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Michael was beyond angry, his fists clenched in ugly, white knuckled balls. Evan had come home crying, his little face twisted up and red, splotchy and damp. He hadn’t even greeted their dad. He threw his bag to the ground and ran to his room. That’s when Michael had whirled on Lizzie, because Evan always said hi to dad, even on shitty days. “What happened to him?”
His sister twisted the toes of her mary janes against the rug, not meeting his eyes, a scowl on her face that could turn a man to stone. “The kids at school are being mean to him again, but because the teachers don’t see it, they won’t do anything about it.”
Dad had practically had an aneurysm the last time this happened. He stormed to the school with all of them in tow, didn’t even check that they all had their seat belts on when he put them in the car, and had a screaming row with the principal that even the fat man’s heavy door didn’t muffle. Michael learned a lot of creative combinations of words that day, and the school learned to fear their father and their uncle Henry, who called them after dad told him about it and gave them another earful.
Apparently having dad threaten to shove the principal’s useless degree up his arse, frame and all, wasn’t enough. Apparently they needed someone to do something about it.
“Tell me what they look like.” Michael said ordered, his voice gone velvet soft, the same way their father’s did when he was truly, truly enraged.
Elizabeth’s eyes glittered, and her scowl mutated to smirk. “They walk home the same way as us. One of them is a girl with black pigtails-”
—
Michael wouldn’t say he’s the best brother. He wouldn’t even say he’s a good brother necessarily. He teases Evan about what he likes, he jumps out from around corners to scare him, he finds him obnoxious because he’s half his age and a spoiled brat. He’s also worried about Evan. He’s squishy. Michael has been trying to toughen him up, to get him to hide his soft underbelly instead of rolling over and exposing himself whenever he’s prodded. He wants his brother to be happy, and in order for him to be happy, he needs to be able to stand up for himself. If Evan can’t do that at home, how can he do it in the real world?
It’s not all teasing all the time, of course. Michael makes all three of them snacks if they get home and they’re hungry. He taught Evan to tie his shoes. He lets Evan know that sometimes, he thinks that what Evan likes is sort of cool. If Evan is quiet, Michael will let him sit in his room and listen to music with him, or read his less violent comics. Evan likes Spiderman, which is something they have in common.
He’s aware of the fact that Elizabeth thinks he’s annoying, but that’s par for the course. They’re siblings. He plays with her, sometimes. Once, all three of them put something together that was like a scene out of Frankenstein. They decapitated one of her barbies and put a firecracker in it, and Elizabeth wired it so they could blow it up from a distance. Evan pressed the button and cheered with them when it worked.
Michael loves his siblings. He just wants them to be able to stand up for themselves. He wants Evan to not be bullied. Evan can’t stand up for himself right now. He needs more help, more toughening up. Michael will help with that later, show him how to throw a punch, how to throw people like he does in karate. Right now? RIght now, there’s something violent raging in his chest, crashing against his ribs, howling for release. Right now, there’s three kids who need to be put in their place for touching his brother.
—
Last summer, when Michael was mowing the lawn, he accidentally ran over a den full of bunnies. Elizabeth and Evan were playing in the sprinklers, and they all ran to get dad, crying, hoping that he could help in some way. Dad had stopped making lunch and told Lizzie and Evan to stay inside. He took Michael with him when he went to inspect the nest. The ones that lived were hurt, and his dad looked sad. “Watch what I’m doing, Michael.”
He nodded, wiping his face with his already sweat-soaked tank top. He still hoped his dad could help them. Dad lifted one of the bunnies very gently, using both hands, one hand supporting the head. “Watch closely.”
He twisted his hands so fast that Michael almost missed the cracking noise. The injured bunny stopped squirming, and his father laid it down next to it’s deceased siblings. “It’s not suffering anymore, see? You do that with the others.”
It took him a long moment to process the action, “You killed it,” His voice was shaking just as bad as his hands. His face was wet again.
His father laid one cool, slightly bloody hand on the back of his neck. “Dearheart, they’re very badly hurt. Even if we took them to a vet, they likely wouldn’t live. If we just leave them, they’ll hurt for a long time before they die. But when you do it like this, it only hurts for a moment before they go to heaven.”
Michael could only choke back a sob and nod again, reaching with hands that trembled for the whimpering bunnies. He scooped one up just like dad showed him, the shivering body far too light to really be alive. That’s what repeated in his mind, as he gripped the head of the bunny and twisted his hands. CRACK! A sob exploded from his throat as he laid the bunny down, and his father rubbed his back. “That’s it, dearheart. You can be done, if you want, I can handle the other two.”
He shook his head vigorously. “I-I did it to them, I’ll help them go to heaven.”
His father knelt beside him the entire time, rubbing his back. When the final bunny was sent off, he pulled Michael tightly against his chest, kissing him on the head. “It’s alright, it’s alright. Let’s get cleaned up, yeah? I’ll find a box to bury them, and then we can go out for ice cream.”
They didn’t tell Elizabeth and Evan what they did, just washed up and changed. The rabbits were buried under Mom’s rose bushes, an honor reserved only for their pets and mom’s ashes, and now those rabbits. It was cathartic, seeing his father from his window that night, carefully digging up a spot for the bunnies.
He felt awful, for having caused their deaths. They would have grown up to be nice, big rabbits. To cause delight to girls who weren’t like Lizzie, who was obsessed with dad’s robots and space and not many cute things, and to bring awe to the eyes of boys like Evan.
He felt bad they were dead, he didn’t want them to be dead, but when he killed them, he had gotten a little rush.
—
He got out of school an hour earlier than Evan and Lizzie did, which was convenient for what he wanted to do. Elizabeth had given him good descriptions of the little shits who were bullying his brother. He was going to teach them a lesson, one he’d learned when he was younger.
There’s always a bigger fish.
He’d rough them up a little, scare them until they pissed themselves, and warn them off bullying. Then he’d buy Evan and Lizzie some candy on the walk home. Simple plan, but it required planning for the execution. He didn’t want it getting back to anyone that he was the one who did it.
So he stuffed a foxy mask in his back pack, because they were a dime a dozen, snatched a box cutter from the kitchen junk drawer, and tied a plain black hoodie around his waist. He wore it there the whole day, and the box cutter and mask stayed in his bag.
He walked from his junior high to the elementary school his siblings attended, and waited around the gate for the horde of snot-nosed brats to be released. It didn’t take long after he arrived. He watched the swathes of kids run around, finding their friends and siblings and the people they didn’t like but walked with anyways.
Michael spotted Lizzie’s big, purple ribbon first, and was glad that she had insisted on changing it this morning, despite the annoyance that waiting for the bathroom had caused. Around her were her friends, a couple of kids he didn’t recognize or care about, Evan, and his targets.
Cassidy, a girl with black hair that was always in pigtails. Grayson, a blond kid who was shoving Evan around despite being shorter than him. And some beanpole dweeb called Leon.
Michael would teach them a lesson. He’d scare them so straight they’d never even think of bullying another kid again.
He stood there for a while before all the kids started leaving the schoolyard, and Evan’s eyes lit up when he saw him. Michael was proud to see Evan outmaneuver the little blond twerp, dodging his grubby hands as they tried to snag his backpack. He ran right up to his side before he seemed to think better of it, but Michael tried to mimic the grin their dad would give them whenever he was really glad to see them, and his brother’s shoulders relaxed. “Mikey! Why’re you here?”
He dropped his hand on Evan’s head, giving fluffy brown locks a ruffling that may or may not have been less rough than usual. “Dad asked me to come walk you home, ‘cause he was worried about you last night. Especially since you lost your lunchbox.”
Evan’s small smile fell off the face of the earth, and he tucked his chin to his chest. He always did that when he was lying. “You don’t need to worry about it. I’ll find it eventually.”
“Right, well, dad still told me to walk you home, so I am.” Their group was starting to move away from the school, and the little trio of jerks was making faces at Evan, probably thinking Michael wouldn’t notice. He did notice, and he pulled on his hoodie so that he could tuck his fists into it’s pocket. They were still too close to the school for him to go after them, and he wanted Evan to be out of the way before he did.
Lizzie’s friends peeled off the group first, because they lived on two different streets that were pretty close to the school. She talked to Michael about his science class. Mr. Jinger had been the science teacher at Hurricane Junior High for thirty years and was showing no signs of stopping. He was batty, he was bonkers, he was crazy, and all the students loved him. Lizzie really wanted him to not retire before she got to have his classes. Michael reassured her that he would probably die in the classroom.
Evan’s tormentors took a backstreet shortcut to get to the cul-de-sac where they all lived. Evan, Lizzie, and Michael would have to keep walking a different way. When the group split off, he patted his siblings on their shoulders. “We’re pretty close to the corner store, aren’t we?”
Lizzie pretended to think before she nodded. They had planned this part out, how he’d split off from her and Evan. “Yeah, it’s that way,” She pointed in the same direction as the kids he was going after.
“Great.” He grinned, an acidic expression on his face. “I’m gonna go buy myself a pop, and I’ll buy you two some candy if you promise to keep quiet about it.”
Evan frowned. “Daddy says we shouldn’t eat too much-”
Lizzie clapped a hand over his mouth, the excitement on her face so convincing that Michael thought for a moment that if science didn’t work out, his sister would make an excellent actor. “Sh, Evan! Candy!”
She started hauling their beleaguered brother down the street, ignoring or speaking over his protests. It felt almost like a normal afternoon, and to anyone passing by, it would be a normal thing to see. The nagging sister, the hen-pecked brother, the amused eldest waving them off.
It felt good to give Evan something like that. He would tease him later for how easily Lizzie pulled him along, but then again, she’d inherited Mom’s ability to somehow make anyone do whatever she wanted.
Michael had work to do.
—
The hunter waited until he could see his quarry before tugging his mask over his face, keeping his weapon in one hand, hidden from sight.
He reflected, hardly registering the movement of his body as he approached, that he loomed over them. Middleschoolers were generally taller than six and seven year olds, yes, but the hunter was also a tall young man. His father was tall, therefore he would be tall. A simple truth, a foregone conclusion.
The smallest one noticed him, and startled. He imagined that he must strike a frightening image for such a pitiful creature. For something so small it wouldn’t weigh a thing in his palm. The other two turned quickly at the noise their friend made, a pathetic yelp of terror.
The girl bared her teeth at him, and he bared his teeth back, though they wouldn’t be able to see the expression. “What do you want?”
“I heard one of yous been bullyin’ the other kits,” He growls out, voice a rough approximation of Foxy’s, “We don’ take too kindly to bullies at Freddy’s.”
They all looked at each other, as if trying to figure out who they wanted to rat out. Pigtails narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not Foxy, you don’t have a hook.”
His hand tightened around the box cutter in his pocket, “Aye, I do,” The hunter tilted his head, “Do you want to see it, Lass?”
Her name is Cassidy, part of his mind supplied, as the girl took a foolish step forwards,Her name is Cassidy and she is a cruel child.
The cruel child paused, just out of his reach, and the hunter tilted his head in the other direction. “Well, girlie? Are ya chicken?”
“No!” She pouted, a truly ugly expression on her. She had a pretty, innocent face, but the ugliness inside of her was shining through now. A cruel child who got away with things because she was a girl who targeted boys, hiding behind a cherubic facade.
Cruel, crude Cassidy took another step, and looked proud of herself, her bravery. Most children found Foxy a bit frightening, after all. These children would find Foxy very frightening when the hunter was done with his work. He slid the blade of the box cutter out, pulled the tool from his pocket, and cut her face open in one smooth motion. The girl shrieked and stumbled backwards, no longer seeming like the child he’d first encountered. Instead, he heard whimpering, saw long ears. A lesson in the circle of life.
The pathetic one and the large one had frozen. There was a damp spot on the pathetic one’s pants. If they were smart, they would be running away, but these prey animals are not intelligent. There was blood on his hand, and three rabbits before him that had not learned their place in the natural order of things.
The fox licked it’s jowls and leapt upon the long eared rabbit, it's one long fang flashing. What was it that it’s father had impressed upon it, that first lesson? To do it quickly.
The large one was running, but the fox would catch it. It had already opened the long eared rabbit’s throat onto the pavement, and was moving on towards the small one, which cried like it was wounded before the fox had even touched it. This one it bit several times, for the cruelty towards its denmate.
The large one could run very fast, but the fox was faster, and much cleverer for its years of experience. It did not even get to yelp or bite the fox, when it snatched it and bit it dead.
There was a scuff on the concrete behind him, and he whirled around, dropping the collar of Leon’s shirt, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.
There stood his father, a smile on his face. “Michael, you’ve done well.”
—
Evan had ratted him out. Even he couldn’t be bought with the promise of candy, “Try a bigger bribe next time,” Dad advised, holding a trash bag out for his bloody clothes. He’d come to pick him up in the car, and always carried trash bags in the trunk.
Michael grumbled in response, dumping everything inside. Dropping the foxy mask on top, he looked his father in the eyes for the first time since he’d been instructed to follow him back to the car. “You’re not mad?”
“Those were the children bothering Evan, were they not?” Dad stated more than asked, tying the bag shut and tossing it in the trunk. When Michael nodded, he continued, “Then I’m not angry. In fact, I am incredibly proud of you for taking the initiative to protect your brother. I just wish you would have told me about your plans so that I could have aided you in the execution.”
“What’s that mean?” Michael asked, nose and brow scrunching. Dad laughed and bopped him on the nose before shutting the trunk.
“You were a bit messy, even if you did well without any help. Making sure you don’t get caught is our priority now. If I were involved, we may have been able to lure them to a more secure location where we could have also disposed of the bodies and any evidence.” When Michael blanched, his dad pulled him into a side hug. “Don’t worry, i’ll show you how to handle it while I do it for you, alright? Now get in the car.”
—
The box cutter was dropped in the creek a few miles away, never to be found. After Michael’s shower, Dad showed him what cleaners to use that would truly wash the blood away. The clothing was burnt in the firepit in the backyard that night, and dad let them make s’mores over it. He swept the ashes out, bagged them, and they were picked up before the police even came asking questions.
Dad acted suitably worried, a murder like that on the streets where his children walked home? Thank god Michael walked with them that day, they wouldn’t be walking home for the rest of the school year.
Elizabeth and Evan told the police that Michael had split off once they were close to home to go and buy sugary snacks, and Michael sheepishly recounted being caught by their dad on the path he usually snuck off on. Dad had joked a bit that he had already grounded Michael for a week for that stunt, but with a murderer in the area, that might extend even further.
The police officers were very nice, and even said to dad that he had very brave children, for them to be able to answer questions about an event that had killed their friends. Dad just clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Those poor kids. I’ll keep their families in my prayers. You officers have a good night.”
The Scott Street murders never were solved. There were funerals, and dad sent flowers to all of them. Evan was much happier at school, and Michael tried a little harder to listen when he talked about the things he liked. The best days were when all three of them, him, Lizzie, and Evan found something to do together. The even better days were when dad joined in.
One afternoon, after the news stopped talking about what happened on Scott Street, Evan came into his room, and Michael almost yelled at him, until he saw what his brother was holding.
He held the drawing out to him. “I made it for you.”
For a six year old, he really was very good at drawing. There on the paper was a person in a black hoodie and a foxy mask, holding hands with scribbled versions of both Evan and Lizzie. When Michael finally managed to look up, Evan’s shy nature had taken over again, because he had retreated a few steps. “Me and Lizzie peeked. You’re really cool, Mikey, even if you like Foxy and not Freddy. Thanks.”
Michael felt like someone had poured a can of coke on his brain. His brother and sister had seen what he did, Evan thought it was cool, Lizzie helped him and dad lie to the cops. Evan drew him a picture. That right was reserved for Dad, Uncle Henry, and Aunt Grace.
Now, it belonged to him too. He looked back down at the drawing and swallowed hard. Evan shuffled his feet. “Uhm, do you like it?”
He didn’t know how to answer that. So he stood, ignoring how Evan scrambled out of the way, and strode to his dresser. He yanked open the top drawer, digging around until finally finding the tacks he used to hang posters. He turned to the posters that hung above his bed, and found one for a band he hadn’t listened to in a while. Not enough to have their poster up.
Michael yanked it down, climbed onto his bed, and pinned the drawing up in that place of honor next to his poster for The Cure, a wild grin splitting his face, “Evan, I love it.”