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TICCI TOBY FINAL PART.
That night Toby lay in bed. His eyes were dazed as he stared straight up at his ceiling. He could feel himself begin to doze off when he heard the scattering of footsteps down his hallway. He sat up and looked towards the doorway, his door wide open. There was no light everything was lit by the luminescent blue glow of the moon through his window, leaving a cold lighting. He stood up and slowly made his way toward the doorway when suddenly the door, which previously was wide open, slammed in his face. He gasped and fell back.
He was out of breath when he hit the ground and he began breathing heavily, his eyes wide open. He waited for a few seconds before getting back on his feet. He reached out and grasped the cold door handle with his bandaged had and it creaked open. He looked out into the dark hallway and tiptoed out of his room. The window at the end of the hallway lit up the darkness with blue moonlight as he padded his way down. He could hear footsteps rustling around him, and faint giggling followed by the pitter patter of small feet, which sounded like a child had run in front of him, giggling and running around. The hallway was a lot longer than he remembered. It seemed endless…like the ride home from the hospital. He heard the door creak in front of him.
“Mom?” he called in a shaky voice.
Suddenly a door slammed behind him and he jumped and turned around. Behind him, he heard a long eerie groan that sounded like croak right in his ear. He turned around as fast as he could and was suddenly face to face with none other than his dead sister. Her eyes were clouded white, her skin pale, the right side of her jaw dangling there by tissue and muscle, glass protruding from her forehead, black blood leaking down her face, her blonde hair pulled up in a pony-tail as it always was, and she was wearing her grey t-shirt and athlete shorts, which were dirty and spotted with blood. Her legs were bent in ways they shouldn’t be. She stood emitting a long croaking noise only an inch away from Toby’s face.
Toby yelped and fell back.
“AH!” He started to crawl backward away from her, but he was unable to break the eye contact he held with her blank, dead eyes. He dragged himself backward until he backed up into something.
He stopped for a second. Everything was dead silent except for his heavy breathing and crying. He slowly looked up to meet the blank face of a tall dark figure, the same figure that stood over him now. Behind the tall dark mass were rows of children looking to range from three to ten years old, their eyes completely black and dark black blood leaked from their eye sockets.
He screamed and stood up as fast as he could only to be tripped by dark black tendrils that wrapped around his ankle. He fell straight on his stomach and got the wind knocked out of him. He tried to scream but he couldn’t make a sound. He wheezed out before it all went black.
Toby woke with a start. He screamed out and sat up as fast as he could, completely short of breath. He wheezed out and held his chest with his bandaged hands. It was just a dream….just a dream. He lay back down on his bed and rolled over on his side. It felt like against weight had been lifted off his chest as he took in deep breaths. He stood up and padded over to his window. He saw nothing. Nobody was out there. No ghosts, no figures, nothing.
He heard the rustling and coughing of his father outside the doorway. His door was closed.
He walked over and opened it. Looking out into the hallway once again, he padded down the hallway and into the kitchen where he found his dad standing and having a smoke in their living room. Toby waited for a second and watched him from around the corner before a burning feeling started deep in his chest.
Deep boiling anger overtook him. He heard the little imaginary voices in his head.
“Do it, Do it, Do it,” they chanted.
He turned away and held his arms. He felt like he actually had control over himself, unlike he did for the past few weeks since he got home from the hospital. He actually had complete thoughts for just moments before the chanting of the little voices in his head clouded them.
“Kill him, he wasn’t there, he wasn’t there, kill him, kill him,” they continued on. Toby trembled. No. No, he wasn’t going to do it. What, was he going crazy? No. He won’t kill anyone. He can’t. He hated his father, but there was no way he was going to kill him.
That was it, the last thought he had before he fell into an idle state once again. The influence of the voices in his head was too much. He began to silently walk up behind his father. He reached over the counter to the knife in the case. He gripped it in his hand. He felt the sensation take over his chest. He let out a snicker.
“Heh… heheh… hehehehehe! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” he began laughing so hard he had to gasp for breath. His father turned around abruptly before he felt a brute force shove him to the floor. He grunted as the air was knocked out of him.
“What!” he looked up at the boy who stood over him, grasping the kitchen knife in his hand.
“Toby, what are you doing?” he went to sit up and put his arms out in front of him in self-defense but before he knew it Toby was on top of him. He went to grab his neck, but his father reached out and blocked his hand by grabbing onto his wrist.
“Stop! Get off of me, you little fucker!” he yelled and with his other hand he threw an off-center punch towards Toby’s shoulder, but he didn’t stop.
The look in Toby’s eyes was not sane. It looked as if a demon had taken control of him. He yelled back and went to stab the knife into his father’s chest, but his father blocked him and grabbed onto his wrist once again. He went shove him back, but Toby kicked his feet out in front of him and landed a hard blow straight to his father’s face. His father recoiled and pulled his arms away to cuff his face, but Toby got back up and drove the knife straight into his shoulder.
His father let out a loud cry and went to pull the knife out, but before he could, Toby threw his fist straight into his face.
He began to pound his fists into his head, laughing and wheezing. He cracked his neck and grabbed the knife and ripped it out of his father’s shoulder. He drove it deep into his dad’s chest and repeatedly stabbed into his torso, blood spilling out and getting splattered everywhere. He didn’t stop until his father’s body went still. He threw the knife over to the side and leaned over his body, coughing and panting. He stared at his father’s smashed-in face and sat there twitching until a loud scream broke the silence. He looked over to see his mother standing a few feet away, covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face.
“Toby!” she screamed, “Why did you do that?” she cried.
“W-why!?” she screamed.
Toby stood up and began to back away from his father’s bloody corpse. He began to back out of the kitchen. He looked down at the blood-soaked bandages on his hands and looked up at his mother one last time before he turned and ran out of the house. He ran into the garage and slammed his hand against the control panel on the wall and pushed the button to open the garage door. Before he ran out, he noticed his father’s hatchets, which had been hanging on the tool rack above a table full of jars filled to the brim with old rusted nails and screws.
One of the hatchets was new, it had a bright orange handle and a shiny blade, and the other was old with a wooden handle and an old, dull blade. He grabbed both and looked down at the table and he saw a box of matches, and under the table was a red gasoline tank. He held both of the hatchets in one hand and grabbed to matches and gasoline before running out of the garage, down the driveway and up the street. As he approached the streetlight that he could see out his own bedroom window, he heard police sirens in the distance.
He turned around and the red and blue flashing lights came rushing down the street. Toby stood for a second before he pulled open the cap on the gasoline tank and ran down the street, spilling gasoline all over the street after him. He turned and ran into the trees. He poured the last bit of gasoline out before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a match. He struck it against the box and immediately dropped it. In an instant, flames burst around him. The fire caught on the trees and bushes around him and before he knew it, he was surrounded by fire. The silhouettes of police cars were visible through the flames as he backed away into the forest around him. He looked around but his vision was blurred, his heart was pounding, and he closed his eyes for a moment. This was it. This was the end.
Toby felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked over to see a large white hand with long boney fingers resting on his shoulder. He followed the arm that was attached to the hand up to a dark, towering figure.
It appeared to be wearing a dark black suit, and its face was completely blank. It towered over Toby’s small frame as it looked down on him. Tendrils reached out from its back. Before Toby knew it, his vision blurred and he heard the sound of ringing in his ears. Everything went blank.
That was it. That was the end. That was how Toby Rogers died.
A few weeks later, Connie sat in her sister’s kitchen. His sister, Lori, sat next to her drinking a cup of coffee.
About three weeks ago, Connie lost her husband and her son, and a few weeks before, she had lost her daughter to a car crash. Since then she moved in with her sister. The police were keeping her busy, they had just finished cleaning up the case, and the story had been released two weeks ago. The focus of the world seemed to have shifted to completely new stories.
Lori switched the TV on to a news broadcast. On the TV the news reporter began introducing the new headline.
“We have breaking news! Last night there have been reported the murder of four individuals. There are no suspects yet, but the victims were a group of middle school kids who had been out in the woods late last night. The kids had been bludgeoned and stabbed to death. The investigators have discovered a weapon at the crime scene. It appears to be an old, dull-blade hatchet, as you can see here.”
The picture changed to show snapshots of the weapon exactly as it was left at the crime scene.
“Investigators have pulled the name of a possible suspect, Toby Rogers, a seventeen-year-old boy who stabbed his father to death a few weeks ago and tried to cover up his escape by setting a fire in the streets and forest area around the neighborhood. Although they believed the young boy had died in the fire, investigators suspect Rogers might still be alive, due to the fact that his body was never found.”
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🔪🔪🔪🔪© GO TO SLEEP🔪🔪🔪🔪
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He was out of breath when he hit the ground and he began breathing heavily, his eyes wide open. He waited for a few seconds before getting back on his feet. He reached out and grasped the cold door handle with his bandaged had and it creaked open. He looked out into the dark hallway and tiptoed out of his room. The window at the end of the hallway lit up the darkness with blue moonlight as he padded his way down. He could hear footsteps rustling around him, and faint giggling followed by the pitter patter of small feet, which sounded like a child had run in front of him, giggling and running around. The hallway was a lot longer than he remembered. It seemed endless…like the ride home from the hospital. He heard the door creak in front of him.
“Mom?” he called in a shaky voice.
Suddenly a door slammed behind him and he jumped and turned around. Behind him, he heard a long eerie groan that sounded like croak right in his ear. He turned around as fast as he could and was suddenly face to face with none other than his dead sister. Her eyes were clouded white, her skin pale, the right side of her jaw dangling there by tissue and muscle, glass protruding from her forehead, black blood leaking down her face, her blonde hair pulled up in a pony-tail as it always was, and she was wearing her grey t-shirt and athlete shorts, which were dirty and spotted with blood. Her legs were bent in ways they shouldn’t be. She stood emitting a long croaking noise only an inch away from Toby’s face.
Toby yelped and fell back.
“AH!” He started to crawl backward away from her, but he was unable to break the eye contact he held with her blank, dead eyes. He dragged himself backward until he backed up into something.
He stopped for a second. Everything was dead silent except for his heavy breathing and crying. He slowly looked up to meet the blank face of a tall dark figure, the same figure that stood over him now. Behind the tall dark mass were rows of children looking to range from three to ten years old, their eyes completely black and dark black blood leaked from their eye sockets.
He screamed and stood up as fast as he could only to be tripped by dark black tendrils that wrapped around his ankle. He fell straight on his stomach and got the wind knocked out of him. He tried to scream but he couldn’t make a sound. He wheezed out before it all went black.
Toby woke with a start. He screamed out and sat up as fast as he could, completely short of breath. He wheezed out and held his chest with his bandaged hands. It was just a dream….just a dream. He lay back down on his bed and rolled over on his side. It felt like against weight had been lifted off his chest as he took in deep breaths. He stood up and padded over to his window. He saw nothing. Nobody was out there. No ghosts, no figures, nothing.
He heard the rustling and coughing of his father outside the doorway. His door was closed.
He walked over and opened it. Looking out into the hallway once again, he padded down the hallway and into the kitchen where he found his dad standing and having a smoke in their living room. Toby waited for a second and watched him from around the corner before a burning feeling started deep in his chest.
Deep boiling anger overtook him. He heard the little imaginary voices in his head.
“Do it, Do it, Do it,” they chanted.
He turned away and held his arms. He felt like he actually had control over himself, unlike he did for the past few weeks since he got home from the hospital. He actually had complete thoughts for just moments before the chanting of the little voices in his head clouded them.
“Kill him, he wasn’t there, he wasn’t there, kill him, kill him,” they continued on. Toby trembled. No. No, he wasn’t going to do it. What, was he going crazy? No. He won’t kill anyone. He can’t. He hated his father, but there was no way he was going to kill him.
That was it, the last thought he had before he fell into an idle state once again. The influence of the voices in his head was too much. He began to silently walk up behind his father. He reached over the counter to the knife in the case. He gripped it in his hand. He felt the sensation take over his chest. He let out a snicker.
“Heh… heheh… hehehehehe! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” he began laughing so hard he had to gasp for breath. His father turned around abruptly before he felt a brute force shove him to the floor. He grunted as the air was knocked out of him.
“What!” he looked up at the boy who stood over him, grasping the kitchen knife in his hand.
“Toby, what are you doing?” he went to sit up and put his arms out in front of him in self-defense but before he knew it Toby was on top of him. He went to grab his neck, but his father reached out and blocked his hand by grabbing onto his wrist.
“Stop! Get off of me, you little fucker!” he yelled and with his other hand he threw an off-center punch towards Toby’s shoulder, but he didn’t stop.
The look in Toby’s eyes was not sane. It looked as if a demon had taken control of him. He yelled back and went to stab the knife into his father’s chest, but his father blocked him and grabbed onto his wrist once again. He went shove him back, but Toby kicked his feet out in front of him and landed a hard blow straight to his father’s face. His father recoiled and pulled his arms away to cuff his face, but Toby got back up and drove the knife straight into his shoulder.
His father let out a loud cry and went to pull the knife out, but before he could, Toby threw his fist straight into his face.
He began to pound his fists into his head, laughing and wheezing. He cracked his neck and grabbed the knife and ripped it out of his father’s shoulder. He drove it deep into his dad’s chest and repeatedly stabbed into his torso, blood spilling out and getting splattered everywhere. He didn’t stop until his father’s body went still. He threw the knife over to the side and leaned over his body, coughing and panting. He stared at his father’s smashed-in face and sat there twitching until a loud scream broke the silence. He looked over to see his mother standing a few feet away, covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face.
“Toby!” she screamed, “Why did you do that?” she cried.
“W-why!?” she screamed.
Toby stood up and began to back away from his father’s bloody corpse. He began to back out of the kitchen. He looked down at the blood-soaked bandages on his hands and looked up at his mother one last time before he turned and ran out of the house. He ran into the garage and slammed his hand against the control panel on the wall and pushed the button to open the garage door. Before he ran out, he noticed his father’s hatchets, which had been hanging on the tool rack above a table full of jars filled to the brim with old rusted nails and screws.
One of the hatchets was new, it had a bright orange handle and a shiny blade, and the other was old with a wooden handle and an old, dull blade. He grabbed both and looked down at the table and he saw a box of matches, and under the table was a red gasoline tank. He held both of the hatchets in one hand and grabbed to matches and gasoline before running out of the garage, down the driveway and up the street. As he approached the streetlight that he could see out his own bedroom window, he heard police sirens in the distance.
He turned around and the red and blue flashing lights came rushing down the street. Toby stood for a second before he pulled open the cap on the gasoline tank and ran down the street, spilling gasoline all over the street after him. He turned and ran into the trees. He poured the last bit of gasoline out before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a match. He struck it against the box and immediately dropped it. In an instant, flames burst around him. The fire caught on the trees and bushes around him and before he knew it, he was surrounded by fire. The silhouettes of police cars were visible through the flames as he backed away into the forest around him. He looked around but his vision was blurred, his heart was pounding, and he closed his eyes for a moment. This was it. This was the end.
Toby felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked over to see a large white hand with long boney fingers resting on his shoulder. He followed the arm that was attached to the hand up to a dark, towering figure.
It appeared to be wearing a dark black suit, and its face was completely blank. It towered over Toby’s small frame as it looked down on him. Tendrils reached out from its back. Before Toby knew it, his vision blurred and he heard the sound of ringing in his ears. Everything went blank.
That was it. That was the end. That was how Toby Rogers died.
A few weeks later, Connie sat in her sister’s kitchen. His sister, Lori, sat next to her drinking a cup of coffee.
About three weeks ago, Connie lost her husband and her son, and a few weeks before, she had lost her daughter to a car crash. Since then she moved in with her sister. The police were keeping her busy, they had just finished cleaning up the case, and the story had been released two weeks ago. The focus of the world seemed to have shifted to completely new stories.
Lori switched the TV on to a news broadcast. On the TV the news reporter began introducing the new headline.
“We have breaking news! Last night there have been reported the murder of four individuals. There are no suspects yet, but the victims were a group of middle school kids who had been out in the woods late last night. The kids had been bludgeoned and stabbed to death. The investigators have discovered a weapon at the crime scene. It appears to be an old, dull-blade hatchet, as you can see here.”
The picture changed to show snapshots of the weapon exactly as it was left at the crime scene.
“Investigators have pulled the name of a possible suspect, Toby Rogers, a seventeen-year-old boy who stabbed his father to death a few weeks ago and tried to cover up his escape by setting a fire in the streets and forest area around the neighborhood. Although they believed the young boy had died in the fire, investigators suspect Rogers might still be alive, due to the fact that his body was never found.”
🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪
🔪🔪🔪🔪© GO TO SLEEP🔪🔪🔪🔪
🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪
