Day 47 -Ticky Ricky – Short Story

“Sticky icky, yucky ducky,” those were the last words my brother sent to me in a message, before he vanished off the face of the earth a few weeks ago, and I had no fucking idea what it was meant to mean, but it clearly meant something, that I was sure.

It all happened about three weeks ago when I got the message, had I realised at the time it was going to be so important, so vital a message, I would have replied, or called, or done something. But I just laughed at it and didn’t even bother to reply, I mean why? If I’d cared to think about it I would’ve remembered where I’d heard it from before, as I honestly don’t understand how I could have forgot, but I did.

After a few weeks of nothing the cops could do fuck all, they tried tracing where his phone was last transmitted from, but the area was massive and they turned up nothing. I harassed them to no end, but the detective in charge of the case Miranda, cute blonde with great legs and the most perfect arse you had ever seen, gave it to me straight three days ago and said the whole sorry bullshit, and it was time I accepted one of two things, either he doesn’t want to be found and he’ll show up when he’s ready to show up or he’s dead.

I know Freddie has or had, a lot of demons, heroin being his biggest, and he had on many occasions disappeared for days on end, but never like this, never not at least sending me a message to let me know if he was still alive.

So I decided to do my own digging, going through his social media, reading his messages, calling everyone he’d talked to in the week leading up to when he went missing. But no one knew anything, that was until Sally, a friend of Freddie’s, I say friend but I should say dealer. Sally said the last time she saw Freddie he was apparently having a shit load of paranoid episodes, more than usual, she said, and kept on going on about someone called Ticky Ricky, I knew what she meant straight away.

Ticky Ricky was the nickname we’d given our cousin Carmichael. As kids we would always have to visit him every week at the home, as his Mum and Dad had died not long after he was born and Dad felt like it was his responsibility to keep an eye on him, he was somewhat disabled, suffering from some type of learning disability, that as kids we could not understand. Which was why Dad said he was better off being surrounded by people who could help look after him the way his Mum and Dad would want and not with us, which we were thankful for. Me and Freddie, we called him a lot of names back then, stuff like spastic, retard, shit like that, you know how kids are. But Ticky Ricky, that was our special name, the one we only shared with each other. I honestly didn’t know if Carmichael was still alive, it had been years since we last went and saw him, once Dad realised what we were saying and doing while we were alone with him. Dad spat his shit and stopped taking us, said it was cruel and insensitive and we weren’t raise to be like that, you know the whole shebang, so he said it was better if we just stayed home.

I decided to go to the home and see if he was still breathing and what role he had to play in all this and at the time, I didn’t really care that the home was dead centre in the area from where Freddie’s last message had come from, I should’ve stopped then and there and called Miranda, but I didn’t think too much of it, I mean why should I? I was more worried about Freddie than I was about myself. When I got here the place was a rundown mess, it had closed down some years ago, when, I’m not sure, but the trail was cold, until I noticed his cheap arsed Honda parked out in the old car park, empty and looked like it’d been untouched for weeks. So I panicked and found my way into this place, screaming out for Freddie, hoping to whatever was up there he was okay, just on a massive bender somewhere and lost his keys and his phone. I saw the leg first, hanging out of the door way, and I rushed towards it, fear and adrenaline pumping through my body like it never had before. I knew he was dead before I touched him, he was grey and stiff, colder than anything I’d felt before and that’s when I saw it, a shadow standing a few feet from my brothers decomposing body. I panicked, I mean wouldn’t you, you find your brothers body and then this wispy fucking Casper comes out of the wall looking all nasty and shit. I took a step backwards and it rushed at me and plunged its hand through my chest, grabbing a hold of my heart and squeezed it, all the while, I looked into its black, soulless eyes and recoginsed them, finally I realised what the hell Freddie was trying to tell me and where I’d heard those stupid words before. That’s all he ever said, constantly, and now that spastic had come back from the grave to pay retribution for all the taunting we gave him when we were young, and that’s when he leaned in as I gasped for my last breath and whispered in my ear, “Stick icky, yucky ducky.”



One Reply to “Day 47 -Ticky Ricky – Short Story”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s