The Garden of Temptation

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
This story is about a child with the ability to bring forth other creatures from other dimensions.

Submitted: June 30, 2017

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Submitted: June 30, 2017

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The dawn is just like every dawn in the lay of the land. Michigan is always the spot for growing vegetables and flowers that serve the nourishment of flourishing the land with beauty or flourishing the sweltering bellies of winter when nothing grows.

The dawn is just like every dawn when the children still go to school in the late spring, counting off the last few weeks that they have to suffer in school before they are let out for summer vacation. There are a few children that go to school, that being Willy Norris that woke up every morning at six o’clock on the dial with his eyes surging excitement on the ceiling.

He pushed the coverlets off of the bed when he bellowed his vocal siren in his room, waking his mother that barely gets any sleep anymore. She woke up, feeling that her mind is about to crack open like a boiling egg, spilling out the contents of insanity for everyone to see if she goes over the deep spot again that breathes death…death…death.

It’s not so bad. Just buy a gun, come home and do what is necessary for my sweet Willy. He is probably normal in the afterlife. He has to be. No children will make fun of him when they walk past their house anymore. They won’t throw any rocks against his head anymore. They won’t grab dog crap by the bought handkerchiefs that they just purchased and lob it at him with the handkerchiefs uncurling, squishing them against his clean shirt when he pounced with happiness of being noticed by the other children that only wanted to harm him emotionally.

He is too dumb to know about it. He is too intelligible to know that they hate him.

That is the innocence of being a child.

His mother by the name of Scarlett Pascoe groaned when she got up, feeling the cramps in her lower back from the constant poking that Willy had did with the mixing spoon that he grabbed off of the kitchen counter space, poking the edge of the spoon while he said something that he tried to remember. Then she remembered what he was saying:

Pokie win. Pokie win. Pokie win. Pokie win. He giggled frantically when he raised his hand and the spoon in absolute victory running out of the kitchen with the spoon in his hand.

“Willy, I need that spoon. Don’t put that spoon in your mouth.” Scarlett tried to unwrap the apron around her body when Willy was out the back door in an instant, rumbling down the stairs and pouncing outside like a mentally challenged Puma.

“King ding-a-ling. King ding-a-ling. King ding-a-ling!!!” He jumped around the ashy fire pit that Scarlett had placed just forty feet from the maintenance shed that her late husband used to work in before the ’55 Chevy dropped on his chest, cutting his chest in two when the blood exploded in the shed like an imploded paint ball. She didn’t want to think that scene as it made her faint. She was the first to see that after it happened.

“Willy, you give me that spoon back before I tan your hide!” Scarlett screamed out from the screen of the windows before she hopped out the back door, pointed a finger at him.

“Willy Norris, I’m ashamed of you. You shouldn’t do that to your mother!” she stopped when Willy stopped pouncing around like an Indian doing a war dance.

“Give me that spoon and wash up for lunch!” she commanded when Willy started to welt tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorrrie mama, Willy so sorry!” Willy started to cry when Mother could do nothing else but to resist from cooing him like a hurt bird.

“I’ve heard this all before. I know you’re smarter than this Willy so act like it.” His mother sauntered back up the running boards of the house when Willy started to rage like she took away his prized possession and broke it in front of him – that actually happened to him some time before.

“I don’t want luntch, Mama. I never want to shee you again!” He spoke in a wild lisp when he retracted, bolting past the few trees that are on the property.

“Willy, you get back here. WILLY!”

Willy ran off from the property, brushing past the shed where his late father used to work – and die when he shoved through the line of corn. Off in the distance, there is a stand that stands thirty feet up from the ground with a chair attached to it. The chair is one of those John Deere’s that is ripped from an old tractor with some of the vinyl stripped with the foam ripped through. A bird is perched on the backrest of the old seat when Willy Norris arrived at the base of the rickety ladder that stretched up towards the heavens. He started to climb like an experienced kid that climbed more trees and more ladders than his share, going up like a caterpillar climbing up the highest tree that is ever sprouted from the earth over one hundred and thirty years ago.

When Willy got to the top, he surveyed the crop of the land with the corn spreading out for miles when he sat, looking at the clouds that are gathering in the south when he smiled like a person that answered correctly of the $64,000 question. His teeth showed, being plaque filled that they are, full of green and nothing but blackness cushioning the back of those teeth.

“Whaaaa!” He chortled, poking the sky with his finger as his mother stomped towards the base of the ladder with her cheeks pumping and her cheeks flushed with a beet red of severe anger.

“You get down here, Willy. I’m not through with you!” His mother bellowed from the ground below.

Willy only looked down, fetching the spoon from the pants pocket behind him when he whipped it out and showed it to her like a child playing, “keep away.”

“I have the spwoon mama. I can fly high to the stwars.” Willy raised the spoon to the sky like a mortal god. He can control the skies, the rain, the sun, and the aftermath of terrible storms. He is the king of all that is brave.

“Willy, if you don’t come down there right now then there will be no cookies and punch for you tonight!” His mother stomped from below.

Willy continued to waived the spoon around like it is about to reign fire when he felt something whip through his body. It felt like a thousand needles rupture through his palm, his knuckles, his hands, and his little fingers that hold the spoon so highly. Willy knew what must be done when Willy brought the spoon down and brought forth what is just that is justified in his mentally challenged mind.

“Mr. Bobble! Mr. Bobble the Twerrible!” Willy brought Mr. Bobble from the depths of corn from the layer of dirt of which it came.

“Mr. Bobble is the friendliest of friends! Mr. Bobble!”

“Willy, I’m not playing anymore! You get down here right now!”

A wind started to approach the corn, making waves over the yellow tassels that pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled through the air when his mother only heard the feeble sound of whistling through the corn. It sounded like a tune that she so faintly remembers when Mr. Bobble withered through the corn with his flannel attire making colors other than the traditional tartan. His face never stays the same as Mr. Bobble struck a faint chord of fright in the pit of her stomach when she shrieked, jumping back towards the base of the ladder when up above, Willy hooted with laughter.

“Mr. Bobble don’t hurt Mwama. Mr. Bobble hurt pweople that hurt Mwama and me.” Willy brought the edge of the spoon down towards the base of the earth when Mr. Bobble submitted with Willy commanding it to retreat back into the corn.

That is when his mother shrieked.

“Mr. Bobble, go eat the cworn and be mwerry!” Willy commanded Mr. Bobble as he slithered back in the corn as Willy jumped up and down like a master of being its own name, a name that should be feared once crossed.

His mother stood there in a catatonic state when Willy raised his arms up to the sky in a state of being the claim of what he is. He is not smart but he is the sense of other worlds, the mender of other dimensions, and the ender of the pain that is placed upon him for the just of giving a vicious laugh of others that are in it for the thrill.

After he is done, he pocketed the spoon into his back pocket.

“SpongeBob; got to watch SpongeBob on Nickelodeon. C’mon mom, SpongeBob is on.”

END


© Copyright 2017 Adam Steele. All rights reserved.

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