I found the diary while I was taking a little stroll down the block. It was just sitting there, and no one seemed to be looking for it. So I took it and curiously read it at home. The book had the words “Diary of the Damned” scrawled on the front cover, as if someone had carved the words from a blunt knife or something. It was also coming apart and I had to carefully flip the pages in order not to damage it.
I can’t explain it, but it had an odd, sinister feeling to it. My whole body tingled every time I touched it.
Still, my curiosity got the best of me.
The first page had the following written in black ink:
NAME: JOE CAMCON
AGE: 12
BORN: 1986
DEATH: [UNKNOWN]
CAUSE OF DEATH: [UNKNOWN]
What the hell is this? Some kind of autobiography?
I continued:
Joe Camcon hoisted his bag on his back and began to head home. School was tedious today and the homework that was given to him was even more dull.
School was simply too easy for him. To him, school is just a place with simple minded people and a place to get away from all the drama at home. At recess and lunch he would sit under the hulking pine tree that stood proudly in front of the school. It was a peaceful place to reflect and think after rather tiring mornings.
In short, he was a very intelligent young little boy currently at the age of 12, who has no interest in academics; not because he isn’t good at academics, but vice versa. Academics was not good at keeping him busy.
Though it was at least something, something that can put his mind at ease after every single stressful morning.
Now you might ask, what exactly does a typical morning for Joe look like? Well, it wasn’t pleasant at all. His mother, Adriana Camcon is a victim of abuse from her husband, Gerald Camcon.
Every morning, regardless of whether or not there is school, Joe wakes up to yelling, profanities and in some rare cases (like when his father is intoxicated), ululating and deafening screaming from his mother.
You can already picture a poor woman who is heavily covered with bruises, lacerations and other ugly injuries, and that image you have pictured is an accurate one of her indeed.
The sad part is that he cannot do anything to help his mother at all. He can only watch as his cruel father throws punch after punch at his poor mother as Joe hurries to school in shame.
He arrived home and shut the wooden door behind him with a sigh. His father had installed CCTV cameras all around the house, and right now one was facing directly towards him like a stationary eagle. He didn’t know why his father had put them there, it’s not like he uses them anyway.
“Mom, I’m home!”, he said out loud. Around this time his dad would be out drinking with friends and his mother would be either treating her wounds from the morning beatings, or making dinner for them. If they were really lucky, he and his mother would play video games on their old PS3 Joe’s father had brought him years ago back in his sober days. The funny thing is, his mother would lose on purpose countless times. Then, when the time came, she absolutely obliterated her son in the game. Joe hated that of his mother, but he loved it nonetheless since it is what makes up his mother – patient. “Wait for the best time, then strike the swine” she would say.
“Welcome home son”, the booming voice of his father echoed back.
Joe’s heart abruptly stopped beating in his chest, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion, disbelief, and fear.
“H-hi dad”, he stuttered, taking shaking, steady steps toward where his father’s voice came from.
How is he not out drinking with friends? Did he finally stop drinking or something? Where is mother?
Joe’s mind swam with thoughts filled with the worst possible outcomes.
Joe’s father was found sitting on the old sofa in the living room, eyes staring intently but as cold as a rock on a shore.
“Wh-where’s mother?” I asked him with a hint of fear in my voice.
He shifted his weight on the couch and sat up straight, still looking at me with those ice cold eyes of his.
“She’s cleaning upstairs, and don’t ask anymore questions”, he responded, his anger inflaming by the second.
“Yes sir”, Joe said quickly. Extinguishing the anger from his father before it turned into a raging fire (which will cause Joe to be heavily abused by his father. It has happened numerous times, causing him to adapt to the aggressive nature of his own father. The experience even taught him how to diffuse the situation before it even starts, like now).
“Joey get in the car, I want you to meet a good friend of mine. He’s a nice lad; extremely helpful”, his father beamed.
Head swimming with questions, Joe was in utter shock, and it wasn’t just because of the sudden change of mood or that his father was sober. It’s because he had heard his father call him by his nickname for the first time in forever. “Joey” was the name that his father called him when he came home with a good report from school, or when he was especially proud of Joe for something he did. Of course, it all changed when he went into drinking.
Feeling dazed and confused, Joe walked slowly to the car alongside his mysteriously changed father. Questions ran like a scattered waterfall of thoughts in his brain; “Who could have changed father this easily in a short period of time?”.
“It has to be some kind of highly skilled therapist” he thought.
* * *
As soon as they arrived, Joe couldn’t help but marvel at the monstrous size of the house that stood proudly before him. His eyes darted from place to place in amazement. Fancy decorations were placed neatly all over the front yard, and the bright lights seemed to cast a sort of joyful glow upon them and the glamorous, vivid ornaments around them as they drove further into the long driveway and into the carpark. The car park itself was nothing too crazy, just a beautifully painted plank of wood being held by four more long planks embedded into the ground.
The car parked next to us must have cost more than our house combined with our own old car! It was a bright yellow car, and it seemed to boast of what it was worth.
Outside stood a man of monstrous height. He probably stood at a whopping 2.1 metres or so. Standing proudly, he motioned towards us.
Dad walked to the man to shake his hand.
“Joey, meet Roy, he’s my best friend”.
Again, the name baffled him to the point Joe couldn’t bring himself to speak.
“H-hello Mr Roy”, Joe managed.
At this, Roy laughed a million dollar laugh.
“You can call me Roy, Joe”.
Joe nodded in affirmation and shook Roy’s hand. His grip was harder than expected.
“Why don’t you two come inside and have some dinner? I got some roast turkey just finished from the oven!”, he exclaimed heartedly.
“Well I never”, said Gerald. “How can you get a turkey and the nearest supermarket is kilometres away?”.
“Oh I just shootem”.
At this, Gerald smiled in amazement.
“Damn, can I see the weapons?”, he asked. At this Joe raised his eyebrows in concern. What if he gets one into his possession and uses it when in a drunken episode?
“Eh why not”, Roy said, heading back inside the house followed by Joe’s father and Joe himself.
To Joe’s delectation, he caught the aroma of roast turkey as he stepped inside the spacious kitchen.
“Wow, look at that huge TV!” Joe exclaimed, pointing at the massive Samsung TV sitting in the back wall of the gigantic living room (which conjoins with the kitchen).
Roy laughed his million dollar laugh and picked up the remote from the kitchen bench.
“I only watch the news, but feel free to watch what you want”. Roy handed the remote to Joe, who eagerly took it from him. Joe has never had a TV before, his father never thought of buying one. Not that they have the money.
Eyes on the screen, Joe turned on the TV and the Australian news came up. The reporter looked unsettled and troubled.
“We have received a report from Southern Melbourne that there has been a brutal stabbing on Rossmoyne Street—”.
“Wait, isn’t that where we live, Dad?”, Joe said. Remote shaking in his hands.
“Yeah, but I think your mother is ok. Let’s continue shall we”.
Joe was somewhat enraged. How could his father not care about the wellbeing of his own wife? Not to mention a mother to Joe himself!
Roy took a seat on the beautifully woven couch in front of the TV. “Are you sure you don’t want to check up on your missus Gerald?”.
“Yeah she’ll be fine, Roy. You don’t have to worry.”
“Alright, if you say so”. For a second, Joe could see a quick flash of rage, hatred, and even disgust dawn on Roy’s face then quickly evaporate in just a fraction of a second. Joe dismissed it, but still stared at his face for evidence of what he had just seen.
Suddenly, they locked eyes, and Roy smiled beautifully; though without warmth.
Joe looked away quickly and laid his eyes on his father, who had his eyes on the screen of the gigantic TV.
“I’m sure you are wondering why your father is the way he is, Joe?”, Roy said suddenly.
“Huh?”, Joe was suddenly aroused from his daydreaming; he was still staring at his father, who had now unglued his eyes from the TV in response to Roy’s question.
Joe’s father coughed.
“Ah yeah, Roy has been helping me stop drinking and all that. I’m feeling better than I was weeks ago; and guess what, free of charge!”.
Joe again could swear he saw that flash of disgust and hatred on Roy’s face once again.
“Well it’s the least I could do for a friend, I am a man of the law after all, and I love helping people”.
At this point, Joe did not trust Roy at all. But then again, could he really be serious? He was a well paid man after all, it wouldn’t hurt to treat one of his patients for free. But still, why did he make that face after his father had spoken not once, but twice?
Thoughts again swam around in his head searching for an answer. Maybe he’s just overreacting due to the shock of his father’s transformation from a drunk, to…his father once again.
“Anyways, let’s cut to the chase. I am going to be staying at your house tonight, Joe. How do you feel about that?”, Roy said rather inquisitively. Joe’s eyes fell to the floor in embarrassment, he didn’t like it when too many eyes were on him.
“Yeah, I don’t really care. Welcome”. Joe gave a fake smile to support his words to Roy, and he seemed to smile as well.
“Alrighty”, Roy said cheerfully with a smile, clapped his hands together, and sat up.
“You lads wanna have a look at my weapon collection?” Roy asked.
“Hell yeah!”, Joe’s father replied, and with that they all followed Roy into a dimly lit room made of stone. Roy pressed a button on the left wall and the front wall opened into a small chamber. In the chamber lay military class weaponry all hung on the wall in an organised way.
Roy pulled out a massive shotgun that was hung right next to the others. He slid a shell into the chamber and pumped it – it made a satisfying, loud clicking sound.
“Ok, who wants the first shot?”
Almost instantaneously, Joe’s father grabbed the shotgun and fired it at the wall across the room. It made a deafening sound as it ricocheted from wall to wall before coming to a halt and dropping to the stone ground.
Joe could see it clearly. First, Roy’s expression was shocked, as if he was slapped in the face. Then, the expression of disgust and irritation came across his face once again; and it lasted more than just a second. Roy cleared his throat and snatched the weapon from Gerald, who was still staring traumatised at what he had done.
“Man, you could have killed someone, be careful!”, Roy said harshly.
Joe’s father snapped out of his shocked state.
“I–Yeah sorry ‘bout that”, he stammered.
“I’ll bring one with me when we leave. Maybe a handgun or something”, Roy sighed, putting the weapon back where it was. Joe’s heart almost flew from its place…quite literally. He didn’t know why he was so shocked; was it because he was almost accidentally shot by his father? Or the fact that his father’s supposed “friend” isn’t who he really is. Maybe he does want to do something to his father, or even worse; his entire family.
“Alrighty gents, I’m going to get the turkey out of the oven and share some ‘round with you guys. Made it myself!”. And with that, they followed him once again to the beautiful kitchen. They sat around the table with their plates in front of them and Roy brought the tray and put it on the table.
The turkey smelt extremely gratifying and it filled their noses with the sweet smell of roast turkey and gravy. It was also very large, taking up the entire 50 by 30 centimetre tray.
“This is a big bastard,” Roy remarked.
Joe’s father agreed and took his first bite out of the turkey leg.
“Well I be!” he said. “This is the most delicious thing I’ve tasted in my entire life!”
At this, Roy gave his iconic laugh, but now it was missing its million dollar price. Joe can sense it was a fake laugh.
Lifting the jug of gravy in his hands, Roy put some on Gerald’s plate and asked Joe if he would like some, in which Joe declined promptly. They began to eat, and much like his father had stated, the turkey was indeed scrumptious; with a crunchy texture added to the skin. After a minute of munching and crunching, Joe’s father was the first to speak after a long, heavy silence filled with the sounds of food being mulched.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Roy, but this gravy tastes odd, “ Joe’s father remarked. Roy raised his eyebrows in question.
“What do you mean?,” Roy said.
“It’s like you put poison in this”. When Gerald finished that sentence, everyone on the table sat in suspense, mulling wildly with their scattered thoughts running in their heads like waterfalls. Suddenly, the two men began to laugh and hoot wildly.
“P-poison me?” Gerald said, literally crying of laughter.
“Oh nah…cyanide in gravy?”, replied Roy, cackling loudly.
Joe watched as they continued to laugh at the remark Joe’s father had made. This made Joe feel dumb, because all this time he thought Roy isn’t really who Gerald thought he was.
“Hey hey, all jokes aside, why would I want to kill my own friend? I said it before I am a man of the law”, Roy suddenly said.
“Alright then, follow me to my place so we can have dessert there eh?”.
“That’d be awesome”.
As they drove back home with Roy’s \car on their tails, Joe couldn’t help thinking about his mother. Where was she when he came home from school? Was she really cleaning like his father has said? Is she okay now? His whirling thoughts suddenly changed their trajectory into the subject of Roy. His facial expressions screamed out disgust and hatred, presumably towards his father.
Joe rested his head back and soon nodded off.
When they arrived, it was 11:00 PM and Joe was woken up by his father to get out of the car. As soon as Joe saw his mother in the doorway, he instantly and instinctively rushed to his mother’s arms. They embraced until Roy got out of his glamorous, expensive car with a handgun in his hands.
“Ah, missus Camcon. Greetings!”. Roy pointed the weapon at Joe’s mother.
“I’m sorry, but you are under arrest for looking fabulous today”.
Joe’s mother stood there, clearly fazed at what she had seen. Being at gunpoint isn’t exactly on anyone’s bucket list.
“Th - thanks Mister”, Adriana said uneasily. Roy laughed his priceless laugh again and put the weapon in his pocket.
“Adriana, did you make dessert or something for our guest here? I thought I told you to make some before I left!”, Joe’s father said, clearly embarrassing his wife in front of a guest.
As if to back up that point, Adriana flushed. Once again, Roy’s face was burning with rage and disgust which then cooled down in less than a second. Joe pushed past his mother and went up to his room.
He really needed to clear his head. All the stress from today seemed to weigh his self esteem down even lower. He sensed something bad was going to happen, but what could it be?
The next day Joe said goodbye to his parents and Roy as he headed off to school. Again, it was tedious and boring as always. As he was heading home, his mind wandered into the dark depths of thoughts. He wondered if his mother was okay. He figured she was because Joe’s father didn’t drink anymore, and there’s no way his father would lay a hand on his wife when there’s a guest in the house unless he wanted to be jailed.
When he finally arrived and entered the front yard, he was stopped dead by a deafening bang coming from inside the house. Joe rushed to the door, one again fearing the worst.
He pulled open the door and slipped inside, and his eyes gave him the most horrifying image of all.
On the floor lay his dead father, blood oozing from his forehead and onto the wooden floor. Joe had the urge to scream and run, but he was frozen in place like a stone statue. His mother sobbed and groaned in mental agony as she covered her bloody face with her ice-cold hands. Roy simply stood where he was, eyes widened in dazzling shock.
Joe had studied this a long time ago, he knew what to do in this situation, though he never knew he’d actually have to experience it. Consciously, Joe looked around the room trying to calm himself and assess the situation at the same time. How could he stay calm? He had literally seen his father’s bloodied corpse on the ground and his mother was in distress; but more importantly, he should stay calm and examine the situation as best he can, because the real question is… who had done it?
His eyes drifted to the kitchen sink. There was a half-plucked turkey in there, and Roy and Adriana had gloves on. It seems she was plucking the turkey for dinner tonight and Roy was helping her. Joe’s eyes then dropped to the floor to observe the weapon that had killed his father. Not surprisingly, it was Roy’s handgun he had brought with him so his father could practise his shots. The bang he heard from outside was etched into his mind and moulded into this piece of evidence, thus supporting the fact that the gun was used. The fatal wound on his father’s forehead was done by a bullet, therefore backing up that piece of evidence even further.
“Wha–what happened here?”, Joe asked, his voice shaking with every word that spilled from his mouth”.
Joe’s mother abruptly lifted her hand and pointed at Roy, tears streaming down her face like a waterfall. Roy looked like he had swallowed a rock.
“N–No! How dare you point fingers at me! You’re the one who did it, not me!”, Roy screamed, now pointing his finger at Adriana, who was still sobbing hysterically.
It all pieced together in Joe’s head now. It clicked in just like a button on clothing. Roy was the one acting suspicious all this time, Joe could see it a mile away ever since he saw Roy’s reaction to what his father had once said: “Free of Charge”.
“So was that the reason behind it, Roy?” Joe said, anger making its way into his tone of voice.
“W–what do you mean?” Roy yelled, throwing his hands up in the air in heavy frustration and anger.
“Dad didn’t pay you for making him back to his old self again, and since he didn’t give you money, you killed him. I could tell by your face, how disgusting of a human being you are, Roy”.
Roy’s frustration and shock turned into offence.
“Just admit it, you’re the one who did it”. Joe’s eyes started to tear up, and before he knew it, tears were making their way down his cheeks.
“H-he was finally himself. After years he was finally back to his old self again; we could have had a fun time together. As a family once again, but you took that freedom away from us”.
Joe gestured towards his mother.
“Mom, call triple 0 please”.
Joe’s mother staggered to her feet and quickly dialled the police, her face still wet from all that sobbing. As you may expect, Joe’s heart was crumbling when he was seeing his mother like this; in fact, it always did.
Suddenly, an eerie thought had shot into his mind like a thunderbolt on a cold, stormy night. It hit him so hard that he stumbled back with cold sweat already forming on his skin.
“Wait for the best time, then strike the swine”. The quote his mother used to always say.
No, he was overthinking it. His mother would never do such a thing, but…
“The cameras!” Joe said out loud.
“Huh”, his mother said. For a moment Adriana didn’t look so innocent, but rather desperate.
“No JOEY, ROY KILLED YOUR FATHER. DON”T YOU BELIEVE YOUR OWN MOTHER?” She screamed.
Joe did want to believe his mother, he really did. But he wanted to make sure…just in case. He rushed to his father’s office, which he barely touched ever since he entered his drinking days. Now desperately rushing, he got into his father’s desktop and reviewed the footage of the CCTV cameras starting from 10 minutes ago.
It was as if time had slowed down and made him watch; torturing him mentally. His eyes watched his mother lunge and grab the gun from Roy’s hand and shoot his father in the forehead before she dropped it and began to cry.
So this was the cruel reality of the situation. Joe’s own mother, his OWN poor mother…playing damsel in distress.
“Wait for the best time, then strike the swine’’. The quote came back to him, and he came back to reality. Joe looked around him, and he was unsettled to know that everything was quiet all of a sudden. He didn’t know what made everything so quiet. It could have been the fact that the police were at the door, or that his ears simply didn’t want to hear at all. He couldn’t blame them. His eyes didn’t seem to want to look either as he was starting to black out.
Before he could realise what was happening to him, Joe collapsed to the floor with the words “wait for the best time, then strike the swine” still repeating vigorously in his brain.
I closed the book and went to bed after that last word. Is this real? Was their actually someone by that name from that year?
I did not sleep well that night. Somehow, the voices of the people in the story echoed dully in my head as if I had actually heard them before. The anguished screaming of the mother, the yelling, the deep thoughts of “Joe”. Why has this happened to me so suddenly? A curse? No, I didn’t believe of such things.
Oh well, I’ll have to read the rest of the book tomorrow; rest comes first.
“Wait for the best time, then strike the swine”.