Book by: Sasinister
Aran's bedroom door shook as his father hammered against it from the other side. The boy cowered under his desk, desperately paying for the worn wooden door to hold. The frame cracked horribly under Mr Chayton's weight, fissures spreading from the hinges.
Another moment, and the door flew out of its frame, shattering against the back wall, barely missing Aran and leaving his father falling on the floor, carried in by his own momentum.
The man slowly picked himself of the floor and got unsteadily to his feet. His unfocused gaze wandered across the room until it found his frightened son, who looked up at his father in terror.
Mumbling something unintelligible, the man picked up his now cracked bottle and threw it at the boy. It shattered just in front of Aran, peppering him with shards of broken glass.
The man grabbed the helpless boy's ankles and yanked him out from under the desk. He then bore down upon him, kicking and hitting and otherwise hurting him as he could. Most of the hits landed squarely on Aran’s back, this being the man’s preferred spot to aim for as it didn’t show in public, but any other unprotected inch of skin was punched as often and as hard as possible in the man’s inebriated state.
The boy somehow managed to scramble away between the drunk's legs and get to his feet. He immediately fled from the house, stumbling down the stairs and throwing open the back door in the kitchen, his father close behind. As he raced through the garden, towards their toolshed, his father, whose aim was surprisingly accurate, threw a rock at Aran, that hit him hard in the back. The boy crashed to the ground and almost passed out from pain, his back already throbbing from the previous fistfight. He managed to get back on his feet just before his father had caught up to where he was lying and quickly burst into the toolshed, locking and barricading the door behind him.
He then collapsed against the wall beside the door in pain and exhaustion and passed out.
The drunk man banged on the door for a short while, but lost interest quickly and started his wobbly journey back to the house, across the front lawn.
He'd almost closed the door, when out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the silhuette of a man walking toward the shed. He switched on the lamp above the door he was standing in and looked into the garden for nearly two minutes, straining his eyes to discover a sign of life in his back yard, but ultimately discarded the silhuette as a trick his intoxicated eyes had played on him and went to bed.
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