Peccata, Mea Obliviscre

Peccata, Mea Obliviscre
By Wilson Liew

((Um … the title is Latin for “Sin, My Oblivion”. Either that or “Sin, I Forget”. This is my first psychological thriller. It may seem like horror, but really, it’s psychological thriller. Sorry on the lack of emphasis. It was schoolwork, with yet an agonizing word limit. Sheesh.))

1980 London

“Hi Mary. What are we gonna play today?” asked John Farwell just in time before 12-years-old Mary Farwell smashed her little brother’s petite visage with her dearest daddy’s no-Mary-no-you-can’t-drink-this-Mary bottle. Mary, blankly staring, was oblivious of the pungent smell of blood and alcohol. Little Johnny’s jaw was twisted into a grotesque angle; still grinning his innocent; unknowing grin. Blood and liquor gushed across the cedar flooring, fragmented glass tinkling. Johnny’s clear, azure eyes mirrored Bloody Mary in her sleeping gown. Bloody Mary was not pleased. And so she went stab, stab, stab. Stab, stab, stab. Tainting her apparel with more blood.

Bloody Mary was still unsatisfied, and went on with the carnage. But neither was Little Johnny pleased.

2000 Miami

“Hi Mary. What are we gonna play today?” Mary Farwell, 32, jolted up from bed, panting; perspiring. Her eyeballs scanned her surroundings. The grandfather clock. The music box. The mélange gray sweater knitted for Greg. And Greg. Greg snored beside her. She sighed, relieved. It was the 23rd of June. 6 a.m.

Mary’s mind and body were in utter comfort as she relaxed in a paradise of hot water and soap bubbles, away from the purgatory of nightmares. She rose majestically from the bathtub, wrapped herself up like a cocoon with a maroon towel, pacing for the washstand. As she applied Procter & Gamble toothpaste onto her recently-purchased toothbrush, she came face-to-face with blood-smeared Little Johnny in his pajamas. She flung her toothbrush into the fragile mirror with force fueled with so much guilt and fear that it inflicted severe cracks on the mirror.

“Arhhhhh!!!!” The screaming was so intense Greg was shaken awake.

“What’s the matter!?” yelled a yawning Greg, shuffling towards the bathroom in his slippers. He cradled his wife soothingly as she stammered “Johnny” endlessly. Naked, she went into another series of shrieks and finally ended it with a depressed whimper.
“Honey, what happened? Who’s Johnny?” In all the years Greg Halworth was married to Mary Farwell, never had he seen his wife like this, nor had he heard about this Johnny guy. Our son’s name is Tony, Greg reminded himself. While the name of Johnny still meddled with his mind, Mary asked for help, trembling. Greg wrapped Mary back in her towel and wiped off her tears. He inclined about the Johnny Mary had been repeating. Mary was panicked. Johnny had partly ruined her mentality, and now he’s trying to demolish her family? No way, she thought. No way. As a last resort, she changed the subject instead.

“Ah … never mind that. Greg, I’m sorry but I have to send Tony to school now. I’ve prepared toast with blueberry jam on the dining table. Do keep in mind that you have an appointment with Dr Miller at 9 a.m.! See you tonight, dear!” And before Greg got to say another word, Mary had rushed off to dress and wake her 9-years-old son up.

23rd June 2000, 8:15 a.m.

“Dang it – the morning rush hour. Tony, must you take an hour-long bath all the time!?” shouted Mary at Tony in her shiny Ford.

“But mummy – I need to bath, brush my teeth, wash my face AND play with Donald and Daisy!” That’s when Mary Farwell regretted introducing Disney cartoons to her son and buying rubber ducks.

“Tony, listen. Playing with Donald and Daisy is optional. And you’re 9, for god’s sake! Who still plays with rubber ducks!?”

“Well, Kevin and Helen do.” Mary slapped her forehead and drove on. Only about 25 minutes later did she get to drop her son off. She snatched her cell phone from her Chanel limited-edition leather handbag and punched in some numbers.

“Eleanor? You there? I’m going over to your house so don’t go anywhere.” Eleanor Jennings was Mary’s best pal from London, and her brother was to be wed that very night. Eleanor said she was alone and could use some company. Mary then jammed her Motorola back into her handbag as the traffic lights turned green. Driving at a slow pace, she began humming to the music from the MP3 she brought along – “Tom Dooley”, and turned to glance at the rearview mirror for quite a shock. Little Johnny in his crimson PJs.

“Hi Mary. What are we gonna play today?” Stunned with fear, Mary was snapped back into reality just when a truck approached and she swerved. What next was a crescendo of crunching metal, followed with a chorus of skidding rubber and shattering glass. Then oblivion.

23rd June 2000, 1:45 p.m.

Mary miraculously survived unscathed – only the rear end of the car came in impact with the truck. But the whole incident was terrorizing enough to render Mary mute till her husband arrived. Greg helped his wife to answer a police officer’s inquiries. After the officer retrieved belongings of Mary’s from his panda car, Greg drove Mary home. Throughout the journey home Mary was asked a multitude of times whether she was okay, and she just kept nodding solemnly; tear-stained. Several times did she whisper, “Johnny wants to have revenge. He wants to kill me…” while biting her fingernails. Her husband, though concerned, was unable to mutter even a syllable.

“Honey? Do you think you can still manage to attend Dean’s wedding party later?” asked Greg. Mary, trying to masquerade a smile, said she could very much do so.

23rd June 2000. 8:50 p.m.

“I now pronounce you, Dean and Rebecca!” Thunderous claps boomed. Over-excited cheers roared. Mary Farwell clapped and cheered too. But not one bit of her heart actually cared about the wedding. She was haunted by images of her younger sibling. When Greg brought her a glass of Bloody Mary, she was even more distressed. She remembered herself stained with Johnny’s gleaming red blood. “Johnny…”

She excused herself and took hurried steps to the toilet and inspected herself in the mirror. Her visage was shot with premature wrinkles, and her eyes burdened with reflected great guilt, misery and fear.

“Oh, Johnny … do forgive me. I didn’t mean to kill you, really! I … never …” She started screaming at her own reflection. Then her face twitched, and grinned maniacally.

“But it’s your fault, Johnny. You took Teddy away from me. You took daddy and mummy’s love away from me. You took my friends away from me. You mugged all the happiness from my childhood, John Farwell! All of it!!! Everything!” When she looked into the mirror again, she saw him once more – Little Bloody Johnny with glass bits sunk into the skin. “NO!!!!!”

Mary slid slowly down to the floor. She saw a puddle of blood before her and squirmed backwards, too frightened to say anything. She then sighed of minimal relief seconds later. Not Johnny’s blood, thanks goodness. However the fact that it was blood’s undeniable. It was menstrual blood though. As she went back to the dinner hall, she spotted Eleanor hugging Greg intimately. Influenced by what occurred in the washroom earlier, she half-purposefully instilled herself with infernal fury.

23rd June 2000, 10:05 p.m.

“I don’t have any special relationship with Eleanor at all!” argued Greg.

“You foul liar! I know you do!”

“The hug was as a consolation! Do you not know how worried I am because of everything that happened to you today!? She was just telling me things will be okay!”

“I’m sick of your lies!” Mary’s face was puce with twisted wrath. Snarling, she swiped at Greg’s cheek with her fingernails. Bright crimson blood trickled down Greg’s face. He slapped her without hesitation.

“You slapped me, Greg Halworth! You do have an affair with the whore, didn’t you? I knew it! The fact is so lucid!”

“No, I don’t! I have had enough of your redundant accusations, Mary Farwell! That and all of your abnormalities! Constant screaming! Irregular trances! I’m sick of it! That’s it. I’m going to file a divorce tomorrow and I mean it. And Tony’s mine. I won’t let him to be under an insane mother’s care.”

“You animal!!!” Mary slapped Greg across the face with all the force she could summon. Severely angered, Greg grabbed a wine bottle from the Formica counter behind him and brought it down with supreme might unto Mary’s skull.

“Hi Mary. What are we gonna play today?” Johnny’s got his revenge, Mary thought. I’m sorry, she whispered. Really sorry.

24th June 2000, 9:00 a.m.

Little Tony Halworth had little knowledge of what was in store for him. He rose from his bed, rubbing his eyes. At first it was another ordinary morning at the Ebony Mountains condominiums. Slowly, he revolved the doorknob, jus to be greeted by classic phonograph music, a verse from “Tom Dooley”:

“I met her on the mountains
There I took her life
Met her on the mountains
Stabbed her with my knife”

Along with that, Tony Halworth, 9, was the first to witness Mary Farwell with the remains of a wine bottle pierced into her torso and Greg Halworth hanging from a ceiling fan like Tom Dooley did on a white oak tree. He trotted, while staring blankly, over to his mother’s lifeless corpse to examine the message she left behind with her blood.

The doorbell rang. Emotionless, Tony walked over to open it, revealing Eleanor Jennings who gasped at the bloody sight. She hugged Tony, trying to comfort him and keeping him away from the awful, traumatic scenario. Mary’s dying message had instilled Johnny’s spirit of vengeance into Tony, severely scarring his innocence.

“Hi Missus Eleanor. What are we gonna play today?”

((BTW, if you find words within double brackets like this within posts with a work of mine within, it means I'm typing something OOC, that is unrelated to the writing. Anyways, forgive me if certain parts of this tale sounds lame ... I wrote it last year.))