The Crooked Boy Page #2

A short story Inspired by the Urban Legend The Crooked Man

• Religion
• Short story
• Spirituality & New Age
• Horror

								


Thankfully, when I need her, my girlfriend Jess is always willing to help out, or watch him while I do after school activities, which my counselor told me would help me get through my own grief. Allowing myself safe spaces to exist and let off steam. As I refocus my gaze to the treeline I practically jump out of my skin as I see a figure of some sort quickly disappear out of sight. I blink and look again, and nothings there. I let out a laugh and shake my head. Stupid scary stories are starting to get to me. It was probably just a deer, which isn’t uncommon here in Virginia where trees outnumber people. 

I hear the shower turn off, signaling Rihito is done. I shake off the figure from my mind and go to wash some dishes in our small sink, so my mom has one less worry about when she’s home. God knows she deserves rest. 

I’m on my last plate when I hear a creaking on our distressed old wooden porch. I swiftly turn around looking back out the window and see nothing. It’s probably just a raccoon I tell myself, now more alert. I finish the dishes and go to make myself a glass of water when I hear Rihito scream from the hallway.

I briskly walk over, expecting a silly spider or mouse to have spooked him out but my blood runs cold as I take in the scene before me. 

Rihito stands, freshly dressed out of the shower, and in front of him, further down the hall in the doorway of our room stands a figure. It’s like a man with ungodly broken limbs. The figure wears a long, deep red overcoat that reaches to his knees. Underneath, he has a patterned vest, and a crisp, buttoned-up shirt. On his disjointed legs are a pair of high-waisted trousers. His top hat, tall and somewhat tattered, grazes the 8 foot ceiling. 

I tense as I quickly grab Rihito and pull him behind me. Blinking to make sure I’m not going crazy. 

The figure lifts his left hand and reveals a broken, contorted bell, before moving its wrist to elicit a ringing as it lets out an unearthly noise.

“There once was a Crooked Man. He Walked a Crooked Mile..” 

My heart seizes as fear overtakes me. I grab my brother in my arms and run. To hell with those psychos in the movies who just stand there accepting their fate. 

I run into the living room and freeze as I see the front door wide open. A crowd of at least 30 bent and broken little figures, like children, are walking towards the house from the treeline, their arms open as if awaiting a hug. I turn right and burst into my parents room. I hadn’t been in here since my dad died, but as I enter my heart breaks. The once lively place is a disaster with trash and objects broken and scattered everywhere. I have no time to empathize with my mother though as I quickly slam the door shut and push a nearby dresser in front of it. The sounds of the story I told Rihito earlier, booming through the house in a disjointed bloodcurdling manner.

“They Screamed and threw their rocks at them, Laughing as they fled, The Crooked Man weeped, as his Crooked son bled”

Rihito is standing behind me silently sobbing as his whole body shakes with the same fear that courses my own. I quickly look around, grabbing his hand as I push through the mess into the closet where I shut the door, and hold onto Rihito. I Silently pray this is all just a horrific nightmare. As the sound of that crooked bell draws nearer. I hear wood scraping as something pushes the door’s room open, before everything falls eerily silent.

I quietly move my hand to cover Rihitos mouth.

“He cursed the men And rose from death, He too would take their children”

The figure slowly makes its way towards us as its shadow elongates the crack in the closet door. I already lost my dad, I won’t lose my brother too. 

“I love you.” I whisper to Rihito as I quickly kiss his head. I swing open the door and push it closed behind me as Rihito screams for me to stay. Here I am: standing face to face with the creature they call the Crooked Man.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“Crooked Boy Here you are,
 didn’t learn from father”

My mind spins. What did this thing mean? 

“Months ago, my story told
Your father brought me back
On my way, I staked my claim
You, I would bring back
But father dear, he did fight to take your hell-full place
But now you’ve read me back to life so Crooked I shall stay”

My mind barely processes anything as the figure stands just feet away, its crooked arms opening wide.

“My father?” I whisper almost inaudibly.

The night my father died he had gone outside to smoke after putting me and Rihito to bed. The following day was a blur of police cars and news stations. That morning, my mom had found his mutilated body in the treeline as she returned home from work. Limbs scattered haphazardly as if ripped from their sockets and bent beyond recognition. The police said a bear had probably found him and my dad wasn’t able to fight it off. 

My dad always told us monsters were just misunderstood and he believed he could help them. “All monsters have their reasons and want to survive just like us,” he’d say. Looking into the black sockets where eyes should be on this creature, all I see is a monster, not something worth understanding. 

“So what will it be
Rihoto or Yee
That will join me down below
The stories been read
So prophecy says
One of you must go”

I hear Rihito crying in the closet as he bangs against the door, trying to escape. As I stand in front of this creature, I wonder if this is the price of a story. We speak them to life and have to face the demons they conjure. Everyone has a story, even this broken and jagged thing. The story implied he was just a disabled man who had to watch his disabled son be stoned to death. Now he just wants to reclaim life. Who wouldn’t do the same? 

“My Crooked Boy was taken,
He was just a Boy you know
I am what they made me
So now man must reap what they sow”

As I hear Rihito’s voice cracking behind me, begging, I cry as I know I have only one choice. 

“I’ll always love you Rihito,” I say.

Man’s hatred is what creates monsters. We fear the things we create. So with one final breath I step towards The Crooked Man with his Crooked Smile as his shadow drowns me.

“There once was a Crooked Man”
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