Mason's Television Read online

  Mason's Television

  Jon Athan

  Copyright © 2017 Jon Athan

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For more information on this book or the author, please visit www.jon-athan.com. General inquiries are welcome.

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJonAthan

  Twitter: @Jonny_Athan

  Email: [email protected]

  Book cover by Sean Lowery: https://www.highimpactcovers.com

  Thank you for the support!

  First Edition.

  WARNING

  This book contains scenes of intense violence and some disturbing themes. Some parts of this book may be considered violent, cruel, disturbing, or unusual. Many of these scenes feature children committing violent crimes—often against other children. Certain implications may trigger strong emotional responses. This book is also not intended for those easily offended or appalled. Please enjoy at your own discretion.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter One

  The First

  “What grade are you in?” Mason Williams asked as he knelt down behind a curly-haired child.

  Crouching beside the train tracks, the boy furrowed his brow and glanced over his shoulder. The child wore a faded black t-shirt, blue jeans, and black-and-white sneakers. His hair fluttered with the cool wind. His face was round, soft, and grubby. Judging from his appearance, young and innocent, he couldn't be much older than eight years old.

  The boy held a magnifying glass in his right hand. He had been using the magnifying glass to examine rocks and dirt as he explored the woodland. He took a detour from his usual route and broke away from his regular schedule in order to burn ants and destroy anthills with the tool. He wasn't a violent boy, but the activity was fun.

  Mason was a different story, though. He wore a black t-shirt, black jeans, and black sneakers. His short black hair was tucked into a black cap. His blue eyes glowed like the moon at night. The sparkle in his eyes, however, appeared deviant – zany and wild. A few speckles on his face, he also appeared young. He was thirteen years old.

  Mason repeated, “What grade are you in?”

  The boy responded, “Fourth grade.”

  “Fourth grade? I thought you'd be in second or maybe third. You looked younger... It doesn't matter anyway. What's your name?”

  “My–My name?”

  “Your name.”

  “My name is Carlos.”

  “Carlos? It's nice to meet you, Carlos. My name is Mason – Mason Williams. Don't forget it because it's going to be very important in the future.”

  Mason sniffled as he glanced around the area, savoring the fresh air. The boys were surrounded by tall trees. The trees waved and rippled with each gust of wind, leaves rustling and twigs crackling. A few autumn leaves – red, yellow, brown, and everything in between – danced with the wind. The leaves settled on the muddy ground and even landed on the rusty train tracks.

  The afternoon was peaceful.

  As he stared into the woodland, Mason asked, “What are you doing out here, Carlos?”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  Mason huffed and smiled, amused by the child's spunky attitude. He said, “I'm just... Well, to be honest with you, I'm just looking for friends. I'm looking for people like me. People who like exploring, you know? That's all. No big deal.”

  Carlos reluctantly nodded. He said, “Oh. I was just collecting rocks and looking at plants for fun. I found some ants, too.” Wide-eyed, as if he had just remembered something important, he asked, “Did you know you can burn ants with a magnifying glass?”

  “Really? I didn't know that. Can you show me? Then, maybe I can help you look for some cool rocks.”

  Carlos furrowed his brow and cocked his head back, baffled. He was confused by Mason's demeanor. He appeared evil and distant, a treacherous boy with a wicked soul, but his kind and eager words contradicted his aura. The boy didn't know how to respond, but he was interested in his friendship. Being friends with older kids could open doors for him – he knew that fact very well.

  Carlos asked, “Do... Do you want to be my friend or something?” Mason cracked a smile and nodded. Carlos returned the smile and said, “Okay, cool. You can help me look for rocks, then we can go back to my house and I can show you my collection.”

  He turned his back to Mason and crawled closer to the train tracks. He grabbed a small rock, then he tossed it aside – as if he were looking for something.

  As he crawled and searched, holding his magnifying glass to his face like a cliché detective searching for clues, Carlos said, “There are so many cool rocks out here. My dad taught me about them. There's a special one I like...” Struggling to pronounce the word, he stuttered, “I–Ig... Ig–Igneous rocks. I like the colors of 'em. They look like...”

  The boy's words meant nothing to Mason. The boy was blabbering about igneous rocks for crying out loud. The stream of noise spewing out of Carlos' mouth was exactly that – a garble of obnoxious noise. He couldn't hear him. He muted Carlos as if he were muting a television.

  Mason grabbed a heavy, sharp-cornered stone from beside the train tracks. The filthy stone was larger than his hand. As if he were handling a baseball, he casually juggled the stone. He stood behind the boy, the sun beginning to set behind him.

  Carlos' eyes widened upon spotting Mason's shadow. He didn't have time to react, though.

  Mason said, “I think this rock is nice.”

  He struck down at Carlos' dome with the stone, hitting the boy in the back of the head. The heavy rock thudded as it clashed with the back of his dome. The sound of the stone hitting bone was unnerving – a dull but powerful noise.

  Limp and disoriented, Carlos fell onto his stomach near the train tracks. Blood gushed from a laceration on the back of his head. The warm blood streamed across his hair, coursing towards his cheeks and forehead.

  Dazed, Carlos mumbled, “What... What did you... Why...”

  His mind was addled by the devastating blow. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't form a simple sentence.

  Mason grabbed the nape of Carlos' neck with his left hand, then he mounted the boy's back. He placed pressure on his neck, forcing Carlos to kiss the muddy ground.

  Mason said, “If you fight me, I'm going to make it hurt more than usual. You little bastards like kicking older kids in their nuts, don't you? If you try that, I'm going to cut your balls off and feed them to your mom. Understood?” Carlos moaned and whimpered. Mason grabbed a fistful of the boy's hair and lifted his head up, then he sternly repeated, “Understood?”

  Vision blurred by the attack, Carlos stuttered, “Wha–What... What are you doing to me? Why... Please, I didn't...”

  The boy's pleas were muffled as Mason pushed his face into the dirt. Blood dripped from his cheek and brow, plopping on the ground under him.

  Mason said, “If you scream, I'm going to cut your tongue off. I've done
it to dogs and pigs, so don't push me. I know what I'm doing here, kid. Now, give me your magnifying glass. Give it to me!”

  Carlos squirmed under Mason, but he could not escape his grip. He cried as he reluctantly lifted his right arm – take it. Mason leaned to his right and plucked the magnifying glass from the boy's trembling fingers.

  Mason pulled on the boy's hair and said, “Roll over. Come on, hurry up.”

  Controlled by his fear, Carlos followed Mason's instructions. He didn't know any better. He was always told to run at the first sign of trouble. If a man tries to grab you, run to us, his mom always said. He couldn't run, though. He couldn't fight, either. The blow to the head effectively crippled him. He was at the mercy of a psychopath.

  Mason smirked and said, “I never liked burning ants. That shit got boring when I was five. Ants... They don't feel anything. You can't hear them scream or cry. They just burn and that's no fun. Let me show you something better.”

  He smiled as he gazed into the child's wandering eyes. He leaned to his left, then he held the magnifying glass a foot over the boy's face at an angle. He lowered the tool to hone the hot focal point, then he steered the magnifying glass.

  Carlos squirmed as the focal point burned his left cheek. He wiggled as he tried to escape Mason's grip. He shook his hips and flailed his limbs, but to no avail. He covered his face with his hands, but the magnifying glass still burned the skin on his fingers.

  Mason pushed the boy's hands aside and said, “Stop moving.”

  As he squirmed, Carlos cried, “Stop! Leave me–”

  Mason gritted his teeth and punched down at the boy with all of his might. He grunted with each blow – five strikes in total.

  Carlos' cheeks and brow were already smeared with blood due to the cut on his head. The punches caused blood to leak from his nose, too. The boy coughed and grunted as the blood coursed back into his mouth and throat.

  Mason said, “Listen to me. I said I would make it hurt, didn't I? Sit still or I'm going to kill you.”

  Tears streaming down his cheeks, Carlos grimaced and said, “Please, don't...”

  Disregarding his pleas, Mason held the magnifying glass over Carlos' face again. Carlos wiggled, but he did not fight back. He complied with Mason's directions in hopes of surviving. As the magnifying glass burned his left cheek, the boy pondered his mother's last request before he left his house: don't go to the train tracks, don't burn anything with your magnifying glass.

  The lives of hundreds of ants he burned flashed before his very eyes.

  Carlos' left cheek turned red due to the inconsistent burns. His skin began to peel, too, practically bubbling like stew in a cauldron. A droplet of blood dribbled from the peeling skin on his cheek. Snickering, Mason steered the magnifying glass up to the boy's left eye. Carlos tried to look away, willing to sacrifice his other cheek for his eye, but the psychopathic teenager would not allow it.

  Mason grabbed Carlos' chin and turned his face towards him. He held the magnifying glass over his eye. A soft sizzling sound emerged as his eyelashes slowly burned due to the immense heat of the focal point. His actual eye felt tighter and heavier, as if it were about to burst – the pressure was insufferable. His blood-red eyelids began to peel.

  Mason said, “I want to pop those little bitch eyes of yours, kid. I wanna do it so badly. You don't even know.” He pulled the magnifying glass away before his eye could explode. He said, “I don't have time for that, though. I don't want you to scream, either. Remember what I said: if you scream, I'll cut your tongue off.”

  Carlos trembled and whimpered as he stared up at his attacker with one open eye. His left eye twitched, but he could not open it – a combination of fear and pain blinded him. His eye was damaged by the heat, too.

  Weak, he asked, “Why... Why are you hurting me? I didn't... I didn't do anything to you. I didn't do anything wrong.”

  “Why am I hurting you? Why?!”

  Mason chuckled as he stared up at the sky – a canvas painted with red and pink. He could see the tree branches rippling above him, waving as if nature were saying 'hello.' He pondered the boy's innocent question. He already knew the answer, but he wondered if the child should know the truth.

  With a deadpan expression, Mason stared down at Carlos and said, “My TV told me to do it.”

  “Wha–What?”

  Mason grabbed the heavy stone. With both hands, he held the sharp rock over his head, then he struck down at Carlos' face. Splat – the boy's nose was immediately crushed with the blow. A snorting sound emerged every time he tried to breathe through his busted nose. Blood splattered on Mason's forearms and t-shirt. He held the rock over his head, then he struck the boy's face again.

  He repeated the process ten times, hitting him harder with each consecutive strike.

  Carlos twitched and moaned until the fifth hit. His skull was crushed after the fifth strike, caved in above his mouth. His eye wasn't popped with the magnifying glass, but the stone still squashed his eyes. His cheekbones, nose, and upper lip were pushed into his head. A puddle of dark blood formed in the crater. Bits of brain were even visible through the grotesque lacerations.

  Arms and face drenched in blood, Mason tossed the stone aside. The rock rolled down a hill until it stopped under a dense bush. The violent teenager grabbed Carlos' ankles, then he dragged him onto the train tracks. He held his hand over his brow as he glanced towards his right, searching for an oncoming train or any uninvited guest.

  To his delight, the coast was clear.

  He adjusted Carlos' body on the train tracks, placing his waist on one of the rails. He hoped a speeding train would zoom down the track and cut the boy in half. He wouldn't stay to watch the violent outcome – a train wouldn't pass by for another day – but he hoped to hear about it on the news. The sheer brutality of the murder was enough to thrust him into the spotlight, but he wanted more.

  Mason approached a shrub. He wiped the blood off of his arms and neck with the leaves, then he tossed them aside. The wind will get rid of the evidence before they get here, he thought. He wasn't bothered by leaving his DNA throughout the crime scene anyway.

  With his touchscreen cell phone in hand, he returned to the train tracks. He took pictures of Carlos' body, capturing every angle of the bloody crime scene. He took close-up shots of the boy's collapsed face, zooming into the man-made crevices on his dome. He even recorded a small clip as he circled the boy. The footage and the pictures were perfect for his personal collection.

  As he took one final image of the child's entire body, Mason said, “Thank you for everything, Carlos. I just made you famous, kid. You're going to make me famous someday, too. See you around.”

  He shoved his phone into his pocket, then he strolled into the woods. He headed back to the city, unperturbed by his vicious actions. Carlos was left on the tracks, waiting to be bisected by a train.

  Chapter Two

  Good Morning

  Mason lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, vacant. Warm morning sunshine poured through the window on his right. The sound of birds chirping, kids chattering, and engines coughing seeped into his bedroom – the sounds of normality. Yet, the teenager did not feel warm or normal. He felt cold and distant, lost in thoughts of mayhem.

  “Wakey-wakey, Masey,” a hoarse voice said. “Come on, get up. We have a lot to talk about before school, kiddo. Are you listening? Hmm?”

  Mason turned over on his bed. His bed sat on a raised platform, so he had the perfect vantage point of his entire bedroom.

  He stared down at the foot of his bed, glancing at the left side of his room – his closet and his door were closed. He glanced up to the right – his computer was off, his desk was empty. His eyes stopped at the dresser hugging the wall parallel to his bed. A large flat-screen television sat on top of the dresser. And, a stack of DVD cases sat on top of a Blu-ray player next to the TV.

  As he stared at the television, Mason smiled and said, “Good morning.”

  Alth
ough the TV was off, a childish simper emerged from the speakers. From those very same speakers, the hoarse voice said, “Good morning to you, too, kiddo. You went to bed right away last night, didn't ya? We didn't even get to talk. We can talk now, though, right?” Without lifting his head from his pillow, Mason nodded. The TV asked, “Well, how did it go? Did you do it? Tell me you did it. Come on, don't disappoint me.”

  “I did it. I found a kid by the tracks. He was by himself. He was just... I don't know, I guess he was collecting rocks or some dumb shit like that. I got him, though. Yeah, I killed him.”

  “Good, good. That's what I like to hear. How did it feel? Was it everything you imagined?”

  Mason smiled and responded, “Yeah. It was... It was amazing. It felt good. It felt better than what you said it was going to feel like. It was like...” He chuckled and nuzzled his pillow, blushing. He said, “It was like when I finish jacking off.”

  “An orgasm?”

  “Yeah, yeah. It was good. I just... I just didn't feel anything for the kid. I did it, I finished him and left him on the tracks like you said, but I didn't feel anything for him.”

  “They call it 'apathy,' Masey. It's a lack of emotion. Those people, they just don't understand. Just 'cause you're hurting someone and you don't care about them, that doesn't mean you're not feeling anything. You said it yourself: you felt good. You're feeling for yourself and that's all that matters.”

  Mason was reassured by his television's explanation. He was not concerned about the child's death, he did not care about the law. He was apathetic to the world, but he was happy. He cared about himself and his goals – nothing else mattered.

  Disrupting the teenager's contemplation, the TV said, “Things are going to start changing, kiddo. When they discover what happened, when they trace it back to you, everything is going to change. You won't be staying in this fancy house anymore. No, you'll be going away.”