Jonathan

Chapter 3

In the early morning stillness Jonathan’s heavy footsteps echoed in the silence. He passed a man walking a jovial looking black lab who barked playfully but Jonathan ignored it. The man stopped for a moment and watched Jonathan pass by, he seemed to be in such a hurry, and so dishevelled. The man couldn’t help but think that Jonathan must be a drug addict or a homeless man.

“This damn neighbourhood is falling apart.” The man mumbled to himself and tugged at the leash to convince his dog to move on. The lab’s attention was easily torn away from Jonathan as it sniffed the sidewalk, distracted by some mysterious scent.

Jonathan could feel his lungs screaming for air, his legs were beginning to cramp but he didn’t stop running. As he passed a familiar elementary school he dreaded the thought of what might have happened if children were out in the playground. The thing inside him loved making trouble, it loved causing pain and corrupting innocents and Jonathan shuddered at the thought of another fiasco like last night.

He stopped running and fell to the soft yard of a squat bungalow. His breath was coming in short gasps as he heard a siren in the distance and began to panic. He climbed to his feet and ducked around to the side of the house, the foundation of which was built into a hill so that the back was two stories while the front was only one.  A huge wooden deck wrapped three quarters of the way around the house and Donovan sat patiently on the ground beneath it as he came to the backyard.

Think Jonathan, think. He hit his head with his fists. What was he doing here? Why would he think it was a good idea to come back to this town? To this house?

“What happened? What’s going on?” Jonathan remembered a voice from the past. It rang in his head like a church bell, completely unable to resist he allowed himself to get lost in his memories.

---

“You did what!?” Jonathan’s father towered over him, bubbling with rage.

“I...I didn’t do it, I swear!” Jonathan whimpered.

“Don’t give me anymore of that ‘lost control’ bullshit!” Jonathan’s father bellowed, clenching his fists. “That boy’s mother called me, she told me what you did.”

“Please dad, please! I swear I had no control.”

Jonathan’s father slammed a fist against the wall beside his head. It sent a terrible chill of fear down Jonathan’s spine. “You and I both know that’s not true.”

Jonathan didn’t respond. The chill of fear lingered in his spine, he felt his limbs grow cold and he dreaded what would come next. His father drew back his fist again, ready to slam it into his son’s face, but Jonathan ducked and the man’s fist broke through the wall this time.

Please no, don’t do this Jonathan called out from inside his brain, unable to get his lips to respond.

But it’s so much fuuun! A dark familiar voice called back to him, laughing now. Jonathan realized the laugh wasn’t just in his head, he was laughing up at his father which only made the man angrier.

“You think that’s funny do you?” He raged, struggling to pull his hand out of the wall.

Jonathan moved away from the man and grabbed a baseball bat from his closet. “No, I don’t think that’s funny.” He said, raising the bat high over his head. “I think this is.”

Jonathan’s father screamed in pain and anger as the bat came down hard on his back.

“What happened? What’s going on?” Jonathan’s mother entered the room, still dressed in her hospital scrubs as she’d just came home from work. “Jesus Jonathan!” She said, running to her husband’s side.

“Quite the opposite I’m afraid.” Jonathan laughed and swung the bat at his mother. It made contact with her head and she fell over backwards.

Jonathan’s father pulled his fist free of the drywall and swung around to hit his son. The blow swept delicately close to Jonathan’s ear, there was another, and then another. No matter how many time the man tried to hit his son he just couldn’t seem to do it

“You have no idea how great your son really is do you?” Jonathan said, swinging the bat up through the air and smashing his father’s chin. The large man backed away, grabbing his face with his hands.”Well I’ll be sure to treat him better than you have.” He swung the bat down, hitting his father in the head and the man fell to the ground.

“Son, you’d better hope I never get a hold of you.” The man said, spitting blood.

“Father,” Jonathan said, his voice was twisted with disdain and mockery. “You couldn’t get a hold of me if you tried.”

The man grabbed out for Jonathan’s face as it came close to his own but the boy pulled it away and laughed that demented laugh once more.

“Maybe it’s time that Jonathan moved out.” Jonathan said, kicking his father hard in the ribs. “There is just so much world to see, and so little time. Everything’s changed since my time, it’s all so exciting!” He hit the man in the head with his bat once more and he fell unconscious.

Jonathan threw the bat to the ground and laughed to himself. He wrapped his arms around his body and took a deep breath of air. He ran his fingers through his hair and giggled to himself before leaving his parents behind in his bedroom. He took a knife out of a drawer in the kitchen and dug it into the wall, cutting the drywall as he moved to the living room where he easily knocked over the large grandfather clock with a smash of broken glass.

“Oops.” He said, joyously, and used the knife to cut open the cushions of the couch. He picked up a dining room chair and smashed it against the wall over and over again until it broke into pieces. Then he turned to look at his mother’s precious china collection.

“Oh ho ho...what’s this?” He laughed to himself as he pushed the cabinet, satisfied with the sound of broken porcelain as it crashed to the floor.

He passed through the living room and down the stairs to his father’s workshop in the basement. Tossing things through the air as he searched for what he was looking for.

“Ah ha.” He grinned, pulling out an old can of turpentine.

He went back upstairs and splashed some of the foul smelling liquid onto the dining room table, then moved to the living room and doused the couches. He poured a trail down the hallway to his bedroom and slowly opened the door.

His mother was moving slightly, groaning in pain as she grabbed her head.

“Goodbye mother.” Jonathan said in a menacing and evil sounding voice. He splashed her with turpentine and she sputtered, spitting the terrible taste from her mouth.

“Goodbye father.” His voice was even more hateful as he dumped the rest of the can all over the large angry man.

“What are you doing?” His mother asked from the floor, clearly frightened of her son.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” Jonathan’s voice feigned sweetness, it sounded like the voice of a mad man and it hurt his mother.

“Don’t do this son.” She said and Jonathan seemed to snap.

He was kneeling down beside the woman in a flash, gripping her head tight in both hands as he spat in her face, “Don’t you get it yet?” Jonathan said, “I’m not your son! Your son is gone, he was too weak to save his pathetic parents.”

Jonathan wanted nothing more than to stop this, alongside his own fear and anger he could feel the feelings of whatever it was that controlled him. The thing felt free, it was exhilarated by what was happening around it.

“Please...” Jonathan’s mother said through tears as he stood back up and kicked her in the ribs. She screamed out in pain and crumpled to the floor, crying.

“Pathetic.” Jonathan sneered and left the room. Passing through the front door he lit a match, turned to take one last look at the sad looking home and tossed the small flame to the ground.