Mommys gone crazy, p.1
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       Mommy's Gone Crazy, p.1
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           Robert Oliver
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Mommy's Gone Crazy
Mommy's Gone Crazy


  Robert Perry

  (c) 2012 by Robert Perry

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Please do not reproduce, copy, and/or distribute for commercial or non-commerical purposes. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons (living or dead), places, events, or locations are coincidental and are products of the author’s imagination.


  I crazily drove my car to the limits of its endurance. The dull lamps on the sides of the freeway dripped their rays like globules of blood onto the road. The route was free of traffic, as the hour was approaching 2:00 A.M. I am not prone to late night activities, but the frantic call from my daughter roused me from sleep and sent me racing with all speed to her house. Her voice, strained and erratic in tone, pleaded in hushed whispers for me to rescue her. Mommy, she said in her childish manner, has gone crazy. Mommy was trying to find her and kill her.

  No imagination, no matter of one’s ability, could conjure or create the feelings which soared through my benumbed mind as the sleep fell from my eyes. I recalled very little of the next few moments, but before ten minutes had passed I was on the highway, flying to my daughter’s aid. I could neither fathom nor understand what triggered it. Was her mother off her medication? Was there a breaking point at work? Had she been organizing this and finally brought her plan to fruition? I did not know.

  I got off the interstate and tore through the city, then reached the posh and financially comfortable neighborhood. All of the houses were silent and still, as if they were sleeping. My headlights sliced through the darkness, cutting the trees and mailboxes that fell in their way. I had driven the route many times before tonight, daily even, to see my little girl, Lexi. She handled the divorce like most children, with silence and extreme reservation. She pulled away for a time, yet rebounded and was again my happy little angel.

  The lot size seemed to increase with the value of the house, and soon I was driving past small mansions on sizeable plots of land. My little girl resided in one of these with her mother, my ex-wife, Alexandretta. I recognized the area clearly even though it was enshrouded in the bleakness of night. I turned, drove past a few more homes, then followed the left rue to a small side street. I was on their lane. I did not slow down, even in the turns, as I feared every moment was of the utmost importance. I was nearly crazy by the time I reached the gated entrance. The lengthy ride did nothing save drive my mind to the point of mental exhaustion. Fear, with its accompanying angst and horror, besieged me and threatened to drown me in a cesspool of terror.

  My first instinct upon seeing the gate was to spring from my vehicle and race on foot, feeling I could move faster out of the car. Upon a quicker, second thought, I decided against the move and continued towards the mansion. The gate was locked, but I cared little as I rammed it loudly and pushed through. With twisted iron grating on the lawn, I sped up the drive to the house.

  The structure was dark; no lights glimmered in any of the windows. In fact, the whole street seemed void of any sort of illumination. Street lamps were dead, and all the customary signage lights were missing. I barely parked before leaping out and noticing the strong wind and violent rumblings overhead. I had missed so much on the way over, my mind being consumed by unearthly fears, that I now only observed the state of the area. A storm had passed through and left its mark upon the neighborhood.

  I ran up the walk and fell into the darkened shadow of the bastion-like house. It rose to a great height above me, watching as I tore through the thick veil of terror which seemingly hung shroud-like before the front door. I was relying upon mechanical movements only, as my mind was too rattled to be of any logical use.

  I had no definite plan in place; my only thought was to get to my girl and find out what was happening. If the statement about her mother’s craziness was true and she had indeed forsaken her medicine for madness, then I knew I had to get my daughter out and find a way to secure her mother before she hurt anyone. I raced to the door, hoping to hear movement within. All was silent.

  When I reached for the handle, I found the door slightly ajar. I pushed and it swung inward, making a slight squeaking noise. Dumbfounded, I peered into the swelling darkness of the house. There existed over the threshold a stillness only the most morbid graveyards have ever sent into the night air. I wondered if my daughter escaped; if, perhaps, she had managed to flee and find safety. Then the thought crossed my mind: what if it was a trap for me?

  Relations were often cold between my ex and me, but we maintained an icy cordiality for Lexi’s sake. I had endured her frenzies and erratic behavior when we were first married, long before we knew of the demon that lurked in her mind. All seemed well when we found the monster and treated it with medication. Time, however, left us, and so did the love. When I forsook her, I saw a return of the beast, although others denied it. I fought in the courts for Lexi, but lost. Was she now conspiring against me?

  I held my breath as I slowly stepped over the threshold. I moved as if expecting a great transformation to take place in and around me; yet when I crossed over, nothing happened. I stood in the entry, my eyes absorbing the crypt-like darkness which existed before me. A hasty plan formed in my mind: search the lower level first, looking in all of Lexi’s favorite hiding places, then move upstairs. I took another step, my foot landing softly on the carpet.

  On the left side of the entry was an office, and on the right, a dining room. I moved first to the dining room, taking care to peer around the corners cautiously. With shaking hands, I pressed the glass-plated French doors open, then crouched to see if Lexi was under the table. The room was large and spacious, with the table set for fourteen. I tried the light switch, but found it dead.

  With care, I moved into the room and carefully navigated around the many pieces of furniture. I opened the doors of the credenza, but did not find Lexi. I slowly passed around the table and came upon the entry to the butler’s pantry. I looked back at the room, though I could see nothing, then moved into the pantry. This space was also large, especially for a service area. It had multiple countertops and cabinets, a spare refrigerator, wine refrigerators and a sink, not the mention the door to the lower-level wine vault. I whispered Lexi’s name twice, hoping she would hear and respond. Only my slightest movements gave an indication of any sort of presence here.

  I tried various doors and looked behind some of the extra chairs, but did not find her. The door to the cellar was locked, so I left it as it was. I moved through to the opposite end, and was about to enter the kitchen when I heard something move. It sounded like the hinge of a door, and lasted momentarily. I froze and listened, hoping the light footsteps of Lexi would be heard.

  I stood for what seemed like several minutes, when finally, at the urging of my mind, I set out once more. I did not hear the creaking noise again, and figured it was simply the house settling. Coming into the kitchen, I received my first confirmation something had indeed happened. As I stepped through the darkness, my foot landed on and shattered something on the floor. Kneeling and feeling around, I could detect items, pottery and glass scattered all over the tile. Crawling across the surface, I felt the extent of the damage: pieces and shards littered the kitchen space. The countertops, I learned upon arising and feeling around, were nearly empty of their goods, as if one giant swipe removed them all.

  I tried to understand what happened, but simply had no information to go on. I could nearly feel the wild rage and hear the fury I had seen before, but standing in the darkened kitchen with only slivers of shrapnel as my aids, I could place no c
lues together. With every step I took, I either crushed or hit something underfoot, try as I may to walk stealthily.

  After several clumsy attempts at walking without stepping on some broken item, I recalled a flashlight stored in a drawer not far from me. Taking it and briefly illuminating the floor, I beheld the damage, which spread out before me and extended into the family room. The whole area, not just the kitchen, was littered with debris. I turned the beam from one end of the vaulted space to the other, and within the ray I saw carnage to a scale I had not estimated. Not one lamp was left untouched; the shear curtains were in shreds across the wall of windows; the couches, chairs and ottomans were sliced, with stuffing oozing from the open wounds. The glass-fronted panes on the fireplace were shattered. Upon the grand staircase at the far end of the room, several of the spires were broken, their splintered poles evidence of blunt force.

  Not realizing that I was abandoning the relative safety and seclusion of the kitchen, I moved into the living room and stood, staring with my beam at the destruction before me. I cannot recall what exactly shook me
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