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| >> Static Item >> Short Story >> Contest Entry >> ID #1657105 |   |
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The Twilight Zone Contest - due 24Mar10
1000-6000 words, entry fee of 2000 gp’s, starts when 10 entries received, rated 13+ ******************************************************** The Twilight Zone Episode One: “The Generation Gap” By Indelibleink (Note: That which appears in the story italicized and in blue color is intended to represent the words spoken from the host of The Twilight Zone, Mr. Rod Serling). Myron watched intently through the picture window as his son entertained himself outside at the picnic table. Albert would search the immediate area for an ant, a spider, a beetle – anything that moved, really – and would stun his prey with a light smack of the hand. What disturbed Myron, however, was what followed: The placing of the bug in an empty match box and the subsequent “incineration” of the victim by virtue of the sun’s rays multiplied many times with the help of a magnifying glass, as directed by Albert. Once death was certain – and sometimes it seemed that Albert would back off once a certain level of agony was attained, to prolong the suffering - the charred remains would be placed on a sheet of notebook paper. The sheet contained a series of numbers, and each body would be placed next to a certain number. “Is he at it again, dear?” Margaret had joined her husband at the window, and dug her fingernails into his forearm as they watched Albert fry another victim. “Yes - and it’s even worse this time. It looks like he’s counting the ‘corpses’, and he now has some sort of ‘rating’ system that ranks each one by the level of pain it incurs before he finishes it off. And, you know what else? The kid hardly ever smiles, but when he’s killing something, you’d think it was Christmas morning! No, Margie, no son of mine…” “Hush, Myron. You know that the doctor said it would take time for the medication to take hold, and that he wasn’t going to change overnight; that occurrences such as this would be normal…” Myron tore his wife’s hand from his arm. “Don’t ever – ever call what’s going on out there ’normal’! When my dad was a kid they said some of the stuff he did was ‘normal’, and we all know how that turned out, don’t we? Like I said, no son of mine…” Meet Myron and Margaret Peeples – a middleclass couple in a middleclass town, with not one – but two - high-class problems: A troubled son, combined with a disturbing family history. Myron is convinced that the evidence is sufficient enough to ensure that a collision is inevitable – somewhere soon – in The Twilight Zone. Dr. Phyllis Nichols looked up from the paperwork she had been studying and looked at Myron and Margaret. “I know what you are seeing must certainly be distressing to you both. But like I told you when we last met – just last week, I remind you – I had indicated that the medication works on a cumulative basis. In other words, it has to build up to a specific level of strength before it will work effectively on Albert, and we’re simply not at that level yet.” “And, tell me, Doctor, will that spare my son the gas chamber should he kill someone before he gets to ‘that level’ – just how will that work?” Myron stood up and glared at the psychiatrist knowing he had asked a question for which she had no viable response. “Need I remind you, my good Doctor, that my father was convicted of murder when I was Albert’s age? And, that I have the documentation from my own father’s murder trial that indicates a pattern of abuse beginning with inanimate objects, then bugs, then small animals, right on up to humans?” Myron picked up the reports Dr. Nichols had been reading and stuffed them in a nearby trash receptacle. “He murdered three people, Dr. Nichols, three! So excuse my lack of faith in the ‘system’, Dr. Nichols. You know how many articles I’ve read on how the genetics of disturbed – oh, I’ll just say it: insane – people show a repeated tendency to skip generations? I will not – in a million years - allow my son to become what my father was. No son of mine…” Dr. Nichols sat quietly until Myron had finished. “Yes, Mr. Peeples, I am acutely aware of your family history, and you can rest assured that everything we have done – or are doing – regarding your son is being done with all of that in mind. Not only that, but…” “I won’t ‘rest assured’ until you can tell me – honestly – that Albert poses no threat to me, my wife, our dog, or those who live around us. Can you do that, Doctor?” Hands on hips, Myron stood in front of the Doctor’s desk, with a stare that pierced like a dagger through any argument Dr. Nichols offered. “Myron, please sit down. You’re scaring Dr. Nichols.” Margaret was telling only a half-truth, for in reality, she was also a bit scared of Myron’s theatrics herself! “That’s okay, Margaret, I’d say we’re done here.” He then turned and pointed at Dr. Nichols. “If that kid kills anybody – it’s on you!” *********************************************************************************** THREE DAYS LATER Myron pulled into his driveway about 1:15 in the afternoon. He had decided to take off the rest of the day from work, as Margaret had called earlier that morning to let him know that Albert had stayed home – sick - from school, and that she was going to be out shopping for a while. Concerned that the sickness may have been because of an increase in Albert’s prescribed dosage - a direct result of Myron’s verbal lambasting of Dr. Nichols a few days earlier - Myron’s conscience was troubled. Myron’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Wilson’s yelping from the basement. Wilson, a pet terrier that was Albert’s present from Myron and Margaret on his fifth birthday, sounded to be in considerable pain, although the sound was partially obscured by the sound of loud rock music. Myron dropped his briefcase and ran through the living room and down the basement steps – stopping just close enough before reaching the bottom that he could peer around into the utility room without being seen. What Myron saw was enough to make him gag: Holding Wilson down with his left arm and with a bloody pair of pliers in his right - doing God only knows what, wait - was that one of Wilson's teeth in the jaws of the pliers? What happened next, happened so fast that it was but a blurr to Myron. He grabbed a plastic dry-cleaning bag that was laying over by the washing machine and quickly wrapped it around Albert's head. Myron closed his eyes and began repeating, "No son of mine will be a killer...No son of mine will be a killer," which, along with the rock music, effectively drowned-out the cries of protest that Albert had attempted - albeit briefly. Wilson had fled the scene at the first opportunity, leaving a sobbing Myron and the lifeless body of his son on the floor of the utility room. "Myron, what have you done? MYRON!!!" Margaret shrieked - just realizing that Albert's head was wrapped in plastic and was not just hurt - but quite dead. She tore the plastic from her son's head...but it was far too late. Myron sobbed, "He was torturing Wilson. It was only a matter of time before he would do the same to humans, Margaret. He pulled Wilson's tooth out, and he was playing insane music while he was doing it so no one would hear." Margaret ran to Myron and began pummeling him on the back. "You fool! Albert's medicine was working! But you -you killed Albert for nothing! He called me and said Wilson had stepped on something sharp and was yelping like crazy. He asked me what to do. I told him to turn on the radio real loud so he wouldn't hear Wilson crying!" Margaret then picked up the bloody object that Myron thought to be a tooth. "This is a shard of porcelain - you idiot - that Albert removed from Wilson's paw...his paw!" Margaret slowly knelt down and began to caress her son's head. Myron - now almost in a full state of shock - shifted his gaze slowly down toward his wife and son. "No son of mine," he murmured. Margaret looked up at her husband. "Well, Myron, you were sure wrong about one thing..." Myron looked blankly at her, perplexed at the statement. "What?" "The part about murderers in your family skipping a generation. You can't say that anymore, now, can you Myron?" Myron Peeples - a middleclass man in a middleclass town. Consumed by the notion that his son would follow in his father's footsteps, he never stopped to consider that genetic factors in generations don't always skip. Myron Peeples - soon to follow in his father's footsteps and now awaiting execution in a cellblock, which is a part of, The Twilight Zone. ***************************************************************** Words: 1476
© Copyright 2010 Indelibleink (UN: indelibleink at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
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