Laura James Week 139: The Collector (Part 3)

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Laura James’s Picture Choice: Two

Title: The Collector (Part 3)

Hector was struggling. It was taking far longer than he wanted to get his brothers room ready for the collection. It didn't help that he could only enter the room when both his parents were out of the house and these days they rarely left together. Even if they did it was never for more than a couple of hours which was hardly enough time for his plans to progress very far. His resentment was building to breaking point.

He had become so good at avoiding his parents that he was surprised when they approached him at breakfast. "It's the anniversary next week." Hector stopped stirring his cereal and looked at his mother. Anniversary? What the hell was she talking about? He raised an eyebrow. "Your father and I don't feel we can be here. The pain will be too great." Oh now he got it, next week was the anniversary of his brother's death.

Sitting back in his chair he crossed his arms waiting for her to continue, sickened by the way she was clutching his father's hand, still grieving for her favourite son. "We're taking a break. Heading to the holiday home," his mother shrugged "better memories, you know."

They were leaving him alone. Elated Hector concentrated on not letting his joy show, his mind already working out how much he could accomplish while they were away. He was so focused on his plans that he missed what she said. "Sorry, what was that?"

"We don't want you to be alone, he was your brother after all." His father said, "So, your grandparents are coming to stay."

All Hector's plans tumbled away in his mind. His grandparents. He was disgusted. The simpering old fools would never leave him alone, his plans were all for nothing. He would never realise his dream. Pushing back from the table he stood, "Whatever, I'm going out."

He slammed the door and headed into the garden. When he had started down his current path, his life had purpose now he began to wonder if he had been kidding himself all these months. Maybe this was a sign to give up. It was getting harder and harder to keep his dream alive. He stopped in front of a tree, anger and frustration spilling out through his hands as he punched the tree over and over. Not noticing when his knuckles became broken and bloody, not feeling any pain when bits of skin were left on the hard bark.

The constant pounding of flesh on wood helped clear his mind. Anger spent he had a new plan. He would act the perfect grandson until his parents left and then he would create new bloody memories commemorating his brother's anniversary. They were old. They had lived a long life. No one would miss them.

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Based in Dunfermline, Scotland, Laura is obsessed with all things horror and spends her time writing flash fiction which she hopes, on occasion, really scares her readers. Feel free to stalk her on twitter, @lejamez

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