Elusive Dreaming

Lovers Flame-Patrick Hockstetter

Lover's Flame-Patrick Hockstetter

Derry, Maine became known for the demonic possessions in which lie beneath the town. Some never make it out others forget about it.

People say it was because of a witch's curse. Others laugh about those who believe it. Cursing about the town lingering a fate in which the psychotic bully and a "new kid" have a connection.

In the olden days, witches would be burned at the stake or hung from a tree.

Each proclaimed event was created by the government to provide an alliance against the flames engulfing the town. Saying it was a witch that cursed the town. Although it wasn't until Patrick Hockstetter killed his younger brother one day. Meanwhile, the other student disappeared into the shadows. You were the shadows apprentice and he was the fire freak.

By the third grade, Patrick would collect flies after killing them with a ruler in his pencil case. How the flies never saw that lime green plastic rule to be the end of them. He kept them like trophies each file would eventually decompose like anything else.

Patrick seemed to enjoy watching them decompress. "Splat!" Could be heard as he whacked another one. On the other side of the room, you were doodling down some notes about multiplication while drawing a lioness.

Enjoying how brave the animal was, and how they didn't always fear being out in the spotlight. They enjoyed the sun on their backs to keep them warm and the shadows to cool them down. Unlike him, you loved animals and insects.

Curious about what they hold. How many secrets can an insert hold before it dies? In front of the class stood various teachers over the years. The same boring fake wooden desks are designed for smaller students. Your breathing uncomfortably speeds up as he looks at you.

Over the summer of 1986, you developed in the right places. Your eyes were now softer than they once were. No one understood why you looked like a child in the face yet had an adult body.

Genetics could be a reason for that. Maybe your parents have a genetic makeup that makes your features look strong and childlike. Colored pencils are your least favorite media but you were forced to work with them.

The wax was soft and easily bendable. Art was a passion of yours, something to use as escapism for you. Escaping the harsh reality of your stepfather beating your mother front of you as a kid. Or your brother's hitting you and your mother using you as her notebook. As she was not allowed any privacy due to the fact her current husband found her unfaithful before.

Art was an escape from trauma for you. As for Patrick, it was just another thing on the list that he had tried otherwise it was against the law. His probation officer had thought it might be good for him. Patrick turned out to be a hell of an artist. Although the most traumatized people make the most beautiful creations. Patrick wasn't like the other kids growing up. He didn't mind it so much as he liked to feed off of people's fear.

In his mind, they were food to him. Their undying fear eradicated him. It was a bad habit deemed harmful. Vengeance is best served hot. The shadows spoke to you screaming to join them once again. Knowing you would escape the trap set for you. Painting colors into a beautiful masterpiece of the world one day.

Unfortunately, that wasn't reality. A hand holding a rose with cuts and scars littering the hand and wrist itself. Blood spilled from a throne in pink rose. That was the centerpiece and the back was a painted piece of pain. You saw dark clouds of rubble in your mind.

Telepathically like Carrie White saw herself as a monster. You are related to Carrie in many ways. Exactly your soulmate wasn't taken, he was just a psychotic prick.

On the other hand, he was a great ball with a unique talent. He drove people away from him. He was scared of leeches and nothing else. He died that way too. He was in a relationship work chain with Henry Bowers. His patterned movement was you and Henry. The bell rang for the last class of the day for the last time in three months.

The summer of 1984 was going to be wild and hell at the same time. No one knew you were related to Stanley Uris. Otherwise, you would have been bullied and the shadows couldn't save you. You were to save them until you met them face to face with Henry Bowers. "Bowers back the fuck off before I chop off your small penis and feed it to you." You threatened tossing down your booking ready to fight. Patrick snickered at your remark.

"I bet you would get a good wank off to that Hockstetter." You snap looking over at the teen hovering over your cousin. You were forced to move in with your Aunt and Uncle due to the fact you used to underground fight and got sent to a juvenile delinquent center located in Chicago Illinois. You weren't afraid of them you were disgusted by them.

You fought for money for food and to keep the lights on. Not for the pleasure of others' pain. "Woah back up their baby. The only type of sex I want is with you." Patrick said getting up to caress your face. He touched your face so you slapped him. "You're gonna pay for that doll." Patrick whispered in your ear.

You thought about getting out your knife or a million and one ways to make a shank with aluminum foil from a yogurt cup. However, you didn't you froze. "This summer is gonna be a hurt train for you and your faggot friends." Henry told Bill you just happened to zone back in.

Your breathing began to steady itself out. Miraculous how sometimes you forget to breathe. "Let's go kids!" You hollered motioning for them to follow you. Stanley had to get to the synagogue before long. His father was strict when in the eyes of the public. As he was the Rabe and Stanley being his only son was difficult.

As you drove around the town dropping of kids and picking others up you felt at peace. "Hey! You know the rules, Tozier." You say slapping Richie's hand from the radio. You would escort or shofar the children around as long as they didn't touch the radio or mess up your car.

As you came to a complete stop behind Belch Huggins's gorgeous blue trans-am. With an awful exhaust but a nice enough engine. You used to be friends when you moved here working on cars with him in the summer.

Yet that felt so long ago. Patrick must have seen you behind the car because he got out. In the middle of the road, he stands and stares at you

. "Move out of the fucking way asshole!" You shout flipping him off. He doesn't move you step on the gas a small bit. Revving the engine to make it louder. Without a doubt, if you didn't love your car and it wasn't the last thing your father kept away for you then you would have flattened him.

Like a pancake on Sunday morning. You drove a cherry red 1959 Plymouth and called her Carrie. After the novel by Stephen King. Carrie was your favorite movie at the time.

Oftentimes you wondered why all of a sudden Patrick Hockstetter became so infatuated with you. The ideas of social far flung policies. Maybe he once had a white picket dream like everyone else. In his eyes you were real. Although he didn't understand how this world would have created a person like you.

To him, he was on the cusp of independence. He urged to know if you were real or not. Fifteen minutes had gone by, he moved when the clock hit twenty. His friends were long gone with intentions to be on time to meet Ben Hanscom at the library. You didn't know that, however, you had a gut feeling telling you that he would follow you. Therefore to keep everyone safe you took the long way to Eddie Kaspbrak's house. Locking your car to move inside away from the creep. Each kid got inside before he grabbed your arm pulling you back.

To Be Continued.....

Word Count: 1420