From Darkness



  From Darkness

  By Matthew Benefiel

  Just when you thought you had seen the worst of man,

  He manages to out do himself.

  Truly there is nothing new under the sun,

  But that does not lessen the shock of man’s perversity.

  Take heart, trust in God,

  Only He shines in this dark world.

  From Darkness

  Copyright 2011 Matthew Benefiel

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: The Museum

  Chapter 2: A Psychological Disorder

  Chapter 3: Life and Its Surprises

  Chapter 4: Notes on a Deranged

  Chapter 5: In the Field but on the Ground

  Chapter 6: Triumphs and Trials

  Chapter 7: The Inquisition

  Chapter 8: Discoveries

  Chapter 9: Running in Circles

  Chapter 10: Spinning Wheels

  Chapter 11: Clarification

  Chapter 12: Explanations

  Chapter 13: The Rocky Times

  Chapter 14: The Asphyxiated Press

  Chapter 15: Rising Above, Falling Below

  Chapter 16: Struggling Onward

  Chapter 17: Letters of Thanksgiving

  Chapter 18: Distant Memories

  1: The Museum

  “Here at SODM, that is the Study of the Deranged Museum, you will find only one cold stone building. This building, built up here in 1982, is not much to look at. It is entirely made of concrete, about the size of a 900 square foot house, and with not much décor. The concrete is two feet thick and not much help up here in the mountains when it gets cold. This structure was not designed to catch the eye of the beholder. As you will see in a moment, this was in fact a prison, a prison designed to observe the mentally deranged in close proximity, but far from any civilization. The idea came from the FBI agent, Bartholomew Gatchet, who is most known for personally catching Trent Frennur, the mass murderer who was at large less than 10 years ago. You are all here of course, because this prison was designed mainly to study him, though there were at least four others, whom none of you will have likely heard of. Let us proceed into the building where I will show you what kind of lives these men lived, as well as their guards, who fared little better. Here we are, not much room in here is there? This is of course the guard room. You will notice there is a gun and supply rack over here and on the other side just a plain desk. You have the radio behind the desk as well as the computer used to monitor the subjects and chart the findings. Not that these monitors were needed much by the guards, for whomever sat at the desk could see right in the hallway containing the convicts, with a full view of Frennur. This was due to the fact that the subjects were strapped in a two-foot recess in the wall that was 7 feet tall and 4 feet wide with a door covering everything from the neck down. There was not concern for comfort here, which was one of the reasons this place was eventually closed down, amongst others. I will not go into the details of how the imprisoned lived as you can pretty much see for yourselves when I let you go down the hallway one at a time, but first I would like you to watch the monitor located here above the hallway entrance.”

  “I can’t say I am thrilled about this little known bit of history my parents dragged me to. I have just turned twelve and like all kids my age, started thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. You might have to guess a few times to finally land on FBI Agent. Yes, Agent Robert, man of no fears, quickest to solve all mysteries. Apparently I had taken it too far as my parents decided to show me the more gruesome side of things. My dad envisions me to have a much safer job, like engineering, but then again, he is always taking the worst case scenario. So that is how I come to this two bit museum that personally I find a little on the creepy side. Okay, on the very creepy side. I thought the prison was bad enough, but watching these videos of Trent Frennur is running tingles up my spine. Know matter what is done to him or said to him, he always stares at the camera and laughs hysterically. You would think watching the joker in Batman would prepare me for this, but I can’t help but feel he is really watching me, wanting to break free of his chains and drag me off to some hide out where I don’t want to imagine what would happen. It just makes you feel empty and full of despair; I hope these videos end soon.”

  “That is all we have to show from the video, but you can see that the guard who sat at this desk did not have a fun time of it. Rumor has it that Frennur took a special interest to the whomever sat at this desk, and though the guards shared this uncomfortable task, one guard in particular maintained this desk and that is who Frennur took interest in. This guard had to endure the constant studying stare of Frennur across that dimly lit hallway, only to cross that hallway on occasion to question all the criminals or record notes. This guard proved to be Frennur’s downfall as both were killed in transport after the museum closed down. With that I will now let you go down the hallway one at a time to experience what the guards had to many times each day.”

  Robert’s dad had somehow managed to get them to the front of the line at this point and put a hand on Robert’s shoulder.

  “Go on Robert; go see what your career holds for you.”

  “I guess I have to,” thought Robert. “If I don’t I will never hear the end of it, too bad dad doesn’t realize that I’m not going to be Bart Gatchet, who I’m starting to think is a little creepy himself.”

  Robert walked down the dimly lit hall still thinking to himself, “So this is the prison cell, one hallway that can hold seven people, looks like they even have dummy bodies to show what it looks like; not very realistic if you ask me, but still creepy. So Frennur is here at the end, more than likely Bart was sitting at the desk where he could write down observations as his hand picked guards would interrogate and play with the criminals minds, trying to break them down, see what makes them tick. I have to admit I would be on edge staring at Frennur all day, laughing one moment, then an outburst of rage, and finally that dead stare. Yet no matter the mood, his eyes always showed keen and cold. Pondering its captor, almost as if considering its victim, figuring out how to break through to what really hurts, what stirs up the real fear, where panic rises and all hope is lost. How the screams of the other prisoners must have been music to his ears, adding to his thoughts of torture and death as he watched the guards slowly wear away. The subject was the student, and the student like blood, liked death, watching it slowly pass before his eyes. Why am I here? Where are the tourists? Why am I cold and shivering? The lights are flickering; the stone is cold and damp. Why do I dread to turn around, to see those cold eyes boring into my heart, unraveling my worst fears?”

  “Please! Don’t kill me here, alone, cold, without hope. I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to face you, let me be…let me go…let me…please.”