychic thing has been helpful today."

Bob’s head is spinning. It dawns on him what Mikey is saying. "You mean, this whole time—"

"You could've called for help. Isn't that funny? I'm too good at this. I can control your senses, man. If your phone ever rang, it stopped right away and you forgot that it rang. Quite elaborate, huh? I've been in all of your heads this whole time. Just to make this whole ordeal last long enough for me to torture you. You must be honored."

Bob shakes his head. “You really are insane,” he says.

Mikey’s expression goes from playful to angry. He pushes the knife into Bob’s throat and Bob gasps. He freezes to the spot. Mikey narrows his eyes at Bob. "For years I've been beaten," he starts slowly. "Because I'm different, strange. Because I'm weak." His voice escalates with every syllable and the knife cuts deeper into Bob’s throat. Bob moans painfully. "Because meatheads like you choose me as a punching bag. And all my life my brother hated me. And even though they love me, my parents are afraid of me. My own family! Because of... It's something difficult to explain, hard to control. It's not my fault! I was born this way!" Mikey's rage reflects on his red face and roaring voice. Bob shrinks into an invisible shell. The knife digs deeper. "I've lived all my fucking life shattered because of circumstances way out of my control. So I'm weak and weird. Does everyone have to torture me for it? Does everyone have to crush me with no fucking remorse? Watch and let it happen like I don't matter?" Mikey breathes in short gasps, almost as if he is sobbing. "Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I'm just messed up.”

Mikey chuckles. The small chuckle turns into a completely crazed laugh. Bob’s eyes grow wide.

"Either way,” Mikey says, “you're leaving here in a body bag.”