Echoes of Screams (eBook)

CHAPTER 1

Growing up

I’ll never forget waking up as a child to the smell of the crisp country air and hearing the creaking of the floor boards throughout my home. Running down the steps nearly slipping with excitement each and every morning. My father, a poor man in most eyes, seemed to always be rich with happiness regardless of any circumstance.

My mother, beautiful as she was intelligent. Always had made sure breakfast was hot and perfectly prepared and placed at our completely unstable kitchen table. It never bothered me how poor we were considered throughout the town. My parents always made sure we at least had breakfast each day. My young life was never a dull moment. A stray dog would always leave random objects and dead animals on our porch. I named him Rusty.

Mom never enjoyed that dog. I always heard her mentioning to my father in detail as to why she never liked that stray. That saddened me, I attempted convincing my mother constantly. Mentioning to her how Rusty, the matted up Border Collie was my best friend. Brandon’s Grocery or as later called “The Little Store” was where my father spent most of his time working. Patiently throughout his hectic day stocking shelves. Whenever he wasn’t working, I was fortunate enough to always be a part of my father’s fishing adventures. The most memorable and frightening moments for me always occurred during our bonding fishing trips.

The lakes and plantations in my hometown of Savannah, Georgia were the most euphoric and beautiful sceneries of my childhood. Taking in the sounds of the birds chirping, tree branches rustling in the wind, and the pure essence of nature was incredibly calming.

Sitting at our favorite spot, I began Imagining if we’d be able to catch a fish that day. To think how happy and full of tears of joy my mother would be had we caught something. A meal we didn’t have to pay for. While sitting on that boulder I’d annoy my father by saying,

“Daddy, when are we ever going to catch a fish?” I would constantly repeat to my father being such a nuisance. My Father although who had patience for work, never had patience with me most times. "Shut your damn mouth boy!” he’d scream. What I hated most wasn’t him yelling at me. It was the alcohol on his breath which I hated.

“Eric, I got one!” I remember he shouted ecstatically. “Wow daddy you are the best.” I spoke out with such joy. When his line snapped, so as he proceeded to snap as well. Blaming me for being his main distraction and causing him to lose focus to properly maintain that fishing line. He would shout and curse at me, proceeding to hit me hard enough to make me fall off of our favorite spot- that giant boulder.

As I was falling, a tear would flow down my cheeks like a calm stream. Looking into the sky wondering how I could please and make him happier in those moments. I remember landing in the mud, vision blurred by the lakes earthly debris. The sun was glistening the water next to me and I could see a reflection of a nearby frog. “Eric! I’m so sorry, please forgive me,” he’d spew out from the ever growing alcohol stench from his mouth.

“Daddy,” holding back sobs thinking about my mother, “I didn’t mean to distract you.” I would shy-fully speak. Moments then, with my father most times would be glamorous and not always a negative situation. As I grew older however, I could sense my parents were becoming more angry and threatening to one another. Their constant shouting, and many items were being broken. Though they didn’t have much else to break. I would hide away in our cubby and dream of a more ideal and generous life. I’d cry myself to sleep dreaming in my bug infested bed. I started having horrendous and vivid nightmares. Visioning my parents bloody faces on opposite sides of my bed screaming at me.

Each night I’d find myself waking up gasping for air as if it was taken out of my lungs. These nightmares were beginning to happen more frequently and became more real to me. As if I were in reality only by the projections of those dreams.

As each day went on, my parents were becoming more violent with one another. No matter where I would isolate myself, the screams sounded like earthquakes. Maybe I could dream of nightmares instead. Why did this happen? How did my seemingly loving and caring parents take such a violent turn on their path? Was it my fault? As I would succumb to my own thoughts, it had felt like I had to gasp for air losing the valuable oxygen.

I have to leave them, I no longer wished happiness for them. I need to escape them. “Mommy.” I’d murmur quietly. As though she couldn’t hear me. I’d softly call out to her again. “Mommy.” “What!” she’d shout. “What could you possibly need or want right now Eric?” Feeling the tightness in my chest grow immensely I would just run away not telling her what I wanted to ask her.

Only the creaky floorboards would seem to answer me. By this time I’m around twelve years old. Still cringing and some days needing to throw up over these gut wrenching dreams. Seemed my sense of reality was slipping. I crawled out of my bed and made it to our bathroom down the hall. Hoping for the magical breakfast filled mornings staring at the broken picture frames near the bathroom.

I’d look into the mirror and over my shoulder was a pale faced figure. Empty eye sockets with blood pouring and flowing like water from them. I could feel my body cringing and felt like butter melting within my stomach. As this pale faced creature started walking in my direction, I would just shut my eyes and pray to God to keep me safe. Sweat dripping into my eyes, blurred vision was my only sights.

Suddenly he’d be gone. My spine so tense it felt as if I were to move it’d shatter like glass. Unfortunately, I started becoming more angry at myself. Finding it difficult to restrain the growing hatred towards my parents. After I filled my hands with water I washed my face and I walked out of the bathroom.

Shutting the door behind me because my father wouldn’t allow doors to remain opened. I no longer had to worry about tripping down the stairs each morning anymore. There was no longer excitement in my heart. Instead of intense smells of breakfast cooking, it was only the awful stench of cigarettes. I entered into the kitchen, “Do I dare attempt to say hello to them?” I’d ask myself.

Loud voices which weren’t my own thoughts were shouting, pleading, and begging to talk to them and also to not speak to them. I realized that I was hearing multiple voices. They were all getting louder! I couldn’t stand it. It sounded as if a whole church congregation was screaming at me at once. The noise intensified, my chest began to tighten once more along with sweat entering my eyes.

This internal battle within my mind was becoming overwhelming. Not even able to hear my parents words. I could however, see their lips moving. It seemed as if they were staring at a complete stranger. “YOU’RE THEIR SON.” “THEY HATE YOU!” “THEY LOVE YOU STILL.” “LEAVE.” “STAY.” “FIGURE OUT HOW TO LEAVE.” “HAHAHAHAHA”

“HE JUST WANTS TO FEEL LOVED AGAIN.” “HOW COULD THEY EVER LOVE YOU AGAIN?” I had became enraged and confused. I finally screamed back at my internal voices, “SHUT UP!” The only sound I could hear afterwards was my lungs breathing in and out. All other sounds were gone. Dead silence. I looked up at my parents, they were fueled by rage and overflowed with a disgusted look in their eyes.

They didn’t hear those voices? They thought that I had screamed “shut up” at them. Daddy however, did not tolerate this outburst behavior of mine. Not one bit. Before I was even able to move or make a sound, my father- fast and unpredictable as lightning was towering over me. I had felt completely hopeless and meek.

Our noses were almost touching. I could still smell alcohol on his breath again. Before I was able to even think or proclaim my apologies, my father grabbed the back of my head. He was squeezing hard, pulling my hair so violently. He was screaming louder than our old radio’s volume turned on the highest setting.

“ You don’t dare speak to us in that manor whatsoever you got that?” I could feel his saliva being sprayed across my right cheek and ear. I would cry out to stop and to let me go, “Please Daddy I’m sorry I wasn’t talking to you.” Never confuse your father during angry outbursts. It never solves the issue. “What are you talking about boy? Are you really that stupid, who else do you think you were talking to?”

Am I stupid? Was I really hearing different voices? Or was I merely just trying to convince myself to continue loving them? My father dragged me out to our front porch and proceeded to throw me down. My elbow hit against our red bucket used for various reasons. “You stay out here and think about what you’ve done and how you’re going to make up for it.” The hair on the back of my head felt as if he’s ripped it out.

My neck was throbbing from the event that occurred. It was becoming overwhelming to my emotions that I almost gave up hope of ever being that happy family again. Tears from sadness rolled down my face. Rusty, that matted Border Collie popped his head up by the end our porch. I was enduring an immense emotional uplifting just knowing he was there.

I stumbled over to where he was positioned in the dirt and grass. I sat next to him and he began wagging his tail so fast it seemed like a blur. “Hi Rusty, you didn’t bring us anything today, but at least you brought...