Ticcy Tobby

The long road home seemed to go on and on. The road stretched out in front of the vehicle, endless. Rays of light through the treetops hit the window, hurting his eyes.

The surroundings were full of deep green trees that formed a forest around the road. The only sound was the purr of the cars' engines. It was a quiet day. Although the ride seemed pleasant, it was far from pleasant.

The driver, a middle-aged woman, was wearing a V-neck T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She adorned her ears with diamond earrings, which released sparkles from time to time. Her eyes were a dark shade of green, the color of which stood out thanks to her T-shirt and the lighting. She would look like any middle-aged mother if it weren't for her deep aborigine-colored dark circles under her eyes. Connie Rogers' expression was somber and sad, even though her frown lines suggested she smiled often.

Occasionally she glanced back in the rearview mirror so she could see her son in the back seat, who was hunched over partially, had his arms tight around his chest and his head pressed against the cool window. The boy lacked a normal appearance; anyone could see that something was wrong with him. His messy brown hair was in all directions, and his pale skin, highlighted by the lighting.

He had dark eyes unlike his mother; he was wearing a white T-shirt and white pants that were provided to him at the hospital. Because his clothes were bloodied and somewhat torn. The right side of his face exposed cuts along his eyebrow. His arm was bandaged from the wrist to the shoulder which had been shattered when he hit the broken glass. His wounds appeared to be painful when in reality he couldn't feel anything; it was one of the strange diseases he had to deal with since he was a child. Never before in his life could he have felt hurt. He could have lost his arm and he still wouldn't feel anything.

This and another disorder he had dealt with, which thanks to him was given many nicknames in the short time he attended elementary school, before being transferred, to homeschooling, was Tourette's Syndrome which caused him to tic in a way he could not control. He would move his neck and shake uncontrollably from time to time, so much so that the children would call him Ticcy Tobby laughing out loud.

He got so bad, they decided to home school him, as it was very difficult for him to be in a regular environment with normal children.

Toby stared out the window, his face was void of all emotion, and every few minutes his shoulder his arm or foot would shake.

Every bump and bump of the car over bumps and bumps made his stomach churn.

His name was Toby Rogers. And the last time Toby rode in a car was when he crashed, that was all he thought about; unconsciously he replayed everything he remembered before passing out over and over again. Toby had been the lucky one while his sister hadn't been so lucky. Oh, when the thought of his older sister came, he couldn't stop a few tears from spilling from his eyes, the horrible memories replaying in his mind. Her sister screaming, when she got a cut, the front of the car breaking.

Everything went blank for a moment. Then Tobby opened his eyes to see his sister's body, her forehead punctured by shards of glass, her broken hip and legs lying under the steering wheel and her head over the late inflated air bag. This was the last she had seen of her beloved older sister. The drive home continued for what seemed like an eternity.

After a few hours, they had finally arrived home. It was an old neighborhood, with quaint little houses next to each other. The car passed a small blue house with white windows. They both quickly noticed the old vehicle parked in front of the house, and the familiar figure that stood out in the driveway.

-Why is he here? -Toby said quietly as he looked at his mother who was opening the car door.

-He's your father, Toby, he's here because he wants to see you. -His mother replied in a monotone voice, trying to sound less shaky.

-He couldn't have driven to the hospital to see Lyra before he died," Toby said, squinting out the window.

-He was drunk, he couldn't drive.

-Yeah, and he didn't remember his daughter afterwards,- Toby opened the door before his mother and staggered out into the driveway where he met his father's gaze, before looking down at his feet with a stern expression.

His mother stepped out behind him, then, looked her in the eye before walking around the car. His father opened his arms, expecting a hug from his wife, but she walked up to him passed, and slipped her arm around Toby's shoulders and influenced him to start walking inside. Her husband began to say in a husky voice:

-How about a welcome home hug, eh? -The woman ignored her husband's unpleasant words, and walking over, passed her son under her husband's arm.

-Hey, he's 16 years old, he can walk by himself," said his father and started to follow them.

-She's 17," Connie glared before opening the door to the house and stepping inside. Toby, why don't you go to your room and get a good night's rest? I'll come get you when dinner's ready.

-No, I'm 16, I can walk by myself," Toby said sarcastically, returned his father's gaze and went to his room, where he shut the door violently.

In his small room there wasn't much. Just a small bed, a closet, a window, and his walls, which were adorned with framed pictures of his family. Well, back when it was a family. Before his father became an alcoholic, and acted violently towards the rest of his family. Toby remembered when his father was arguing with his mother, he grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the floor, and when Lyra tried to lift his mother up, the drunk pushed her and she hit her back in the corner of the kitchen. Toby couldn't forgive him for what he did to his mother and sister, Toby never cared how much his father hit him, after all he couldn't feel, what bothered and hurt him was how he intentionally hurt the only two people he cared about, besides, when he was in the hospital, where his sister breathed her last, the only person who wasn't in a hurry or in pain was his father.

Toby stood by the window and looked out onto the street. He could have sworn he saw something in the corner of his eye, but quickly blamed it on the medication he had been put on. A moment later, when dinner was ready, his mother called him. Toby came downstairs quickly and hesitantly sat down at the table across from his father, and in between his mother and an empty chair. Somehow he was at ease, as his parents could eat well, but he didn't want to eat.

Instead, he just watched his father with a vacant stare, looked at his mother a little, and looked down at his uneaten food, which he never touched. Toby went to his room despondently, sat on the bed, pulled some blankets over his head and stared out the window. He was very tired, but there was no way he was going to fall asleep, not because he didn't want to, he just couldn't, there wasn't much to think about. He had been debating with himself: follow his mother and forgive his father, or continue to hold a grudge. He was upset when he heard the door open, then calmed down when he saw his mother, this one, walked into the room and sat down on the bed next to him. She came over and with a warm gaze stroked his back.

-I know it's hard Toby, I understand, but I promise you it's going to get better, trust me," she said softly.

-When are you going to leave? -Toby said with a somewhat innocent tone in his trembling voice.

-I'm not sure how long he'll be here yet, honey," she replied in a gentle tone.

Toby didn't answer, he just continued to stare straight ahead at the wall, holding his damaged arm close to his chest. After several minutes of silence, his mother sighed, before she leaned over to kiss his cheek and stood up to leave the room.

-Good night, honey," he said as he closed the door.

The hours passed slowly, Toby couldn't stop tossing and turning in his bed; every time he let his imagination take over, he could hear the screeching of tires and his sister's screams. Remembering this he pushed aside some blankets, pulled out a pillow, pulled it over his face and cried into it. He could feel her chest rise and fall as she let out each shuddering breath as she cried. I could hear his pitiful cry. He would have been screaming and crying if he hadn't pressed the pillow over his face. After a few seconds he pulled the pillow off his face and sat up, hunched over, breathing hard, tears in his eyes, he couldn't stop crying. Even though he tried to avoid it, but still he couldn't stop moaning and groaning as he sat there shaking.

-Good morning sleepyhead, you've been sleeping a lot," she said and greeted him with a smile. Toby slowly looked at the clock and realized it was 12:40 p. m.

-I wanted to have breakfast, but it was cold, I was going to wake up, but I felt I needed to sleep -she said and the woman's expression went from happy to worried, because her son resisted answering her.

-Are you all right? -Toby abruptly stumbled over and sat down next to his father. He felt as if he was at rest, and had no control over his actions. He saw everything he did, but it didn't seem to register everything in his brain correctly. He reached out and unintentionally touched his father, but ended up getting slapped. His father turned to him sharply and pushed his chair back with his foot.

-Don't touch me, boy! -the man shouted.

His mother stood up angrily. -Stop! This is the last thing we need! -She shouted with a look of contempt at her husband.

Days passed, and things continued to go wrong. Connie spent most of her time cleaning the house, and her nasty husband spent most of his time messing around. It was what it used to be before the accident. Toby never left his room. He would sit by his bedside, and shiver. His mind wondered, but his thoughts contradicted him. He paced around his small room like a caged animal, or looked out the window. The unhealthy cycle continued. Connie continued to be pushed around by her husband, she was too submissive to him, and Toby stayed in his room. Before she could think twice, he would start chewing on her hands, tearing the flesh from her fingers. He would gnaw his hands until they bled. When her mother saw him she reacted horribly. She ran downstairs and grabbed a bandage, wrapping her hands in it. She promised him she wasn't going to leave him alone from then on.

He became so isolated that he came to hate being in contact with others. His memory declined as well. He started with memory lapses of minutes, hours, days, and so on. He would start talking nonsense, about things unrelated to the conversations he was having. He would see sharks in his sink while washing dishes, hear screams at his bedside, and see ghosts outside his bedroom window. All this nonsense took him to a psychiatrist.

His mother became so concerned about his mental health, she decided it would be good for him to talk to a professional about what he was feeling.

Connie and Toby walked into the building, holding his hand and guiding him. She walked him to the front desk and began talking to the lady sitting behind him.

-Mrs. Rogers? -asked the lady.

-That's me," Connie nodded. We're here to see Dr. Oliver, I'm here with Toby Rogers.

-Yes, this way," replied the lady.

The lady stood up and walked with them downstairs, where there was a long hallway. Toby looked at the framed artwork down the hallways in tune with the sound of the lady's heels on the hardwood floor. She opened the door to a room with a table and two chairs.

-Stay here, I'm going to get the doctor, I'll be back soon," she smiled and opened the door.

Toby stumbled into the room and sat down next to the table. He looked at his mother and the lady before closing the door slowly behind them. Toby looked around the room and tried to remove the bandage from his hands, but was interrupted when the door opened and a young woman in a white dress with black spots and light blonde hair stepped in, holding a notebook and pen.

-Toby? -she asked with a smile. Toby looked at her and nodded.

-Nice to meet you Toby, my name is Olivia.

She put her hand out for him to greet her, but hesitantly pulled it away when she noticed his bandaged hands.

-Oh," she smiled nervously before clearing her throat and sitting down in the chair at the table across from him. I'm going to ask you some questions, try to answer them as honestly as possible, okay? -Toby nodded slowly and put his hands in his lap. How old are you Toby?

-Seventeen," he answered quietly. She began to write in the notebook.

-What's your full name?

-Toby Erin Rogers.

-When is your birthday?

-April 28th.

-Who are part of your family?

Toby paused for a minute before answering the question.

-My mom, my dad, and? -he paused for a moment, my sister.

-I heard about your sister, dear? I'm so sorry," his expression faded into a sad look, full of sympathy. Toby nodded, "Do you remember anything about the accident, Toby?

Toby looked away from her. His mind went blank for a moment. He looked down at his lap, and nearby, he heard a faint buzzing sound. His eyes widened and froze in place.

-Toby? -Toby, are you listening to me?

Toby felt a shiver run down his back until he froze again and slowly looked at the small window. He stared, eyes like saucers, the sound getting louder and louder until suddenly the counselor's loud voice broke his trance.

-Toby! -she shouted.

Toby jumped and fell sideways off the chair and backed up in the corner. Dr. Olivia clutched her notebook tightly. There was a look of surprise in her eyes. Toby looked into her eyes, his breathing rapid.

That night Toby sat up in bed. His eyes were dazed as he looked up at the ceiling. He could feel himself starting to fall asleep, when he heard the scattering of footsteps down his hallway. He sat up and looked towards the door, the door wide open. There was no light, everything was illuminated by the luminescent blue glow of the moon through the window, leaving a cool light. He stood up and slowly made his way to the door, when suddenly the door, which was open before, crashed into his face and he fell. As he fell to the floor, he began to breathe heavily, his eyes wide open. He waited a few seconds before he was back up on his feet. He reached out and grabbed the cold doorknob with his bandaged hand. He looked down the dark hallway and tiptoed out of the room.

The window at the end of the hallway illuminated the darkness with moonlight, he walked down. He could hear footsteps around him and faint laughter, it sounded like a child had been left in front of him, laughing and running. The hallway was much longer than he had agreed. It seemed endless...like the trip home from the hospital. He heard the door creak in front of him.

-Mom! -he shouted in a trembling voice.

Suddenly the door slammed shut behind him. Behind him there was a long, bloodcurdling groan. He turned around as fast as he could, coming face to face with nothing but his dead sister. Lyra's eyes were an opaque white and her skin had the characteristic pallor of death. The right side of his jaw hung down, held in place by a fragile thread of tissue and muscle. A crystal protruded from his forehead and thick blood dripped down his face. His blond hair was tied in a ponytail as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt and dirty, blood-stained athletic shorts. His legs were bent in ways they shouldn't be. She looked the same as when the accident had happened.

The girl stood up, only inches from Toby's face, who screamed and fell backwards. He began to crawl backwards, away from her, unable to look away from her dead eyes. He crawled backwards. He stopped for a second. A tense silence reigned, broken only by her crying. Slowly he looked up to meet the blank face of a tall, dark figure towering above him. Behind the towering dark mass were rows of children, who appeared to be between 3 and 10 years old, their eyes completely black and tar-black fluid dripping from their sockets. Toby let out a shriek and scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, falling back down. He tried to scream, but couldn't make a sound. Then everything went black.

Toby woke with a start. He sat up, hyperventilating. He gasped and held his chest with bandaged hands. It had been just a dream... Just a dream. He got up from his bed. It felt like a huge weight. He stood up and walked to the window. He saw nothing. There was no one around. No ghosts. No children. Nothing. He heard his father's whisper and cough through the door. His door was locked. He walked over and opened it. Looking down the hallway once more.

He walked down the hallway to the kitchen, where he found his father standing and a lot of smoke in his living room. Toby waited a second and watched him from around the corner before a burning sensation started deep in his chest. Deep in his heart, anger took over. He heard the little imaginary voices in his head. "Do it, do it, do it, do it," they screamed. He turned and stretched out his arms. He felt as if he actually had control over himself, unlike the last few weeks since he came home from the hospital. He actually had full thoughts for only brief moments, but they were clouded by the chanting of the little voices in his head.

-Kill him, he wasn't there, he wasn't there, kill him, kill him, kill him," they continued on.

Toby trembled. No. No, he wasn't going to do it. Was he going crazy? No. He's not going to kill anyone. He can't. He hated his father, but there was no way he was going to kill him. That was it. The last thought he had before he fell into a state of inactivity once again. The influence of the voices in his head was too much. He began to walk quietly behind his father. He walked over to the counter towards the blade holder in the kitchen and pulled out the largest knife there was. He gripped it as tightly as he could. He felt a sense of taking over his chest. He let out a chuckle.

-Eh... Hehe... Hehehehehehehehe! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

She started laughing so hard she had to gasp for breath. His father turned around sharply before he felt a brute force push him to the ground. He grunted.

- What!"-He looked at the boy next to him, clutching the kitchen knife in his hand-"Tobby, what are you doing? He went to get a knife and put it in front of him in self-defense, but Tobby was on top of him. He grabbed him by the throat, but his father came up to him and closed his hand by grabbing his wrist.

-Stop! Let go of me, you little bastard! -He shouted, and with his other hand he threw an all toward Toby's shoulder, but he didn't stop. You could tell from the look in Toby's eyes that he wasn't sane. It looked as if a demon had taken hold of him. He screamed and was going to stab his father in the chest, but he blocked him and grabbed his wrist once more. He went to push him back, but Toby put his foot in front of him and landed a hard punch straight to his face. His father stepped back, but Toby came back and drove the knife straight into his shoulder.

His father let out a loud scream and went to pull the knife out, but before he could do so, Toby threw his right fist into his face. He started pounding his fists into his father's head, laughing loudly. He grabbed the knife and yanked it from his shoulder. He plunged the knife deep into his father's chest and stabbed him several times in the torso, blood spilling and splattering everywhere. He did not stop until his father's body lay still. He threw the knife aside and leaned over his body, coughing and gasping. He looked at his father's mangled face and sat nervously, until a scream broke the silence. He looked over to see his mother standing a few feet away, covering her mouth, tears in her eyes.

-Toby! -Why did you do this? Why?!

Toby stood up and began to walk away from his father's bloodied body. He began to back out of the kitchen. He looked at the blood soaked bandages on his hands and looked at his mother one last time before he turned and ran out of the house. He ran to the garage and slammed his hand against the control panel on the wall and pushed the button to open the garage door.

Before he left he was left with two of his father's axes that had been hanging on the tool rack above a table full of jars, filled to the brim with old rusty nails and screws. One of the axes was new, had a bright orange handle and a shiny blade, the other was old with a wooden handle and old blunt blade. He took both and looked at the table and his eyes met with a box of matches, and under the table was a red colored gas tank.

He carried the two axes in his hand and grabbed the matches and gasoline before running out of the garage, down the road and into the street itself. As he approached the street light that he could see his own bedroom window, he heard police sirens in the distance. He turned around and the red and blue lights came rushing in down the street. Toby stopped for a second, before he opened the gas cap and ran out down the street, spilled gasoline on the street, and ran back into the trees. He pulled out a match. He struck it against the box and immediately when it ignited he dropped it. In an instant, flames erupted all around him.

The fire was in the trees and bushes around him and before he knew it, he was surrounded by fire. The silhouettes of the police cars were not visible through the flames, as he backed into the forest around him, he looked around, but his vision was blurry, his heart was pounding and he closed his eyes for a moment.

This was it, this was the end. Toby felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked to see a large white hand with long bony fingers resting on his shoulder. He followed the arm until he saw a dark imposing figure. He appeared to be dressed in a dark black suit, and his face was completely blank. Toby had his vision blurred and was surrounded by the ringing sound in his ears. Everything went blank. That was it. That was the end. That was how Toby Rogers died, but that was also how Ticcy Toby was born. A few weeks later Connie sat in her sister's kitchen. Her sister, Lori sat drinking a cup of coffee. About three weeks ago, Connie lost her husband and son, and a few weeks before that, she lost her daughter in a car accident. She has since gone to live with her sister.

On the television the reporter began to introduce the new headline. "We have breaking news! Yesterday evening a murder has taken place. The victims, 4 children who had been camping in the woods last night.

The children had been stabbed. Investigators have discovered a weapon at the crime scene that appears to be an old, dull-edged axe. Investigators have drawn the name of a possible suspect, Toby Rogers, a 17-year-old boy who a few weeks ago had stabbed his father and tried to cover his escape by creating a fire in the streets and wooded area around the neighborhood. Although they had believed the boy had died in the fire, investigators suspect Rogers is still alive, due to the fact that his body was never found."