The Path Into My Twisted Mind-collection of short stories

Between The Broken Cracks

Screaming.

Blood curdling screaming could be heard coming from 7 Marle St. in the small town of Gladstone. Now zoom in closer, can you see it yet? The pretty little whitewashed house smack bang in the middle of the usually quiet neighbourhood.

Oh don't scoff at me. You know the one I’m talking about. Everyone does. It was the talk of the small town for months, even getting enough attention from some of the big hotshot reporters from the bigger cities.

Don't you remember? They swarmed all over this town, leaving all its hidden bones bare. Remember Darling Abbie's? The retro dinner on the corner of Strats and Doner? It had a fifty's theme going on, quiet popular, quiet. It was the hot spot for teens and rushed adults who forgot to eat their breakfast that their loving wife's slaved over in the morning. 

Ahhh, are you remembering now? Now you want to admit it. Don't lie to me, I can see it in your eyes, you know this town. You know all the streets I have just been talking about. You just don't want to admit it, not just yet. Understandable, no one want’s to be acciosited with Gladstone, yet you’ve never been here and you probably never will. No one wants to come here anymore- not like it was the hot spot for backpackers or tourist.

Nope, this town got famous cause of little old me.

Anyway back to 7 Marle st in the quiet town of Gladstone. See the beautifully stunning array of flowers coating the front yard? Mrs Gentwood tended to them, they were practically her life. Ahh and the big gum tree sitting off the right of the suburban house. It's branches grew so big that their neighbour- Mr bearl, a frightfully bitter old man kept complaining about the mess of the leaves and the unappealing view that he had to endure through his kitchen window.

But on that big gum tree hung a homemade swing, filled with love and compassion. That fine little DIY project was made by Mr Gentwood. He was fairly handy with building and making things, "there wasn't nothing' I couldn't fix!" was his proudly spoken motto. He was so good even, that he started up his own business- "Fixin' the Wood's." A one-man business.

Now this beautiful couple were a little on the quiet side, never made a fuss and never stuck their noses in business that weren’t their own. Some may call it rude or detached from reality. But to them it was just common courtesy.

This quiet and polite couple had a child. A fair maiden with golden eyes and thick black hair. They named the angelic child Cassie. Cassie Gentwood. Has a nice ring to it, don't ya think? Ah but this name is ringing more bells than just the flow of a first and surname. You were warned of this name. Never speak this name or the devil child will get you in your sleep, kinda like the bloody Mary concept. Yet this one to you, to thousand others seems more believable.

But this stunning little girl was a blessing to the Gentwoods for they had been trying for years for a child but with no luck. So this child seemed like a blessing from God himself to the couple. They were overjoyed of course at their darling little girl. They cherished her daily and spoilt her rotten.

When Mr Gentwood built little Cassie a swing for the old gum tree out front for her 8th birthday, so naturally little Cassie was overjoyed and like clockwork sat on her DIY swing, a serene smile plastered on her face.

When Cassie Gentwood's 10th birthday rolled around sometimes strange noises were heard in the dead of night, always small little noise that passbyers never paid an ounce of attention to.

And finally I bring you two years later, it was a few days before Cassie's 12th birthday and she was pining for a pony, a wish she will never receive.

At around 8pm thumps were shaking the house, a humongous crash, it made few in the neighbourhood stop. It was quiet for a while afterwards but it soon began again but screaming, blood-curdling scream was thrown in.