Perrysville

By Braylon Daniels

Braylon Daniels's debut novel Perrysville is a horror tragedy with a thrilling ending. Follow the story of Adrian, a 16-year-old who finds himself tormented by an abusive father, a harmful environment, and the paranormal. Accompanied by his love interest, Lexi, Adrian finds himself trying to build his first healthy relationship while fate has far more in store for him. Perrysville takes you on an adventure through the excitement of love and horror while challenging your perspectives on how people react, love, and go about their daily lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350918182

Book preview

1-Bound

I can remember vividly. The Glass and gravel drug underneath the damp sole of my shoe with a choppy crunch as I advanced for another punch. All three of them stood in my way. Grown-ass men, at least thirty, about dad’s age, pettily stood in my way. The shortcut alley I always took was gray as ever. I could just begin to make out the first rays of sunlight. They peeked over and embraced the buildings around me. The air was cool, chilling the back of my throat, yet suffocating me through the thick condensation. Fighting was uncomfortable in that weather. My limbs trembled with excitement with a new pulse of adrenaline. Dad’s mess fell onto me once again, and frankly, I welcomed it. Analyzing the men then my surroundings, I realized I had no choice but to either be beaten to a bloody, broken pulp or take down all three of them myself.

Deciding on the ladder, blow after blow was exchanged: they grabbed me and I fought free, they cornered me and I sprung out, they kicked and I parried. I countered again and again throwing an uncountable amount of punches where I could, and taking about as many when I had to. After two minutes of the bout had passed, my body felt like sludgy flowing ice that got crushed further and further after every strike. Everything ached, but I would not give them the satisfaction of victory, or my belongings at that.

I managed to land knee strikes on two out of three of them. They both staggered backward in the same way and fell on their asses to the light gray gravel. Blood got on my shirt from their leaking noses and mouths, cutting my victorious grin short with the inconvenience. After the third realized his newfound disadvantage, he pulled out a shimmering double-edged knife. He waved it at his side in a ritualistic way. I could tell he had done this before, or at minimum practiced to himself. I couldn't win with him being armed, so I counted my losses and ran away, grabbing my backpack four strides away in the process. Sprinting out of the alley, I could hear him behind me, in a much slower, but still, dead sprint. His footsteps faded as more and more time passed on until the sound vanished entirely.

When I knew I was safe I stopped running and leaned my bruised back onto a wall to catch my breath. Across the street, I looked at myself through the reflection of one of the many shop windows. My left sleeve was torn and soaked with blood. I had either gotten cut, and didn’t feel it, or one of them had managed to scratch me. The rest of my favorite Tennessee Titans shirt was ruined; now a deep violet color from my blood mixing with the original light-blue fabric. Still bracing my weight on the wall, I leaned over and brushed the dirt and gravel chunks off of my blooded shoulders and knees. I had a moment of rejoice, seeing the minimal damage to my legs as I took my first steps on my journey to school.

Without their element of surprise this time, I considered going back and attempting the shortcut once more; I needed to to get to school on time, I frankly wanted to see the look of defeat on their faces as well. The long way would take me ten minutes out of my way; time I could not afford to lose. Turning my head to the sun high in the sky I listened as if it would come to a decision for me. What would you want me to do? I said aloud. I knew I wouldn’t be able to think logically with my adrenaline, so I made the safe choice and ran the extra-long way. Every second felt like the weight of the world rested on it, I had no clue what time it was — since dad refused to buy me a phone — and my senses proved to be useless from the recent time change.

The sun radiated off of the sidewalk, taking away the pleasant cool and amplifying the ever-present humidity. With every stride and sideste my backpack struck my low back and damaged the binder it carried. I kept a steady pace until bus four, the earliest bus, passed me with only a mile’s distance separating me from the school. Now walking, I could enjoy the somewhat pretty morning, doing my best not to take notice of the trash on the sidewalk, the pollution hovering low in the clouds, and the many groans from the homeless people that lined the streets to beg.

Passing one of the many alley ways, I saw a homeless boy shaking his water bottle for the last drop. I stopped past his line of sight and looked down at my full 20oz in my hand. Warm sweat streaked down the side of my face as I threw my water bottle down the alleyway to the little boy and then took off towards school, avoiding any interaction with him, something I had no time for. When I reached the old brick building of my high school I sighed. Taking in a deep breath before traversing the doors. Not to my surprise, everyone seemed to pause for a moment and take in my condition. They resumed their normal business after they had an image of what happened in their heads. I stopped caring about any drama people placed upon my name a long ago, and life was calmer because of it.

After I finished staring down the few brave souls that continued to judge me, I walked the brightly lit halls to my locker. My feet thumped with a heavy pitter-patter on the tile as I made my way to my old — somewhat rusted — metallic locker. Everyone cleared out of my way as I walked through the sea of mindless monkeys. I didn’t like a single person in the school, or the state at that, everyone always had one unacceptable flaw that I found. Regardless, I still scanned the halls for new faces, still holding onto the hope to find a new kid that would maybe be more like me, perhaps a friend.

When I arrived Devon had already placed himself firmly at my locker. My mood plummeted downward even further as the adrenaline high left me and I approached. Woah what theyyyyyy hell happened to you, Adrian''? He asked while over-enunciating the imaginary y he placed at the end of the''.

Nothing, some bastard with a knife and two of his friends tried to rob me on my way to school, I said somewhat nonchalantly, this being a somewhat normal thing for me no matter the route I took. I shot him a look in his silence, trying to get him to move, so I could rest my heavy backpack off of my bloody and throbbing shoulder.

Shit, you know why they did it? he asked, more concerned about my barely harmed pursuers than myself.

My nerves began to spark and flare while I tried to stay polite. Nope, and I don't see why it matters, I added. I knew what came next and I felt my blood once again start to accelerate with adrenaline.

He planted himself more fixed at my locker and confidently said They could need what you have more than you man, maybe throw some food or money at them before you run away next time.

I looked up the extra four inches he had on me to his eyes. Without the patience to explain the brand new Carhartt they wore, or how they were men I always saw my dad working with I snapped at Devon. Brotha, they weren’t homeless, kindly get the fuck out of my way so I can get to class before the late bell rings I said more aggressive than I had originally intended. He put his hands in the air, gave me a pissed-off look, then walked away without another word.

Devon’s fatal flaw like many of my "friends' ' was that he had to always be a hero, or the center of attention, a savior. I’ve never claimed to be a saint. Mine was the way I can displace my anger, how I couldn’t tolerate anybody, and much much more. All things I was aware of, but lacked the time and energy to try and fix or manage, and I resented myself the most for it. I considered apologizing as he walked away, but instead, I ran my fingers to the lock and spun in my code 11-24-0.

I threw my bag to the bottom of my locker so I could inspect my bare, bloodied shoulder in front of the passing masses. My body felt tight, so I did a few standing stretches, moving the kids to my left and right out of my way with my movements. My original guilt faded away as I got progressively more upset while pondering on Devon’s words. Fucking Devon the heroic activist, I said aloud in a whisper to myself, chuckling slightly at my remark. After my stretches, I bent down to grab half of my school books, feeling the creek in my still somewhat dirty knees.

The first bell rang as I turned onto the hallway where my chemistry classroom was located. I, for once, arrived early to class—right as Mrs. Turner was setting up Bunsen burners at lab stations. She and the other four early students looked up at my bloodied, torn shirt with a certain look of disgust on their faces. Do you need a bandaid? Mrs. Turner asked in her nasally, yet polite, voice.

You know that would be nice, yes I replied slowly, trying not to seem animalistic to the others. She walked to her desk, dug around, then approached me with a microscopic-looking bandaid.

This is all I’ve got, she replied, waving it to me. I gently took it from her hand and washed my shoulder in one of the many lab sinks. After I dried it off with the scratchy brown paper towels, I walked to the nearest trash can by my desk; I tore off the flimsy paper, peeling it, and stuck the band-aid on the deepest part of my cut. I looked around at the other random students to make sure nobody was staring at me, then I took my seat amongst the rest. A decent amount of time remained before class started and Mrs. Turner's lecture would end, so I pulled out my black composition book to write.

At first, I just stared at the unopened book and tried to come up with a writing topic. I had so much to choose from, so much I needed to get out before I had to come home to him again. I moved my eyes to the back of my classmates' heads, to the dim fluorescent lights in the classroom, and the walls. Everything seemed to have a disgusting filter of yellow or orange over it.

Mental 11/17/18

So much is wrong with me. I should fight him more, maybe win, maybe develop evidence to send to the police. Maybe they wouldn’t fail me a second time. Emma is so lucky to be with mom in California, the majority of the country separating her from dad. God, I'm so fucking sick of having to deal with all of his shit. All of his aggression flows from him to me to whoever I decide to give it to. I’m so exhausted. He wakes me up hours early every day just to pick up his mess from drinking. What the fuck did I do so wrong to deserve this, to get all of this and nobody but my own untrustworthy self to rely on.

I need to be better. I can't keep letting him win and rule over everything I do. Two more years and I’ll be rid of him forever. Then I'm free. Free to go wherever I want and do whatever I please. Maybe I’ll move to Indiana with Grandma, or get an apartment in New Jersey near Uncle Roger and Lexi. A dream-like goal. I have to get better before then. I can't let myself carry his hatred around to people I care about. I’d rather die cold and alone with his anger than spread it to be frank. Nobody in this annoying ass school has the experience or the understanding to help me. What the fuck should I do in the meantime? Two more fucking years with that monster. Honestly, will I make it? Don’t kid yourself, Adrian, at least not with any shred of decency or sanity. Fuck. Why didn’t you just fight harder for me mom? Why did you let him take me when you knew what he would do to me? Never fought even a minute for me, how fucking motherly.

Day after day I feel more and more unworthy. I just want to be good enough for a break, to deserve it, earn it from God, or whoever is hovering above me and striking me down in dictation every day. At least give me a way to fight back. Give me a chance to be a step ahead of him, to get my way.

Adrian, maybe you would like to tell me what the electron configuration for radium is, seeing how you've been so engaged with your notes all day, Mrs. Turner said. I looked up and was met with all 18 of my classmates turning and looking directly at me.

Could you repeat the question? I asked with only slight hesitation, but complete calmness.

A slightly annoyed expression appeared on her face, What is the electron configuration for Radium? she questioned again.

Following her repeat, I said, Thanks for leaving out the passive-aggressive insults this time, I believe Radium is Rn seven s two. The whole class snickered with my victory and Mrs. Turner looked back at me contemplating whether or not to send me to the office for my comment. Without another word to address me, she went back to her lesson; out of me being thankful for her bandaid I closed my composition book shut and stared blankly at what she was doing for the rest of the class. For the next few periods I did the same routine.

The fifth-period bell rang and the school seemed to come alive. Everyone rushed around to their locker and the cafeteria for lunch. I walked through the line with my books so I wouldn’t find myself stuck at the bottom of a ten-minute lunch line. It was square pizza for lunch. The warm aroma filled the lunchroom and hallways past it. I grabbed my tray, stole an extra slice in the disorganized mess of the line, and walked out of the lunchroom.

My friends all sat at the middle table with four too many chairs pulled up. I located my spot on the far right with one of the only full-tray-size seats on the table. I took my seat and everyone besides Devon looked over at me while still carrying on their conversations. I lifted my pizza, feeling the dried blood on my shoulder crack as I lifted the school delicacy to my mouth to bite and chew. I listened to the many conversations taking place at the lunch table while I ate, some of them were the following: winter sports, thanksgiving break, grade cards, fighting, and strangely two of my more dull friends discussed the chapter they had been assigned in their English class.

I didn’t join any of the conversations until I was halfway through my last slice. Somebody on the wrestling team had fractured their arm playing a king of the mat game. I got the who’s and how’s and then went back to ignoring most of them. Watching as Devon leaned over and started a chain-whisper to Aiden, I rolled my eyes and finished my food. It went around the entire table both ways at a slow-paced interval. After it reached the fourth out of the seven I caught my name being said. Must have been gossiping about my harsh words to Devon in the morning.

The table grew quiet as I drank my milk and gazed out of the window, still trying not to interact until I had finished my lunch. In my peripheral vision, I could see most of them looking directly at me; awaiting a response from me. I finished my milk and diverted my attention to folding it into a flat rectangle. Devon cleared his throat and I looked up like I had just now noticed the thick awkwardness and dirty looks.

Eric was the first to speak up Dude why were you so rude to Devon he said in a voice faint enough that only half of the table could hear.

I glazed my eyes over to him and looked him up and down. Eric sounded exactly like a Netflix jock and was about as stupid as one. I knew there was no way I could make nice with the group before the break. My fate was already made up the moment I was excluded from the chain of whispers. I thought about lying to shut them up and to make them feel like they had won with Eric's words. My temper was soon lit when Aiden chimed in to divert the attention to him. Like why did you think it was okay to talk to one of your friends that way. You’re not all that big either so quit acting like it.

I ignored Eric's original comment and focused only on Aiden. Like you, Devon was wasting my time. Now, if you want to continue to talk shit I can show you how ‘all of that’ I really am. So, don't speak on me and I will not act on you I stated firmly, succeeding in my attempt to embarrass Aiden.

His face started to turn bright red. He stumbled in his words at first as the table turned to look at him. You- he began to say until I interrupted him. You, you, you, what? Shut the fuck up honestly. What happened, contrary to your belief, does not involve you. Stay in your own shit or live in regret with your choice starting shit with me. I said, proud of my insults and wit. Before anyone else could hop into his defense I stood up and walked away to the bathroom to sit in a stall for the rest of the period, unable to tolerate everyone.

I didn’t have to embarrass him. That same guilt from yelling at Devon flowed, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of an apology. The rest of the day I drifted in bitterness from class to class, challenging anyone who dared to analyze my torn bloodied shirt.

2____

When school ended I slammed out of the door, expecting the three men to try me again to see if they could win. Only loving parents ready to pick up their kids waited outside. I was somewhat disappointed, but decided to take the long way home to protect myself regardless, walking on the right side of the road to avoid any passerby giving me strange looks for my condition.

The sunlight radiated off the road and struck my body in a thick heat. The sun blazed high in the sky and blinded me in reflection anytime a car passed me. Through the achy pain in my knees, I kept walking, trying to enjoy the liberating fall breeze when it would make itself known. With each gust I tried to think of happy things; things that could prepare me for when I got home.

I kept telling myself over and over again that I am the one giving him this power. That I can control how I react, I could recall reading that In one of the many Buddhist books I had read from the school library. I thought about Lexi, Charlotte, and Uncle Roger waiting for me in Indiana with Grandma. Two more days, I told myself aloud. Two more days and I can relax, I said aloud again.

My walk home was boring besides the many markets and bakeries I passed; although, they made my stomach groan in anticipation. When I reached my old beaten house I walked up the splintery wooden steps to the collapsing porch, stopping at the door to take a momentary deep breath. I could hear the obnoxious sound of Dad's laughter, mixed with the show he was watching that blared far too loud out of his brand new flat-screen TV. I placed my hand on the scolding hot doorknob and turned it over, attempting to avoid his gaze, but he noticed me.

The curtains were drawn shut as he sat in his recliner in the dark. Three beer cans, excluding the full one in his hand, layed on the floor on their sides. He looked over at me scratching his three-day old stubble on his chin while he walked over to me. Boy what the hell. Why did you go ruin another one of your shirts? And what the hell happened to your shoulder? He said, approaching me until I could smell — almost taste — the thick scent of Bud Light and dip coming off of his breath.

I got jumped on the way to school- I said stuttering, being interrupted by him shoving me to the carpet. His hands were warm and firm, covered in his patchy black hair that went up to his arms and around his entire body. I froze on the rough, heavily stained carpet and listened to him speak without a word.

And you let them do that to you, I’ve taught you better than that. Damn it! Now I'm gonna have to go out of my way and buy you a new one He said while his southern accent came out from the corners of his words.

Go out of your way? The pit in my stomach resurfaced like a pumice rock in dense lava. Just go to your fucking room and I’ll bring you your new shit later tonight. He said while adjusting the roll of dip under his swollen bottom lip. You’re fucking lucky I’m not making you make do He yelled while I scurried to my room, doing my best not to slam the door shut.

I swung my backpack to the floor and finally took off my crusted bloodied shirt. I felt nothing at all besides a rageful emptiness. My mind gnawed at me to take action, but I stayed still, knowing he would win, drunk or not. I plopped down on my dirty bedroom floor, leaning my back up against the side of my mattress that rested on the floor looking just as defeated as me. Digging in my backpack aggressively, I pulled out my black composition book once more, flipping to the page that I had written in science and re-read it. With pen in hand, I brought it to the page. My hand trembled from adrenaline and rage as I made a dot on the next page.

When I was about to write my first word I heard dad slam the door shut in his exit. I prayed that he would wreck the car, that this was the last time I ever had to see or smell him again. Looking back at the composition book I tossed it over to the other end of the room. I couldn’t think, and I was far too pissed to write anything credible. Bringing my knees up to my chest, I rested my forehead directly on them. I thought of the second to last paragraph I wrote; questioning it and myself further. Why didn’t you fight for me, mom? I said aloud to myself as if she would magically appear in holographic form to give me new insight. I pulled my comforter off of my mattress and bundled myself up on the dirty floor. I looked at the little rays of light that escaped my dusty closed blinds. The dust always seemed so pretty in the light.

My eyes opened, registering nothing in the pitch black of my room besides the silhouette of dad bent over me; the hall light illuminating all around him through my wide-open door. His stench is what woke me up. Far different than before, he smelled more of aged whiskey and bile. Before I could react, he threw a heavy shirt that smelled like mothballs on my face and crammed it into my murmuring mouth. In one moment all of the moisture in my mouth was absorbed into the very shirt that slid too far down my throat and choked me.

With one hand holding me down, he