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Schizoback Stories: The Schizening
Winter. 2021.
The fog had begun to roll in and the sun had set unusually early on this most schizoid of nights. The "Bad House," as the neighborhood had taken to calling it, was shrouded in shadow and sat schizoly at the end of the otherwise normal city block. From the outside, you would think no one was home. The lights all appeared to be off. No activity seen by any of the neighbors in days. It was in the basement of the Bad House where it was all hiding. Cluttered with empty jars of protein and old fast food wrappers, the place could easily be mistaken for an abandoned squatter's den. Though, the real story is far more sinister. Far more... Schizophrenic.
"STOO-PID!!!"
The word echoed through the slummed out underbelly of the Bad House, emitted from the depths of the Neanderthal that stalked the place. He hadn't seen sunlight in days nor had he ever had a clue. "Vince," the beast said to himself. "Vince, I know you're here." The Red Sea of trash and clutter made way for our retarded, roided up Moses, who took an aluminum baseball bat to the wall again and again. Plaster and dust filled the room as the wretched thing climbed into the inner workings of the house, leaving whatever was left of his humanity behind.
"Pull the trigger on me!" His wails were as desperate as they were primal as he trudged through the dark and smashed through the asbestos.
