A Psycho's Revenge

Hot water ran down Anthony’s back, soothing the sore muscles. He’d spent the day in the garden, plowing and planting the spring crop of corn, potatoes and various salad sundries. Anthony leaned back into the powerful jets of water, preparing to wash his hair. The shower curtain jerked aside and a man leveled a gun at him.

Anthony froze in horror. His daughter Lizzie slept in the bedroom right down the hall. Thank God his wife had gone over to a friend’s for the day.

“If you value your daughter’s life, Mr. Perkins, you won’t make a sound. Shut off the water.”

Anthony did so without a word. The youth moved smoothly, and knocked Anthony out with the butt of the pistol.

He noticed the pain in his arms first; throbbing agony that ran from his fingertips through his upper chest muscles. The pain in his head made him groan aloud. He tried to open his eyes as other aches and pains assaulted his sense. Anthony blinked, looking into the gloom around him. Tight rope wrapped his wrists together and pulled them taut up to a hook against the wall. Cold cement pressed against his back. Rope cut into his tied ankles. The smell of mold, sweat, and dirt filled his nostrils. Anthony closed his eyes as another groan escaped his parched throat.

A dim yellow light clicked on overhead and loud boot steps sounded on wooden stairs. A lanky, greasy-haired youth appeared before him. He looked no more than nineteen or twenty with dull, lifeless green eyes. The stench of his body odor and sweat made Anthony gag.

“Well now, look who’s finally come around.” He pulled up a barstool and sat before Anthony, leaning forward with curious eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” Anthony ignored the crackling, weak sound of his voice.

“Mr. Perkins, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your biggest fan?”

Anthony shook his head. “Where am I? What do you want?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter. But what I want, well now, that matters very much.” The youth cocked his head and reached into a boot. He pulled forth a long buck knife and came around to Anthony. “I want you to teach me.”

Anthony felt revulsion sitting in the pit of his stomach. “Teach you? I’m just an actor, what could I possibly teach you?”

“Oh you’re more than an actor, Mr. Perkins.” The boy chuckled and leaned closer. “You’re a genius. And I want to know every detail about how you killed your mother and got away with it for so long.”

“What?” Anthony jerked in his chains. “I’ve never killed anyone in my life. What have you done to my mother?”

“Don’t play coy now Mr. Perkins. I know that the only way you could have played Norman Bates so convincingly is if you had done those things yourself.”

“That was a script.” Anthony insisted. “Props, special effects, and a director. It wasn’t real life. Surely you know that?”

The boy looked at Anthony and in that moment Anthony knew he wouldn’t be walking out of this place. The youth’s eyes were cold, with a glint of insane curiosity. Anthony knew the moment before the knife entered his gut what was coming. Even so, he couldn’t prepare himself for the cold certainty of the blade slicing through his tender organs or the hot agony as the boy ripped it free.

“Then I guess this is just a movie too,” the boy whispered as he repeatedly stabbed Anthony, slamming him against the concrete wall. Anthony watched red blood pool beneath his feet with an almost disenchanted vision. With his last thought, he pictured his daughter’s sweet face and prayed for her safety.

*None of the events in this story are real. Anthony Perkins originally played Norman Bates in the movie Psycho, Psycho II, and Psycho III. He is also known for roles in Les Miserables and Murder on the Orient Express amongst other movies. Hopkins died of AIDS in Hollywood, California in September 1992. This is intended as a work of fiction only.

**This is for a contest entry in The Holding Pond Halloween Party 2008 based off a prompt to create a story about Norman Bates.

Word count: 618