Short Story (Cerpen)

Psychos

Category: Fiction Fantasy Short stories

Title: Psycho

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This is the coolest and deadliest story of my life. I walked alone to an isolated country to carry out a dangerous 'fragrance' mission. I'm Silena. I live alone here, Kansas. My papa? He's gone somewhere since my mother died 3 years ago. Last time I met him, his brain was arguably shallower. My mammy? I explained it just now. I never cried with this situation. In fact, I last cried two years ago when an oppressor at my school took 5 white chocolate bars from my bag.

All right, get to the point, okay? I was home from school at the time. I immediately threw myself onto the sofa. I found a shabby brown envelope on the table. On the front, my name is written? Silena Fross's. In the corner, there is a postage stamp depicting a husky dog pulling a snow carriage, with the words Alaska. I opened the envelope carefully. The writing inside looks typed with an ancient typewriter. The paper edge is brown. More or less, this is how it is.

Silena Fross,

I'm writing this letter, hoping you have enough courage to help me prevent my deteriorating situation. From today, if you don't throw this letter away, you're taking part in this mission. For a fifteen-year-old like you, a mission like this is dangerous. Deadly, maybe a more appropriate word. Okay, in the end, if this task I gave you fails, then I will start burning down the Villa, or even kill someone else. I hope you decide to help me on this mission, or break the Initial of the person who sent this letter. Good luck, son.

N.B.: Complete this mission before autumn changes with winter, or Christmas this year turns bad for some people.

Greetings, greetings,

M.F.

I looked at the letter for 10 minutes, read it over and over again, and kept wondering who would fill it with this letter. It's impossible for his friends at school. Where did they get Alaskan stamps? This letter is obviously strange.

I decided to break the initials of the sender first. But how? Who is M.F? He put in horrible words? burning villa? Kill people? The sender of this letter is a psychopath. But how does a psychopath send a letter to a twelve-year-old?

First letter. A voice rang in my head. I don't know who that is. First letter? Yes, this is just one letter sent to me. I've read it repeatedly. 3 times. 5 times. 10 times. 25 times. But I didn't find anything. All right, if this psychopath kills people, or burns villas (as you please), so is that my responsibility? That's bonkers.

I finally realized. The first letter? not the first letter, but the first letter. I started looking for words that used capital letters in words that weren't people's names, or place names, or something like that. All right, that's the letter 'M', then 'A', 'L', 'V' then, 'I' and lastly what? 'N' . I'm talking to myself.

MALVIN'S. I feel familiar with this name. Malvin. Fross. Malvin Fross's. Damnit. That's my father's name. I paused for a moment, looking at the name in wonder, and was surprised. I have decided to help him. My papa? A psycho? Okay, my dad was kind of crazy after mom's death. He said he'd go to Seattle for a while. In fact, he never came back. I thought he was dead. My family and I were wrong. My dad, going crazy? being a cold-blooded murder psychopath.

I started crying. It was my first cry two years ago. I have to help my father. If not, I'm responsible if you burn the place down or kill the man he said in the letter. I'm sure it was the voice of my father that was ringing in my head earlier.

Pick a place in your town, bring as many people as you want, as long as they're dead when you see me. Remember the hour of mother's death. Remember the date of my departure. Meet me at the time, I really hope to see you, Silena. A voice came back to my mind. I'm sure it's dad's voice, but this time he has a German-French-English accent, which I think is unique. But it's definitely my father's voice, even though he has an old-fashioned Shakespeare accent. I'm not sure now you have imaginary friends, or you have multiple personalities.

I started to record the voice in my head. Date dad left? November 27th. Mom's death hour? That's hard to remember. Just thinking about the word 'death' was already very difficult. I'm trying to remember that. I tried to do a flashback when mom was still around. Visit the Golden Gates, have a picnic in Petra, and walk around Buckingham Palace. A long time ago, the numbers started to run through my head like a safe code or a school locker. 21.11.05. Nine o'clock in the evening past eleven minutes. I'm pretty sure it was a funeral. People were dead when I got there? that's palpable. I wrote those words on my calendar: NEEDLEFIELD CEMETERY, NOVEMBER 27, NIGHT 21:11.

The days continue, and this is November 27th, and the day after tomorrow is the end of autumn. I kept looking at my clock, waiting for it. It's 21:00. I glanced at my watch as I walked towards the funeral I was heading to. I stood at the funeral, and looked around. The lights of the house were lit, and surrounded by rows of spruce trees. My eyes were fixated by a stocky man in his 45s in a dark purple robe. His hair was cut like a military member. He wears a maid vest and combat boots. On his face, it was partially covered in bruises that looked still new. I just realized that his hand was also full of scratches that looked sadistic. That's my dad, Malvin Fross. I ran to my father and hugged him. Dad called me back, like a baby covered in blankets? real warm.

'Dad' I broke away from her scratchy hand. 'Why are your hands, and your face so?'

'That's thanks to Julius' He looked around with his turquoise green eyes. 'So he was around here' he said.

'Come, I'm going home' I'm pulling my dad towards my house. My dad and I sat in the dining room. I dragged the nachos setoples and started eating them.

'Who is Julius?' I waited 5 seconds. 10 seconds. But I didn't answer. I took a piece of paper and a pen. 'Dad, I asked you to write your name. On this paper'

I took the pen and paper. The writing is like old English writing, interlocking and looks neat. He didn't write his name. He did not write Malvin Fross. He wrote Julius Vogg. I don't know who that is.

'That's my name' Dad said as he put the pen back on the table.

'Dad just said that father's name was Malvin Fross'

'Who's Malvin? I don't know him' said Dad.

Now, I'm fully convinced that you have a dual personality. Sometimes he becomes Malvin, sometimes he becomes Julius. 'Dad, how many people have you hurt?' I looked at the paper again. 'For the Julus'

'remember 5' said Father (Julius, Malvin, whatever). It was the number of people who were hurt when the father turned into Julius. And when dad became Malvin? I don't know.

'Dad, I'm trying to piece together his personality' I let out a long sigh. 'You remember, when you came home from work, and pelted mom with a vase of flowers, then hit her repeatedly. Dad, do you remember when you hit me with the kitchen door, or do you remember when you slammed me and Mom against the wall?' I said those words. Started to remember when me, dad, and mom were still a united family.

Dad shook his head.

'Did you remember when Mom was in an accident the night after dad scolded me and mom? Do you remember the time of your death? At the intersection where mom was in an accident? Or at which hospital was she treated?'

My father closed his eyes tightly. He muttered in a language that I thought was my mother's name? Katie Cross's. He said that word repeatedly. Katie Fross, Malvin Fross and Silena Fross. Dad started beating the dining table? which somehow I think, the personality of the father has been fused.

'MY NAME IS MALVIN FROSS!' Said dad loudly. He said that word three times. His personality has been unified, and I'm very happy about it. 'Silene, your mission is complete, thank you very much'

He rubbed my hair. He's not a psychopath anymore, but he's back to normal. Normal as an ordinary human.