Read Online The Book of Paul -- A Paranormal Thriller by Richard Long - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Long
Tags: Fiction
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your eyes…(Martin followed the slinking rat with more intensity than he thought he was capable of)…and when it feels just right…(just a little more to the right)…and you get a tingle in your stomach…(almost there, just a little more)…and a little voice whispers in your ear…(yes, that’s it!)…then slowly squeeze the trigger…(now! now! now!)…and… BLAM!
“Wow!” Martin yelled, watching the rat explode with so much force that its guts made a hula-hoop around the Big Wheel’s handlebars. “Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow!”
Martin jumped up and down like he might have done on Christmas morning if he ever had the chance. It didn’t matter that Daddy had helped him point it or even that he squeezed Martin’s finger on top of the trigger. It didn’t matter! He had done it too! He had killed the rat. Killed it! Wow! It felt strange and confusing and powerful and exciting and…yes…there was no doubt about it…it felt good.
It felt really, really good.
Martin opened his eyes and stared at the nail in his hand. Then his gaze drifted upward to Paul’s unblinking eyes. He was still wearing the dead mask, showing him nothing—a shark with his eyes rolled backwards. But as Martin surfaced, Paul came back to life and put on his warm friendly mask, congratulating him on his victory.
“Ahhhh…good boy,” he said, with genuine admiration. He started to get up, but then sat back down and placed his hand on top of Martin’s crucified one. Paul had no fingernails. He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly through his nose, savoring the moment, feeling the trembling wreckage inside Martin’s hand. He had evaded all the bones, tendons and major blood vessels with a surgeon’s skill, knowing that Martin would need full use of his hand very soon, but not quite yet. Paul breathed in deeply again, looking into Martin’s tortured eyes, smiling sweeter than Martin had ever seen. Then he grabbed Martin’s hand and gave it a quick sharp tug toward him.
Nothing in the world could have stopped the scream that bellowed from Martin’s throat. Paul threw back his head and screamed along with him, two mad dogs baying to a stone-deaf savior that would never, ever come. Suddenly, Paul stopped, cooing to Martin like he was just a baby, “Shhh…shhhh. Yes, that’s a good, brave lad.” He said the soothing words over and over until Martin’s breathing returned to short, sharp gasps.
Paul rose again from his chair and Martin couldn’t stop himself from groaning in relief. At the sound, Paul froze in place, hovering over him.
“Be a man,” he sneered, then corrected himself: “Be like Christ.”
They started with pins. Tiny needles that looked like the ones in Norine’s sewing kit. It scared Martin just to look at them. Daddy used the needles slowly. Push. Stop. Push. Stop. Then a little bit more, right to the point where Martin could barely stand it. Daddy talked all the time in a voice so calm it felt like a warm, soft towel: “Pain is nothing. One day you’ll grow so big and strong that no one will ever be able to hurt you again. You want to be a big strong man like daddy, don’t you?”
Martin would nod and fight back the tears and Daddy would push in the needle again. Push. Stop. Push. Stop. “Feel the needle, Martin. Feel it…don’t fight it. Feel the core of the pain. It’s sharp, but it’s soft inside. Feel the soft part in the middle and go in there, dive into it like a cool summer pond. It’s not so bad now, is it?”
It was. But the more they did it, all day long sometimes, the more he could feel the soft part…the cool pond…and the deeper he would sink. Down. Down. Down. No words. No voice. No “Ouch!” Just the switch. There it is, right over there. Push. Stop. Push. Stop. Click. Now the pain was something else. It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t bad either. It just was . There was nothing you could say about it, and no more reason to cry.
The first time Martin didn’t want to pull his hand
“Wow!” Martin yelled, watching the rat explode with so much force that its guts made a hula-hoop around the Big Wheel’s handlebars. “Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow!”
Martin jumped up and down like he might have done on Christmas morning if he ever had the chance. It didn’t matter that Daddy had helped him point it or even that he squeezed Martin’s finger on top of the trigger. It didn’t matter! He had done it too! He had killed the rat. Killed it! Wow! It felt strange and confusing and powerful and exciting and…yes…there was no doubt about it…it felt good.
It felt really, really good.
Martin opened his eyes and stared at the nail in his hand. Then his gaze drifted upward to Paul’s unblinking eyes. He was still wearing the dead mask, showing him nothing—a shark with his eyes rolled backwards. But as Martin surfaced, Paul came back to life and put on his warm friendly mask, congratulating him on his victory.
“Ahhhh…good boy,” he said, with genuine admiration. He started to get up, but then sat back down and placed his hand on top of Martin’s crucified one. Paul had no fingernails. He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly through his nose, savoring the moment, feeling the trembling wreckage inside Martin’s hand. He had evaded all the bones, tendons and major blood vessels with a surgeon’s skill, knowing that Martin would need full use of his hand very soon, but not quite yet. Paul breathed in deeply again, looking into Martin’s tortured eyes, smiling sweeter than Martin had ever seen. Then he grabbed Martin’s hand and gave it a quick sharp tug toward him.
Nothing in the world could have stopped the scream that bellowed from Martin’s throat. Paul threw back his head and screamed along with him, two mad dogs baying to a stone-deaf savior that would never, ever come. Suddenly, Paul stopped, cooing to Martin like he was just a baby, “Shhh…shhhh. Yes, that’s a good, brave lad.” He said the soothing words over and over until Martin’s breathing returned to short, sharp gasps.
Paul rose again from his chair and Martin couldn’t stop himself from groaning in relief. At the sound, Paul froze in place, hovering over him.
“Be a man,” he sneered, then corrected himself: “Be like Christ.”
They started with pins. Tiny needles that looked like the ones in Norine’s sewing kit. It scared Martin just to look at them. Daddy used the needles slowly. Push. Stop. Push. Stop. Then a little bit more, right to the point where Martin could barely stand it. Daddy talked all the time in a voice so calm it felt like a warm, soft towel: “Pain is nothing. One day you’ll grow so big and strong that no one will ever be able to hurt you again. You want to be a big strong man like daddy, don’t you?”
Martin would nod and fight back the tears and Daddy would push in the needle again. Push. Stop. Push. Stop. “Feel the needle, Martin. Feel it…don’t fight it. Feel the core of the pain. It’s sharp, but it’s soft inside. Feel the soft part in the middle and go in there, dive into it like a cool summer pond. It’s not so bad now, is it?”
It was. But the more they did it, all day long sometimes, the more he could feel the soft part…the cool pond…and the deeper he would sink. Down. Down. Down. No words. No voice. No “Ouch!” Just the switch. There it is, right over there. Push. Stop. Push. Stop. Click. Now the pain was something else. It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t bad either. It just was . There was nothing you could say about it, and no more reason to cry.
The first time Martin didn’t want to pull his hand
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