Eternal Desolation in Vices

By Taylor Ayers

The wick burns at both ends as a young man is caught in between reality’s suffocating inferno and a psychological state that’s disintegrating like hot candle wax…

Ten years after his mother’s violent death and a terrifying mental institution stay, Todd Moore’s past suddenly comes back to haunt him. His nights become plagued with his horrific memories that replay in graphic and sickening detail. But when a series of fires ignite in familiar places, he begins to experience disturbing visions that endanger his flickering sanity. While trying to find the truth of the fires and his own inner turmoil, he’s forced to recall his darkest days and face the darkest part of himself.

Which will burn his life down first: the mysterious fires, or a lurking, unseen evil? Or is peace and salvation possible despite of the vast, foreboding shadow that threatens to snuff him out like a mortal flame?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9798889104919

Taylor Ayers

Taylor Ayers has always had a wild imagination. As a child, she and her sister verbally created their own vivid worlds. When she became a teenager, she started to bring her stories to life through writing. With a taste and a knack for the dark side, she now introduces Eternal Desolation in Vices, her first novel that she began writing as a high school senior.

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About the Author

Taylor Ayers has always had a wild imagination. As a child, she and her sister verbally created their own vivid worlds. When she became a teenager, she started to bring her stories to life through writing. With a taste and a knack for the dark side, she now introduces Eternal Desolation in Vices, her first novel that she began writing as a high school senior.

Dedication

For my mama,

I owe you the sun, the moon, and the world’s biggest pond.

Copyright Information ©

Taylor Ayers 2024

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, 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.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Ayers, Taylor

Eternal Desolation in Vices

ISBN 9798889104902 (Paperback)

ISBN 9798889104919 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024900277

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

I thank those dearest to me for their undying love and eternal support. I also send my gratitude to the beautiful darkness that continues to inspire me and ironically, keep me sane.

Chapter 1

Present

At first, everything is black and I see nothing. I only hear the sound of running water. But it quickly comes into focus and I see the water shimmering in a bathtub below me. I watch as the liquid exits the faucet and fills up the tub. There’s a strong pressure on the back of my head, pushing my face down toward the water.

I know what’s happening. It happened once before. I recognize the pressure to be a hand. I feel the sharp fingernails digging into my scalp. The sound of running water suddenly ceases and that of repeated dripping replaces it. I try to resist the pressure and fight my way from its grip.

Stay still, boy, the voice of my mother hisses. Stop fighting.

My face gets closer to the water; my nose almost touching the surface. She is so strong that I can’t pull away. My neck burns with pain.

Mama, please, I beg. The voice that comes out of me is weak and pubescent. I’m that scared twelve-year-old boy again.

Just let it happen, my son, your death is what God wants. She speaks, sounding as if she’s in a trance.

Mama, stop, I squeak, the pain in my neck intensifying while my nose enters the water. She penetrates her nails deep into my scalp. I know she broke the skin because I feel the blood trailing through my hair like a river. With a final push, my face is forced under. My ears are still above the surface, so I can clearly hear her rambling prayers…

I try to pull myself back into consciousness to escape the hellish memory. But I find myself in between sleep and reality instead. My eyes are open and I can see the ceiling above me, but I can’t move. My vision blurs and the ceiling forms into that horrible scene; my mother lying motionless in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor, the white tile painted red. Her eyes are wide and blank, staring but seeing nothing; a look of terror frozen on her features.

I did what I had to; my conscience reminds me. She was going to kill me. I was scared and I didn’t want to die; I was only a kid. I had to do it…Had to…

It’s been a whole decade since I was living that nightmare but as of late, it’s been plaguing my dreams more intensely than it has in years. Today is actually that day’s tenth anniversary. Even though I’ve lived through nine before, this one just seems different. Maybe I shouldn’t have flushed my anti-psychotic pills down the toilet after the last anniversary.

But I felt that I didn’t have PTSD after all because I was doing so much better. I felt that the medication was useless, just as useless as the sleeping pills I’ve been taking for the past week. They haven’t helped me get a decent night’s sleep. They don’t keep the nightmares at bay and I wake up repeatedly in full fight or flight mode. I’m finding myself worn down from the week’s nightly torment instead of the pills.

Now, I’m at a stage where I don’t even want to sleep. As I stare at the image of my butchered mother above me, our eyes lock and I start to see black as mine begin to shut. Against my will, I lose the battle to my own exhaustion. My body aches for much-needed rest and I can do nothing but succumb to it. As soon as my eyes close, I’m back into that memory, that nightmare…

With all of my might, I force myself from the tub. I reach behind me and grab a handful of my mother’s brunette hair and slam her face into the tub’s side. I knock her unconscious before she can protest and regain the upper hand. But she would never get the chance ever again. The boy I was at that time, walks across the room and reaches for the scissors located inside of the medicine cabinet.

With scissors in hand, I return to my mother. She’s slumped over the tub, unmoving. I pull her up by the hair with new found strength and lie her down on the floor. My heart races and my hands shake, but I know what I must do. And I want her to be looking at me and be afraid as I do it. There’s an indescribable feeling pumping through my veins as I stand over her with the pair of scissors in my fist.

Right before me, her life is hanging in the balance and I’m in control of her fate. She slightly shifts and grumbles.

I kneel down next to her and whisper, Open your eyes, Mama.

She makes another sound and her eyes flutter open. I raise my weapon and slam the scissor blades into her chest. She breathes in sharply and loudly from the impact, her eyes wide and bulging.

She grabs my arm and squeezes. Todd! She gasps my name. It sounds so alien to me. She always referred to me as ‘son’, ‘boy’, or ‘child’. From what I can recall, she had never called me by my name until this moment. I pull the scissors from her body and stab her again.

She inhales, mouth gaping wide. This is not what God wanted… Tears form in her hazel eyes that look so much like my own.

I stab her over and over; blood splattering onto my face and clothes. My teeth are bared and I taste her blood in my mouth. I completely lose control, thinking about all of the times that she had hurt me. She deserves this. I see the life leave her eyes, but I keep stabbing until the scissors break; leaving the handle in my grasp and the blades deep in her flesh.

I fall from my knees to my back, stunned. I throw the handle to the side while looking at what I’ve done, the mess I’ve made. I don’t know how many times I stabbed her, but her chest and stomach are covered in bloody wounds. I lie there staring at the corpse; my eyes burning with warm tears. But the emotion inside of me isn’t sadness or regret.

It’s a feeling of victory and it feels good. It feels so good that a smile forms on my face. I did it, I mentally say. I’m free. I’m finally free.

Holy shit! Mom! Todd, what the fuck did you do?

I wake up again, not wanting to see anymore. My brother, Adam, was the one who came in and discovered the murder and I was right there at the scene. His eyes had been as wide and round as saucers with his mouth agape. It was a look of pure horror. I had to explain myself to him and he thankfully believed every word that came from my lips. He knew how our mother was and understood that I was in a fight for my life.

I get out of bed, wanting to be as far away from sleep and that memory as possible. I head outside to cool off; my white shirt is drenched with sweat and sticking to my body. As soon as I get out of the house, I am greeted by the breath of winter. I take a seat and light a cigarette with a trembling hand. I sit alone on the porch steps, inhaling the smoke from my cigarette. The moon hangs high and bright and there is a gentle breeze in the chilly night air. It feels nice against my hot skin.

Along with the familiar sounds from the woods, I feel some sort of comfort. But it’s not enough to chase away the disturbing recollection that’s haunting me. I stare off into the woods, recalling that awful incident. Every time I blink, I see my mother’s dead eyes staring back at me. I take a long drag from my cigarette, feeling a little bit sick to my stomach.

I think back to all of the blood; it covered the bathroom floor, my mother, and me. That metallic scent is still seemingly fresh in my nostrils. But what I find the most disturbing is the feeling that I had inside me after…

I hear the front door open from behind me. I don’t even turn around to look. I know it’s only Adam. It’s just the two of us who live in this house. I see him in my left peripheral as he comes and takes a seat next to me.

"It’s that again, isn’t it?" He asks, already knowing what’s bothering me. I vaguely told him about it after I woke up screaming the other night. He takes a cigarette from my pack and lights it.

I take a puff from my own cigarette. Yeah, I reply without looking at him.

He takes a drag from his cigarette and scoots closer to me. Talk to me about it.

I still avoid eye contact, not wanting to have this conversation. I would honestly prefer to go the rest of my life without discussing it ever again.

Look at me, Todd. His voice is firm. "You know you can talk to me about anything, even that. You’ve been worrying me lately and I just want you to be alright." He twitches the gently smoked cigarette in between his fingers.

I’m finished with mine, so I put it out on the step below me and throw it into the yard. I got so worked up that I smoked it away in no time, but I’m still feeling the anxiety. With some reluctance, I turn my gaze to him. Adam, I sigh. I don’t want to talk about it, alright?

Listen, Todd, you did what you had to. His eyes are securely locked with mine. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that you’re a cold-blooded murderer. You were a scared kid and you defended yourself. You would be dead if you hadn’t. There is nothing to be ashamed of. He places the hand, that doesn’t hold a cigarette, on my shoulder and squeezes it in reassurance. And there’s nothing to be afraid of either. Not anymore.

I merely nod and force a weak smile.

He stands up, takes one last puff from his cigarette, and flicks it to the ground. Don’t worry about it anymore, okay?

I nod again in response.

He walks over to the front door. Come on, let’s go inside. It’s cold as fuck out here. He opens the door and beckons for me.

It feels good to me. I turn to look at him with another fake smile. I don’t want him to continue worrying about me. He shrugs and without another word, he disappears inside the house. I look back at the woods. He just has no idea how much I enjoyed killing our mother. The feeling was so satisfying and at the time, it felt so right. Thinking back to it almost makes me miss it and I’m instantly flooded with regret.

I shudder, feeling cold to my core and not from the weather. That sort of longing for a murder’s aftermath gives me a sensation that I cannot shake. I’m sensing that one day I will do something like that again and I will enjoy it just as much as I did before. And that terrifies me…

Chapter 2

Present

The sun has risen; a new day has begun, and I never went back to sleep. I spent the rest of the night pacing, smoking too many cigarettes, and doing absolutely anything to keep myself from submitting to fatigue. I didn’t want to go back into the past through my dreams. It is early morning; daylight has only been present for a couple of hours. Adam hasn’t got up to get ready for work yet, so I’m still by myself.

Every light in the house is off and the living room is dark, shielded from the invasion of the day by curtains and blinds. I’m settled on the couch, my eyes set on the blank TV in front of me. All is quiet, except for birds communicating with each other just beyond the window and the rough rumble of the occasional car passing by on the road.

Then there’s a knock on the door. It startles me because I didn’t hear any footsteps approaching. When I get up to answer the door, I’m not surprised to see who it is. It’s my best friend, Shiloh Tabor. He comes over every other day since he lives within walking distance of Adam and me.

You’re here early, I say to him.

Yeah, I couldn’t wait to see you, I guess, he replies with a humorous smile. Shiloh is the same age as me, twenty-two, stands at 5’6, and is noticeably smaller than I am. He has sharp features, high cheekbones, and snow-white skin. He has blonde hair that forms a crest on top of his head, big blue eyes, and a very pointed nose that’s directed downward with the tip appearing as razor-like as a bird’s beak.

He always wears black; from his shirts, jeans, and shoes to his fingernails and the liner around his eyes. Sometimes, he applies so much eyeliner that he resembles a raccoon more than a bird. In the aspect of looks, he’s like a goth and I’m more of a redneck. I stand at 5’10, have short, dark brown hair, an actual skin tone, and a gentle layer of facial hair. I always wear a baseball cap and typically, jeans and boots. We are an unlikely pair in appearance, Shiloh and me. But that’s irrelevant; we just get each other.

I let him inside. You know Adam hasn’t left yet, I say, knowing the two don’t get along and never have. They can’t be in the same room for long because Adam always has the urge to insult Shiloh and start a fight with him. I still don’t get what that’s all about.

I know, maybe the dick won’t start shit with me today, he scoffs. I mean, that mouth has to take days off, right? He follows me into the kitchen.

Today better be one of those off days because I don’t feel like hearing his bullshit. I take a beer from the fridge and pour some anti-hangover powder into the can. It should help soothe my headache and give me a little boost of energy. I heavily sit down at the table.

Rough night, huh? Shiloh sits down too, assuming that I got too trashed last night. Not wanting to talk about my nightmares with anyone, I choose to allow him to think that.

"Oh, you have no idea, I reply with emphasis as I slosh around the powder in the can and then take a swig. I feel like dog shit. But I think punching Adam would make me feel better." After saying this, I briefly think back to when Adam and I last fought.

Adam had spent a long time hiding away in the bathroom and he emerged with glassy eyes. I knew what he had been doing in there, so I confronted him. I tried to talk him into kicking the drugs and getting clean, but that only angered him. In a drug-fueled rage, he attacked me. He slammed me against the hallway wall, knocking a couple of picture frames to the floor. I felt my head make contact with the wall and even though it hurt, I pushed back.

After a few moments of rough tussling, it was over and he was apologizing. Oddly, this altercation happened on the same night that my horrible memories returned to haunt my dreams, right before the tenth anniversary of our mother’s death…It’s like something changed in me and I don’t know what, how, or why…

Hey, did you hear about the church that burned to the ground last night?

I come back into reality to Shiloh’s voice. Have gotten lost inside my head for a moment, I missed whatever prompted this conversation. Regardless, it instantly grabs my attention. Which church? I question in immediate and serious interest.

Jonesboro Baptist, I think? He responds thoughtfully.

That’s the church I went to as I kid… I mutter as I’m mentally taken back into my dark past again. I look out the kitchen window, thinking about the day I killed my mother. We had attended church that day. What happened there was what provoked my mother’s violent rage that ended with me murdering her.

On that cold day, I had sat in between my mother and brother in a middle pew. I had to listen to a ‘holy’ man speak about things that I didn’t really understand; the same things that I still don’t really understand. I never possessed the soul of faith like my mother did and it’s something that hasn’t changed.

Son, my mother whispered, her breath tickling my ear. When Pastor Cecil is done preaching, I want you to go up there and tell everyone how you love and praise the Lord. She grabbed my arm tightly. The people need to know you’re one of us. Her voice was a stinging hiss.

She made Adam speak in front of the church a couple of years back; I should have known that my time would come too. The members had to know if they could fully accept me into their fold; they didn’t take kindly to outsiders or non-believers. I felt nervousness begin to churn in my belly.

You got that, boy? She seethed quietly through her clenched teeth, gripping my arm harder until it hurt. I let out a soft whimper and nodded in response. Then she released and leaned away. I knew I had to do it.

The old pastor, Cecil, finished up his preaching with a final amen. Now, he addressed everyone in his croaking voice. We have someone who wishes to speak to all of us. He was looking right at me with his beady, black eyes. He knew it was my time too. My anxiety rose and my stomach slushed harder. Todd Moore, let us and the Lord hear your praises today. Come on up here, child. He beckoned for me with a thin and withered hand.

I stood up and quietly headed to the front of the room. The closer I got, the sicker I felt. My body and stomach shook from the nervous feeling deep inside me. Pastor Cecil’s hands were clasped and a thin smile was on his dry, tortoise lips. The bright lights above shinned off of his bald head. I joined the elderly man on the stage and stepped behind the podium, staring at the blank as stone faces of those before me.

What was I supposed to say? I nervously glanced around at everyone until my eyes found a resting place on my family. My heart was pounding in my rib cage and my body was visibly trembling.

Go on, Pastor Cecil softly encouraged from a few steps away from me.

My eyes were locked on my mother, who was already losing patience with me. I could tell by the irritated expression that she was wearing. Before I could step up to the podium’s mic to speak, the queasy feeling in my stomach bubbled up in my throat. I doubled over and vomited all over the red rug beneath my feet. I heard gasps, groans of disgust, and whispers among the crowd.

The anxiety and fear was too great for me to fight. I couldn’t handle it. I looked back up at the people and my gaze quickly landed on the face of my mother, which was contorted with anger.

The Devil! Some woman from the back suddenly shouted. He’s in that boy! I caught sight of her pointing at me; she looked terrified.

What? No! My brain objected. The Devil isn’t in me! Then chaos broke out. I heard screaming prayers coming from all around. I turned to Pastor Cecil who was frozen against the wall with a steel cross pressed to his chest. His face was as white as the wall behind him; his lips moved with the mumble of prayer. It was so loud in the building that I didn’t hear my mother run up to me.

She pulled me by the shirt without speaking a word to me. She dragged me out through the mighty oak doors, apologizing to everyone we passed. Adam silently followed. None of us spoke the entire ride home.

"Adam, stay out here until I come back for you. Don’t come in for any reason, our mother said hastily once we were out of the car. Then she turned her attention to me. Come with me, boy." Her voice dripped with sternness and her eyes blazed with disappointment. I go inside with her, my cheeks burning with shame. She led me into the bathroom and turned on the bathtub.

I was waiting for her to scold and punish me for what I’d done. She ordered me down to my knees in front of the tub. I stared at the rising water.

I’m sorry, Mother, I said.

She got on her knees next to me, completely disregarding my apology. You really disappointed me today. I never thought you’d make such a fool of God and me. He is very angry with you and he told me how you shall be punished. She placed a hand on the back of my head. The Devil must not win. She turned off the water with her free hand.

At the time, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen to me. Please do not struggle, this has to happen. But still, I fought as she forced my head down to the water…

Earth to Todd, are you there?

Shiloh’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts again. I had zoned out, even further this time. Sorry, I apologize. I hear the shower in the bathroom running. Even though I know it’s only Adam, the sound of the water makes me shudder.

I think you should try to get some sleep, Shiloh suggests, concerned. "You’re really