The Fort Was Built With Twigs

Supernatural Stories | Jul 16, 2012 | 8 min read
24 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Supernatural Stories

The Fort Was Built With Twigs

Oswald Cunningham, aged thirteen, gave his dad Martin a sideways look.

He laughed then said, "Oh man…guess what Bobby Miles left in the girl's bathroom today?"

Oswald waited for his dad to do his funny ‘wait lemme guess' thing. But Martin kept his head down and continued walking.

He said, "I can't talk to you."

He and Martin were taking their usual post-dinner, two-mile hike in the woods behind their house. But today, their normal quiet conversation just wasn't happening. And Martin couldn't seem to walk with Oswald; he kept edging ahead with each step. Oswald's stomach began to ache with a deep internal throbbing. What did he have for breakfast? He couldn't remember.

Several hundred yards west at the bottom of a slope, developers had carved out a huge chunk of the greenery and were in the process of replacing it with a new housing complex that was in its third year of sprouting split-levels. The rumble of large machinery had become a constant source of white noise.

After walking quite a few yards in silence, the sounds from the build site faded and Oswald paused, stared up into a tree. The red kite he made two years ago with his five-year-old brother Aldo had been caught in its branches and still fluttered up there.

xxx

Oswald and Aldo went out to fly the kite after they proudly displayed it to their mother, but two hours later, Oswald returned home alone. He told his parents that Aldo started crying when the kite got caught in the tree branches. "I couldn't get the kite down and Aldo kept crying and crying." Sobs shook his body. When he was able to continue, he said, "I think he wanted to run home but instead ran deeper into the woods. I couldn't find him. Mom…I couldn't…"


An Amber Alert was issued. Two days of rain washed away any hope for forensic evidence. For weeks volunteers searched for Aldo in the woods, but he was never found. BOLOs were issued by the local sheriff for any shady character traveling with a small boy with thick curly brown hair and hazel eyes wearing a Batman t-shirt, blue jeans, and blue sneakers. The parents in the neighborhood drew their children close, watched for vans, kept an eye on strangers.

The day after Aldo's disappearance, police detectives and two FBI agents asked Oswald layers of questions that were the same, yet different as if they were trying to see a picture from different angles. The next day, they seemed to be trying to chip away at his ability to remember. Their voices were mild but their stares were hard—tunneling right through his eyes to his brain. He felt permanently tilted like the world wasn't on its axis and soon he would float out to empty space. And his stomach hurt.

Gradually, insomnia robbed him of sleep. He would jolt upright in bed late at night, and scream his brother's name. Finally, exhaustion shut him down and he stopped talking. His parents admitted him to St. Michael's and five days later when he was released, he climbed sluggishly into the family van. Martin slammed the door.

Oswald stared out the window. "I'm tired. Everything looks weird. The houses and people and stuff look like cardboard cut-outs."He looked at his father. "Will I feel better when I get home Pops?"

Martin sniffed. "Sure, Son."

He didn't feel better. He only ate two forks full of any meal before he would go to his room and shut the door. For weeks he was silent and solitary.

xxx

A few feet down from the tattered kite at the top of the tree was a squirrel's nest tucked into a V of intertwined branches. There were shredded bits of the kite woven into the nest giving it an oddly festive appearance. The red snapping gaily from the nest made the pain in Oswald's stomach deepen.

A thought-picture flitted along the fringe of his memory like a snake he couldn't see but could hear. He stared hard at the kite, trying to bring the thought forward. His head hurt and he hurried away from the tree. His thoughts turned to his dad who was acting so strange. Maybe he was sick. Martin had traveled pretty far ahead and Oswald had to trot to catch up which didn't help the discomfort in his stomach.

Martin was a towering, thick-muscled guy with a craggy face of constant five o'clock shadow and a permanent scowl chiseled between his eyes. He kept his head shaved, was big on jeans, t-shirts and work boots. A few of the neighborhood kids called him The Big Show. But despite his size and dour appearance he wasn't mean, was not violent, and he loved his wife Sarah, Oswald and Aldo fiercely.

Oswald was shoulder high to his father and moved around until they were face to face. Martin lowered his eyes. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, tucked his head and kept walking. He nearly barreled over Oswald who back peddled just in time to get out of the way.

"Come on Pops…what's the matter?"

Martin seemed to waver a bit, but continued walking. Oswald ran after. The pain in his stomach was slowly escalating which caused him to halt suddenly and double over. His stomach clenched hard, filling his mouth with nasty fluids and he gagged and spit but nothing else came up. He straightened and staggered forward.

Martin continued trudging, veered from their usual route to where the density of trees and bushes was greater, and the weeds and grasses were waist high. It was an area that Martin had warned Oswald and Aldo to avoid, but the two of them had gone there twice in secret. Aldo had built a fort out of twigs the first time. The second time…Oswald frowned trying to remember.

They moved forward a few more yards. Oswald waded through the tall grass to the small clearing where Martin's large body stood unmoving like some mutant, flesh-covered tree. His fists were at his sides, his head down. He twisted around slowly and faced Oswald.

That permanent scowl on his face was deeper, nearly folding his face in on itself. The five o'clock shadow was wet. Fat drops peeled away from his chin and splashed on his work boots. Dad was weeping. Oswald could only stare at this anomaly, his mouth agape. A slender figure that had been in shadow, slowly emerged from the line of trees behind Martin.

Oswald stared at his mother. He suddenly felt like the three of them had entered a huge black box devoid of everything except the fear leaching from his skin. A huge surge of sorrow, multi-faceted and cold as crystal, shimmered over him. In each facet he saw his little brother as he had been—a kid who loved clinging to his big brother. He hiccupped trying not to dissolve into tears.

Martin said, "Two years ago Oswald. Aldo ran into the woods and never came out."

Oswald's heart shuddered and more pain radiated through his stomach. His parents were silent for several minutes and Oswald couldn't understand why they were suddenly so…evil looking. Had the stress of Aldo's disappearance made his parents go crazy? The flight response was all over him but he couldn't move. His parents continued to stare in silence until Martin spoke again.

He said, "Is this where you did it, boy?"

Oswald stared blankly. What did that mean?

"Hunh?"

"I said, is this where you did it?"

There was so much menace in Martin's voice that the boy felt the words slamming against his chest.

"Did what? I don't know what you mean." He looked at
Sarah. "Mom?"

She didn't answer and lowered her head. Martin lurched toward his eldest son. Oswald took a step back.

"Don't lie to me boy."

Sarah was weeping now. She held out her hand and in it was a small blue sneaker covered in clumps of moist black dirt and pine needles, the laces still tied in a sloppy bow. Oswald's heart jack hammered, and his hands went up as if protecting his face against what he was seeing. His eyes, shining with tears and full of terror, shifted back and forth between his mother and father.

His voice quivered. "Mom, please…what is Pops talking about? Where'd you get Aldo's shoe…what did you do to him?"

When he said that, his parents looked like they had been drying in the sun. They were living bones standing in front of him. Sarah pressed the shoe against her chest.

She spoke quietly. "We thought you would die of grief. You didn't talk. You didn't eat. You didn't sleep."

"Yes." He answered, his eyes filling with more tears.

"But then…" Martin said, "…Mom found this when she was cleaning your room yesterday."

He pulled a composition book from under his t-shirt.

Mom said, "I was changing your bed. The book slid out from beneath your mattress and fell on the floor. I wouldn't have read anything in it, but it was open."

Martin held the book up so Oswald could see, turned to a page. "We read everything. It took all night. Did you write this?"

Oswald merely stared.

"Did you write this or not?"

The boy moved his head in a strange circular motion as if he was answering yes and no simultaneously. He stared at tiny words covering the pages, filling every space. Two pages had the word DIE all over them.

And where there weren't words, there were horrible pictures of a little kid killed by different means, each more gory than the last. On the final page of the composition book was a grave with a headstone that read ALDO, GONE FOREVER. He giggled and pointed at the page. Martin gripped the book tight so he would lunge for the boy.

"You planned this…" Sarah dissolved into body-wracking sobs.

The out-of-reach image that kept dancing in the periphery of Oswald's memory slammed into his head. He looked startled for moment, grabbed his stomach. He appeared to be struggling internally.

He closed his eyes, and whispered, "Help."

When his eyes opened again, a slow terrifyingly evil smile spread across his face. His eyes looked centuries old. His body readjusted, painfully bending him until his face was close to his knees. His head cranked up oddly, the bones and ligaments creaking loudly. The suffocating odor of sulfur swirled throughout the clearing. Martin muffled a sob and pulled his wife close.

"Name'ssss Sssonneillon. But you can call me Sssonny. Niccccce to meetcha."

It was an old man's voice, one suffering from smoke inhalation. The boy tried to bow, but his knees buckled. He straightened as much as his bent body would allow. Waved his hand in a flourish.

"I am the demon of hatred." Oswald's chuckle was low, malevolent. "Powerful thing, hatred. Love the smell of it. Like sugar, dead puppies and napalm in the morning."

He shuffled forward, picked up a long branch and leaned on it for support.

"I been riding this pony for…well most of his miserable life." Oswald held an obscenely crooked finger up to his nose. Oswald/Sonneillon snickered. "I guess you two got yourself your very own Cain/Abel situation once that brat Aldo showed up."

The boy's face crumpled in mock grief. "Ozzie killed your baby Sarah…love the name. Very biblical…okay so maybe I did it…Ozzie was just my little meat sack of a weapon."

Oswald/Sonneillon sighed. "Now, playtime's over. Boss is calling."

Oswald's body suddenly straightened, his arms outstretched, his head tilted up at the sky. He gave a long, blood curdling scream before dropping in a heap to the ground. His parents ran to him and cradled his lifeless body between them.

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Reviews

Cudbuster Jul 17, 2012

This was an outstanding story. It had perfect build up, a nice twist ending, and was all around well written. I do hope to see the monster again in future writings.

Belinda k Jul 18, 2012

Thanks! Yeah, Sonny has been circling me :-)

Velma golden Jul 17, 2012

Wow, this is a story and ahalf, I am also wondering about this demon of hatred. I am sure you will enlighten us with more of the same. Happy writing!!!

Belinda k Jul 18, 2012

Thank you once again, Velma! I'm going to hire you to follow me around and boost my ego Me and Sonny have been talking. We'll see what he comes up with. :-)

Seven L. Cooper Jul 17, 2012

very interesting! I'd like to know more about the demon of hatred! =)

Belinda k Jul 17, 2012

Well...I realize now this thing needed some major work, but glad you thought it was interesting,at least. I'm thinking the demon of hatred may show up again somewhere.

Seven L. Cooper Jul 20, 2012

I'm looking forward to more of Sonny! =)

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