Many Years Ago...

  Everyone has their own motivations for reaching a breaking point; here is what led to mine.

  The clock struck 5:30 in the morning as my phone alarm disrupted my slumber. I rarely wake up at such an hour, but today is different. It is Halloween, a day when the supernatural walks among us and chaos ensues.

  Even though it was only 5:34 in the morning, I quickly slipped into my Halloween costume, which featured a vampire cloak and artificial fangs. I gently opened the door to my 13-year-old brother Joseph's room and found him peacefully asleep. Afterward, I went to see my twin sister, Amanda, who was also fast asleep. I truly loved her, but there were times I wondered if she would be the end of me. I decided to check on my parents, but to my surprise, they were nowhere to be found.

  I descended the stairs and discovered that my parents were also absent. Heading to the kitchen, I decided to prepare a fresh pot of coffee. While waiting for it to brew, I noticed a note affixed to the fridge: "Please behave. We are in Eau Claire and will be back home later tonight."

  That concludes the situation. We find ourselves alone at home together.

  Before long, my siblings were awake, and after they finished their breakfast, we gathered to watch THE THING. We continued our day by carving pumpkins and enjoying board games to keep ourselves entertained. Eventually, it was time to prepare for bed. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when Amanda walked past.

  I asked Amanda, "Did you lock the back door?" She turned with a sigh and said, "Yeah," sounding annoyed, before she went to her room. After I finished my bedtime preparations, I entered my bedroom, lay down, and soon fell asleep.

  At around 11:25 PM, I was abruptly roused by the noise of an object crashing to the ground. I swiftly dressed in a shirt and pants before quietly making my way downstairs, using the flashlight on my phone to illuminate the path to the kitchen. Upon arrival, I discovered a pot lying on the floor.

  It seems to me that we are not by ourselves right now...

  While I snuck around the lower level, I felt an unexpected drop in temperature. Shortly thereafter, I noticed that the backdoor was left wide open. My sister neglected to secure it, and now it appeared that an intruder was present.

  In that instant, I determined that my best option was to find my brother and sister to guarantee their safety. I sprinted toward the stairs, but before I could ascend the first step, I was confronted by a chilling sight. A tall figure in a mechanic's jumpsuit, wearing a clown mask, stood there, holding a butcher knife. He tilted his head as he stared at me.

  Before I could even move, the clown approached me, knife raised in a threatening gesture. In a split second, I snatched a candle from a nearby table and threw it at his face. The candle broke apart upon hitting him, causing him to reel back. I took advantage of the moment and swiftly ran past him, making my way up the stairs.

  I dashed into my sister's room and took hold of her arm, pulling her out of bed. "What are you doing?!" she yelled in surprise. "Someone's here!" I shouted in response. I dragged her toward my little brother's room. When I glanced back at the stairs, I noticed the clown standing ominously. "Quickly!" I urged, slamming the door shut behind us.

  I woke my brother with a shake. "What's going on?" he questioned. "You said someone is here!" my sister cried out. I shoved my brother's dresser against the door for protection. Turning to them, I said, out of breath, "A man in a clown costume just tried to kill me, and he followed me up here..." "What do we do now?" my sister asked, clearly frightened. "I need a weapon..." I thought of the Glock in my parents' room. "You need to call 911 immediately," I directed my sister.

  She appeared disheartened. "It's still in my room," she confessed. I let out an exasperated sigh. "I'll retrieve it then." As I scanned the area, my gaze fell upon my brother's closet. "You all stay in there and remain quiet," I instructed. "I'll return shortly," I added while beginning to move the dresser back.

  I cautiously peered into the hallway, but the clown was absent. Stealthily, I made my way toward my parents' room. I gently opened the door and approached their bed. Crouching down, I retrieved the gun case. Fortunately, I was familiar with the code. I unlocked it, took out the gun, and proceeded to reload it.

  Just as I stepped out of the room and headed toward my sister's, I heard a desperate scream for help. The clown had found them!

  I dashed into the room and caught sight of the clown kicking the door open with force. Just as he was about to grab one of them, I yelled, "Hey, you fool!" The clown turned to face me. I aimed my firearm at him and shouted, "Go to hell!" I pulled the trigger, only to remember that the safety was still on when all I heard was a click.

  I lowered my eyes and made an effort to switch off the safety feature. But as I lifted my head, I was confronted by a knife thrust into my neck. I crumpled to the floor, my fingers reaching for the weapon lodged in my flesh. I caught sight of my siblings watching me from the closet. Then, darkness enveloped me.

  My brother Ivan is gone... I saw life fade from his body. The clown then shifted his attention to my sister and me. My sister stood protectively in front of me. "What have you done?!" she screamed at the clown. The clown responded by grabbing her collar and forcefully tossing her into the hallway.

  As my sister was forcefully pushed into the hallway, the clown moved closer to her. I noticed the gun lying just a few feet away. Without hesitation, I sprinted to retrieve the Glock, raised it, and aimed it at the clown. I pulled the trigger, and a flash erupted.

  The clown tumbled down the staircase, landing with a heavy thud at the bottom. Blood quickly pooled around him. My sister turned to me, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You shot him..." she remarked, astonished. She approached me and wrapped her arms around me. "It's over..." she whispered, offering me solace.

  In that fleeting moment of peace, I confronted the harsh truth of my brother's demise and the life I ended. It was a defining experience, signifying my first act of violence and the shedding of blood.

  Thunder rolled across the dark sky above Noir's Orphanage, its Victorian architecture casting long shadows in the intermittent flashes of lightning. Inside, the building held its usual nighttime silence, broken only by the soft breathing of sleeping children and the occasional creak of century-old wood.

  In the boys' dormitory, metal-framed beds lined the walls in neat rows, each bearing a small name tag. Near the window, sixteen-year-old Joseph Marlowe lay still beneath thin blankets, his name tag – "Joseph M." – gleaming dully in the darkness. A particularly bright flash of lightning split the sky, and Joseph's eyes snapped open, his body jolting upright in bed. His dark hair was disheveled from sleep as he scanned the room, heart pounding against his ribs.

  Something felt wrong.

  After a moment's hesitation, Joseph swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards were cold beneath his bare feet as he made his way toward the door, careful not to wake the other boys. The old staircase loomed before him, a darker shadow in the gloom.

  As he descended, movement caught his eye – quick, darting shadows that seemed to dance at the edge of his vision. Joseph instinctively crouched down, making himself smaller. From below, voices drifted up from the kitchen.

  "I'm telling you that boy is nothing but trouble." Amanda Harrison's voice, sharp with frustration, carried clearly through the still air. The orphanage's administrative director had never bothered to hide her opinions.

  "He's just a child," Lorie Matthews, one of the night staff, responded with her characteristic gentleness.

  "He's sixteen!" Amanda's voice rose slightly before she caught herself.

  "Someone will—" Lorie began, but Amanda cut her off.

  "Go."

  "But Amanda—"

  "I said go!"

  Joseph pressed himself against the wall, hidden behind the heavy wooden door as Lorie's footsteps passed by. His heart thundered in his chest as he waited for her to move away. When the sound of her steps had faded, he peered around the doorframe into the kitchen.

  Amanda stood alone by the window, her silhouette outlined against the storm-dark sky. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she spoke to the empty room. "He's a good kid though."

  She turned around, and in that moment, a figure stepped out of the shadows. The fox mask it wore was crude, almost primitive, its red surface catching the lightning's glare. Metal flashed in the darkness – quick, decisive – and Amanda's eyes went wide as the blade opened her throat.

  Joseph stepped into the kitchen, uncomprehending. "Amanda?"

  She lay crumpled on the floor, dark liquid pooling beneath her body, spreading across the worn linoleum. The reality of what he was seeing hit him all at once, and Joseph's scream shattered the night's silence, echoing through the halls of Noir's like the thunder that continued to roll overhead.

  Three days later, Joseph stood motionless, his hollow eyes fixed on the polished oak casket suspended over freshly-dug earth. Lorie Matthews and young Alice Peterson flanked him, clutching white lilies in their trembling hands. A sea of black-clad mourners surrounded them, their heads bowed against the autumn chill.

  The preacher's lips moved in silent prayer, his words carried away by the wind before they could reach Joseph's ears. He barely registered Lorie's hand squeezing his shoulder, offering comfort he couldn't feel. The casket began its slow descent into the ground, the mechanical whir of the lowering device seeming unnaturally loud in the cemetery's solemn quiet.

  The headstone stood sentinel, its fresh-carved letters stark against the granite: "Amanda Strode - Caring Teacher 1945 - 1992." Joseph stared at those dates, trying to compress a life into those simple numbers, separated by a hyphen that seemed too small to contain all that Amanda had been.

  Lorie stepped forward first, her flowers tumbling into the grave with a soft rustling sound. Two more mourners followed, their offerings joining hers in a growing blanket of white petals against the dark earth. When Joseph's turn came, he approached the edge but couldn't bring himself to throw anything in. He simply sighed, a sound heavy with things left unsaid, and turned away as the moon began to rise in the pale evening sky.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Later that night, in the orphanage bathroom, Joseph closed the door behind him with a quiet click. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across his face as he approached the mirror. A poster of the full moon on the wall seemed to mock the one he'd seen earlier at the funeral, this one flat and lifeless in comparison.

  He opened the medicine cabinet, reaching for his toothbrush. As he closed it, the reflection showed Amanda standing behind him, her throat still bearing the savage wound that had taken her life.

  "Why didn't you save me?" Her voice was exactly as he remembered it, but with an ethereal quality that made his skin crawl.

  Joseph spun around to face empty air, his heart racing. "I couldn't," he whispered to the vacant bathroom.

  Turning back to the mirror, he gripped the edges of the sink and studied his reflection, searching his own features for something he feared to find there.

  "I'm not a monster," he said in his reflection, but the words seemed to hang in the air, uncertain and fragile in the fluorescent glare.

  The sharp crack of breaking glass made Joseph jump. He spun away from the mirror, his dark thoughts scattered by the sound of a rock hitting the bathroom window. Opening it, he leaned out into the cool night air, a hint of a smile touching his lips for the first time in days.

  "Eric!" he called down.

  His best friend stood below, shadowed against the moonlit grass. "Hey Joseph," Eric called back. "You weren't answering my texts so I decided to come on by."

  "Yeah, I- I was at Amanda's funeral." The words felt heavy in Joseph's mouth.

  Eric's posture changed immediately, shoulders tensing with sudden discomfort. "Oh- uh- I'm- I'm sorry."

  "It's okay."

  Eric rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight from foot to foot before suggesting, "Wanna come hang out and talk about it?"

  "I'll meet you around the back."

  Minutes later, Joseph wheeled his bike up to where Eric waited, already mounted on his own bicycle. The night air held a hint of autumn crispness, carrying the scent of fallen leaves.

  "Wanna race?" Joseph asked.

  Eric's answering nod was all the confirmation needed. Joseph pulled out his phone, scrolling through Spotify until he found the perfect song - "Today" by The Smashing Pumpkins. As the opening notes filled the quiet street, they moved their bikes to the middle of the road.

  "One..." Joseph called out, tightening his grip on the handlebars.

  "Two..." Eric cracked his neck, a habit he'd had since they were kids.

  Joseph drew in a deep breath, feeling his heart race with anticipation rather than fear for the first time in days. "GO!"

  They shot forward into the darkness, wheels humming against asphalt as the music swelled around them. Joseph pulled ahead, the wind whipping through his hair.

  "Slow poke!!!" he shouted over his shoulder.

  Eric's response was a raised middle finger that made Joseph laugh, the sound surprising him with its genuineness.

  By the time they reached the park, Joseph had maintained his lead. He hopped off his bike, turning to watch Eric roll up beside him.

  "We have a winner!!!" he declared triumphantly.

  They walked their bikes past the weathered park sign, making their way down to the beach. The moon painted a silver path across the water as they settled onto the sand.

  "Eric," Joseph said softly, "Promise me you'll never leave me... ever."

  Eric turned to look at him, his expression serious in the moonlight. "They'd have to kill me to ever separate us," he said, lifting his hand to his head in a shooting gesture that seemed to echo in the quiet night.

  "I'm so glad that you care about me," Joseph whispered.

  "Joseph, how are you holding up?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I know she meant a lot to you."

  Joseph stared out at the dark water. "Maybe. She didn't deserve it." He swallowed hard. "I just wish it was me, not her."

  "Don't say that."

  "I know." Joseph drew his knees up to his chest. "I just feel bad."

  The waves lapped at the shore, a gentle rhythm that seemed to mock the chaos in Joseph's mind, while above them, the same moon that had witnessed Amanda's burial continued its patient journey across the sky.

  The evening sun cast long shadows across the riverbank as Eric glanced down at his phone, his expression shifting as he read the message. He pushed himself up from where they'd been sitting, brushing off his jeans.

  "I gotta go, parents are calling me back home," Eric said, extending his fist toward Joseph. They bumped knuckles in their familiar goodbye ritual before Eric turned and walked away, leaving Joseph alone with his thoughts.

  Joseph stared out at the flowing river, its surface catching the dying light. "I'm not a monster..." he whispered to the water, his voice barely audible above the gentle current. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, his shoulders slumping with the weight of unspoken burdens.

  The sudden blare of a car horn shattered his reverie. Minutes later, he found himself loading his bike into the back of a pickup truck, the metal frame scraping against the bed as he secured it. Climbing into the passenger seat, he was met by Lorie's concerned gaze from behind the steering wheel.

  "Joseph, I won't tell them," she said softly, her words carrying a promise.

  "What's so bad about me hanging out with Eric?" Joseph's question hung in the air between them, heavy with frustration and hurt. Instead of waiting for an answer, he turned away, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the window.

  Later that night, Joseph lay in his darkened bedroom, sheets twisted around him as he stared up at the ceiling. "Am I a monster?" he whispered into the darkness. His eyes drifted closed, pulling him into an uneasy sleep.

  The dream came as it always did, beginning in a hospital hallway that seemed to stretch endlessly, its fluorescent lights creating a hazy, surreal glow. "Mom," Jason called out, his voice echoing off the sterile walls.

  There she was, lying in the hospital bed, looking so small against the white sheets. "It's alright my little bug," she said, reaching for him. Her hand found his, and Jason felt tears begin to stream down his face.

  "Don't worry about me," she continued, her voice growing softer. "You're going to do amazing things when you're older and you're going to find the love of your life..." She clasped his hand between both of hers, her grip weakening even as she tried to comfort him. "Don't worry."

  Then came the moment that haunted him - her hands going slack, falling away as the monotonous tone of the heart monitor filled the room. "Wake up!" Jason screamed, lunging forward only to be caught by Ron's strong arms pulling him back, away from the bed, away from her.

  The dream shifted, and suddenly Joseph found himself standing alone in a vast field. "Hello?" he called out, his voice small in the empty space. As he turned, he saw it - the Rabbit, standing motionless with its back to him. "Hello?" he called again, his heart beginning to race.

  The Rabbit's head twisted around, its movement unnatural and jerky, before it launched itself toward him with terrifying speed.

  Joseph's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest. Turning his head, he could see through his bedroom window that the world outside was still shrouded in darkness, the night far from over.

  A sudden crash echoed from downstairs, the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Joseph's breath caught in his throat as he slipped out of bed, his bare feet silent against the wooden floor. As he descended the staircase, moonlight filtered through the windows, casting distorted shadows that danced across the walls. The sounds of someone—or something—rummaging through the house grew louder.

  Approaching the living room door, Joseph's pulse thundered in his ears. He peered around the doorframe, and his blood turned to ice. There, illuminated by pale moonlight, was the Fox Killer, methodically searching through the room. Behind him, propped against the wall, an ax gleamed dully in the darkness.

  Joseph stepped into the doorway, summoning a courage he didn't know he possessed. "Excuse me?" His voice was steady, betraying none of the terror coursing through his veins.

  The Fox Killer whirled around, his knife catching the moonlight as he raised it. The mask that had terrorized the news for weeks stared back at Joseph, its painted vulpine features twisted into a permanent snarl.

  "Can you please get me a book?" Joseph gestured toward the bookshelf, his movement deliberate and calm. The killer's head tilted to one side, like a confused animal. "Please, Mr. Fox?"

  A resigned sigh escaped from behind the mask. The killer moved toward the shelf, his knife still gripped tightly in one hand.

  "Top shelf," Joseph directed, watching as the killer stretched upward on his toes, reaching for the indicated book. As the killer's attention focused on the task, Joseph silently crossed the room to the ax.

  The killer retrieved the book and turned around, only to find Joseph standing before him, ax gripped in both hands. "Boo!" The word was barely out of Joseph's mouth before he swung the ax, the blade embedding itself in the side of the killer's skull with a sickening thud.

  As the killer collapsed, his body struck the bookshelf. A weathered suitcase that had been perched on top teetered for a moment before crashing to the floor, its latches giving way. Joseph nudged it open with his foot, revealing neat stacks of bound cash.

  "Huh..." The word escaped him in a breathless whisper as he stared at the unexpected fortune. Gripping the ax handle firmly, he wrenched it free from the killer's head, blood and other matter following in its wake.

  Rage suddenly overwhelmed him, years of bottled emotion finding their release. "Was that what you wanted!?" he screamed, bringing the ax down again and again into the killer's skull, each impact sending a spray of crimson across the hardwood floor. The sound of metal striking bone echoed through the silent house, a brutal percussion to accompany his vengeance.

  Red and blue lights strobed across the neighborhood, casting eerie shadows on the faces of curious onlookers who had gathered despite the late hour. Police cars and an ambulance crowded the street, their presence drawing more attention with each passing minute. On the front porch, Joseph sat with Lorie, Alice, and Eric, all of them watching the scene unfold before them.

  "What happened?" Eric asked, his voice barely above a whisper as they watched paramedics wheel a black body bag toward the waiting ambulance.

  Joseph stared straight ahead, his face illuminated by the flashing lights. "He..." he began, trailing off as the ambulance doors slammed shut with a haunting finality. His eyes never left the vehicle as he finished his thought. "Must have fallen."

  A small smile played across Joseph's lips, almost imperceptible in the darkness. Eric leaned over, resting his head on Joseph's shoulder as the night wrapped around them like a shroud.

  Morning arrived with harsh clarity, sunlight streaming through the windows of the living room where Joseph sat motionless on the couch. The events of the previous night felt distant, like a dream that refused to fully fade.

  Lorie burst into the room, her face bright with what seemed like forced enthusiasm. "Someone is here to adopt you!"

  Before Joseph could process her words, a tall figure emerged from behind her. "Hello Joseph, I am Doctor Leon," the man said, his professional demeanor at odds with the informal setting. He approached Joseph with measured steps, extending his hand in greeting.

  Joseph shook it mechanically, his mind struggling to catch up with the sudden turn of events.

  "Come on," Dr. Leon said, his grip tightening as he pulled Joseph up from the couch and toward the door. The movement was smooth but forceful, brooking no argument.

  "Wait!" Joseph's voice cracked as panic seized him. He tried to wrench his arm free, his feet scrambling against the floor. "Help!"

  He twisted around, desperately searching for someone, anyone who might intervene. There, in the doorway, stood Alice, watching the scene unfold with wide, unblinking eyes.

  "Help me!" Joseph's plea echoed through the room, but Alice remained motionless, a silent witness to his departure. Their eyes locked for one final moment, her expression unreadable as Joseph was pulled away, leaving behind everything he knew.

  Stark white walls and the sharp smell of antiseptic. Joseph strapped to a cold metal table, leather restraints biting into his small wrists and ankles. The fluorescent lights above buzzed incessantly, their harsh glare reflecting off the metal instruments arranged with clinical precision.

  The needle entered his arm with practiced efficiency, its contents pushing into his veins like liquid fire. At first, there was only the burning sensation, spreading from the injection site through his entire body. Then it began.

  His arm convulsed violently, the muscles spasming beneath his skin. Joseph watched in horror as his fingers began to stretch, the bones elongating with sickening pops and cracks. A scream tore from his throat, raw and primal, echoing off the sterile walls.

  Through the observation window, Dr. Leon stood watching, his expression unchanged as he documented every moment of the child's transformation. His pen moved methodically across his clipboard, recording each scream, each distortion of flesh and bone, with scientific detachment.

  Soon in another room—this one padded from floor to ceiling in stark white. There, standing motionless in the center, was the Rabbit. Its presence seemed to consume the space, its stillness more terrifying than any movement could have been. The fluorescent lights cast multiple shadows behind it, each one seeming to move independently of the others, despite the Rabbit's perfect stillness. His Lonely Perfection