And finally, I had reached the apex of primordial psychoses – staring at my evil father as he lay passed out drunk on his ancient paisley patterned Sears & Roebuck couch. I sneered wicked at him – superglue in one hand and a finely honed straight razor in the other. Before I committed this deleterious act of venomous hatred, memories of woeful affliction glissaded betwixt my sadistic thoughts. I remember what you did father. I remembered Halloween night 25 years earlier…

Daddy’s Home From Work

Down the cold dark corridors to my bedroom, I heard my father arrive home – 4:15 pm sharp, “Hey everyone…daddy’s home from work!” My body began trembling in fear as I dreaded my daily punishment. I scurried down the hall, peering over the stairwell banister, viewing the evil dining chamber. And the first blood curdling scream bellowed through my battered skull, “Come here you mangy little mutt!” my father’s voice blasted, followed by the chirping whimpers of my innocent puppy, dusty.

My little seven year old sister, Victoria, howled, “Please daddy, don’t kick Dusty,” followed by screaming…endless blood curdling screaming.

“Come here you vile little trollop…COME HERE,” he shrieked.

I heard his wicked laughter bluster through the house and the sound of duct tape unraveling in his powerful hands. I couldn’t bear the insurmountable stress and walked down the stairs – wishing in the back of my mind I were strong enough to protect my sister from harm – but I was not. He taped my sister’s left leg to the chandelier – she helplessly hung like a fly entrapped by spider web – violently shaking in maddening panic. He throated a mighty cry, “Shut your mouth you putrid little mongoloid bitch – where’s my superglue?”

As she swayed from the lights, my sister saw me in the corner of her eye – I held my index finger to my lips, whispering, “Shhh…stop crying Victoria,” as we both knew what was coming. And daddy saw me, “Well looky here…come here Bobby, give your daddy a hug.”

His percipience paid off as he knew I’d seen the tube of superglue in his hand, “Don’t worry son; see, I’m putting my favorite toy down. Today is Halloween, what do you want to do? Wanna go trick-or-treating? What do you want more than anything. Tell me, and I’ll make your wish come true.”

I timidly replied, “I want you to let Victoria down. I want you to love me daddy…that’s all I want.”

“Well son, it’s time for supper. Sit down at the table.”

I sat down and leaned my head forward on cue – into the massive jowls of my own solid steel clamp. My dad tightened the clamp to hold my skull in place during dinner. He anticipated me asking him to not tighten it too much, and I did not, “Ah…” he said, “that’s a good little boy, taking it like a man.”

My mother walked out of the kitchen, slapped down a stack of paper plates, napkins, plastic sporks and a huge bowl of stringy meat shellacked in a glistening black sauce. She sat down – her lips pursed with a soured grimace, “Dinner is served.”

“I am writing a new horror story honey,” dad said, “wanna know what it’s about?”

She said, “Not really, but I know you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

Dad’s face took on a sinister scowl, “It’s called ‘The Superglue Rapist’. It’s about this insane freak who sneaks into pretty young college girl’s dorm rooms – notice I said pretty and young – just like I like ‘em. I superglue their eyes shut and rape them! When the police ask the girls if they saw who did it they say, “I don’t know…my eyes are glued closed, I couldn’t see the rapist,” hahahahah! Get it? Hahaha…ain’t that a peach?!”

We all sat terrified in a trance of wicked disbelief. Daddy pointed to a bowl of apples on the table and back at my mother, “Pick an apple and eat it. Guess which one is poisonous, which one is filled with needles.”

She said, “I don’t want an apple…I don’t want anything from you…disgusting piece of repugnant tripe.”

His powerful arm blazed through the air – wind hissing through his filth encrusted fingers – backhanding her across the face, “I said eat an apple you stomach wrenching harlot!”

Atop her morbid eye bags, tears welled up, lining her fleshy brims with moisture – a trickle of blood drizzling from her lips as she unconvincingly tried to retain a spec of dignity. She bit into the richly crimson apple as I noticed little holes in it’s skin – a sure sign of daddy’s tampering. I heard an unusual muffled crunch in her mouth. She grabbed her throat with both hands – unable to breathe or scream – fiercely convulsing – her body shivering in tormented agony. My father became hysterical with laughter as a geyser of black blood rhythmically gurgled from mother’s mouth – yet scream I did not. I was well trained.

Mother looked up, “Hahahaha…GOTCHA!!!”

Dad said, “Didn’t you think that was funny Bobby? You’re not laughing,” and spat a twirling double-headed lugie of tobacco juice in my eyes.

Mom screeched, “Happy Halloween Bobby, you hideously ugly little punk.”

My dad got up from the table, unsheathing his massive, razor sharp machete. He reached up, grabbed my tiny sister by the leg and cut her down from the chandelier. She was unconscious from hanging upside down so long – and he tossed her limp body on the floor. She awakened, coughing and choking. She started crawling across the floor. Dad grabbed his super glue. He pulled her little pink shirt up, exposing her belly and squirted a healthy glob across her tender flesh. He rolled her over and stood on her lower back with his humongous, thickly heeled boot – she squirmed and fidgeted, helplessly being stomped down. He wickedly smirked, “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…done! Just like it says in the commercial.”

My sisters arms flailed wildly as she tried to get up, but could not – her little tummy glued to the orange shag carpet. She cried in horrific pain. “Shut your mouth you nasty little whore!!!” He quickly superglued her lips closed, “that oughta fix her.”

For over an hour, he glued live, hairless mice and gargantuan tree roaches to her scalp as my mother giggled in hysterical insanity. He looked up at me, “I think this little bitch is dead. Well Bobby, I granted one of your wishes…I cut her down from the lights. But you asked for two wishes! I can only grant one. You want to be loved? Was that your other wish? You despicable, pungent little piece of human shit. You should have wished to save yourself and your mother. You greedy little, uncaring inhuman worm…”

He lunged forward with lightning velocity slicing my mother’s petite throat with his death blade – her head fell backwards – blood squirted to the ceiling and across my father’s white t-shirt. He stomp kicked her in the chest – her lifeless body slumped onto the rug in her own private blood pool.

And that was but one terrifying memory of my dear old dad…

Revenge of the Superglue Psycho

I’ve waited 25 years for this moment…25 years since I escaped from that hell house of torture and misery. He lay there snoring – vomit stains on his shirt – drool drizzling from his chaffed, crackled and decrepit lips. I gently pushed up on his chin, closing his mouth. I superglued his lips together awaiting his awakening, but still he slept. I know how badly superglue burns, especially on the tender areas – oh the memories of childhood.

Superglue Psycho

Superglue Psycho

I squirted another drop of glue in his left nostril and delicately pressed it closed – he slightly grumbled, almost waking up. Chills of morbid ecstasy slithered up my spine like fire ants on a naked infant’s milky flesh.  Ah…the totality of absolute satisfaction. I experienced a spiritual orgasm envisioning his death. I ejected a few droplets of superglue in his right nostril – my rapture of heavenly paradise – and pressed it closed.

He jerked his head up, unable to breathe – suffocating, asphyxiating – and I laughed and I laughed. He sprung from the couch trying to pry his lips open but could not. And then he saw me.

“Hi daddy! Happy Halloween! I’ve waited 25 years to the day for this very moment!. What’s the matter? Can’t breathe? Here you stupid old bastard…give yourself a tracheotomy!”

I handed him my straight razor, “Save yourself you miserable old buzzard!”

He tried to walk to the mirror – to achieve surgical precision – but in the midst of chaotic miasma, I had superglued his bare feet to the floor. Whilst in his drunken stupor, unable to clearly think, he cut his own trachea – scarlet blood bubbled from the serrated gouge – a frothy red magma.

“Boo,” I screamed, “Hahaha!”

Startled, he slipped – slicing his jugular wide open. A curved, steely bar of hot blood erupted in a wide arc – splattering across the wall – a trajectory of crimson morbidity soaking the hanging portrait of my psychotic grandmother gluing my mother’s eyes shut when she was four years old. I pulled out a gallon sized industrial jug of Loctite brand cyanoacrylate glue – a fancy name for my favorite product.

Superglue Psycho Tool Kit

Superglue Psycho Tool Kit

I tied a rope around his neck and tossed the other end over a ceiling rafter – then hoisted his dead body upright. With one free hand, I drizzled the thickened glue syrup atop his skull letting it shroud his body. I liberally sprayed VoTaw brand “Insta-Set” superglue accelerator – a product that instantly dries cyanoacrylate resins – on the gelatinous glaze, setting his carcass proudly upright for the world to see.

Within the hour, I had sheathed his dead body in a diamond hard crust. He stood sickening, statuesque and beautifully dead, filling my heart with pulsating, electrical joy. I walked out the front door without a care in the world and have never even been asked a single question about it. I popped a miniature Tootsie-Roll in my mouth – it was indescribably scrumptious.

Give me a jug of Super Glue while in a particularly sadistic mood and I am one psychotic hombre…

Happy Halloween!