Losing The Hate (part 4) . . . I Really Hope My Stories May Help Another Survivor To Continue To Survive


By the third week of the summer holidays boredom had well and truly set in; and there was nothing exciting to do. It had been a good few months since my encounter with Ropeman and thankfully the second instalment of the photo shoot had not as yet taken place. I’m not sure if my mind blocked it out, but with no conscious strain, I hadn’t really thought about it for ages, and it certainly didn’t appear to be bothering me anymore.
One particular afternoon was dominated with an intense heat from what was proving to be a fantastic summer. I’d just left Peter’s house following a slight disagreement about nothing of any great importance. Truth be told, I can’t really remember what it was about.
Deciding to go in search of Mark Milner, I made my way down the road towards the local park, when passing my school, which should have been locked up until September; my eye caught some movement in the
small staff car park. Once I was a bit closer, the figure on the other side of the gates looked up and smiled at me.
It was Ropeman. Immediately and without warning, all of the fear I'd experienced on that fateful morning came bubbling to the surface, and my head felt as though it was going to explode any minute. Images came flooding into my mind; spinning and swirling, hurting.
The monster said hello and asked me how the holiday was going so far. I told him that it was all getting a bit boring, and looking to the ground, was about to say goodbye when he offered me a lift home. his question truly frightened me and feeling too scared to say no, I nodded my head in acceptance. Ropeman locked the gates and we walked across the road where his car was parked.

Why does your smile,
Fill me with fear?
I’m not back at school,
So why are you here?
I don’t want to be,
Here in your car,
Give me an island,
That’s distant and far.
I want to play football,
And swing in the park,
I don’t want to feel,
Alone in the dark.
I wish I could tell,
My Mum what you’ve done,
Then I could go back,
To fun in the sun.
But, I’m still here,
In the seat of your car,
Like a frog in a jar.
Where should I look?
What should I say?
Will you take me to hell?
Or use me for play?
I cannot contain,
All this fear in my head,
How nice it would be,
To lay dead in my bed.
It’s got to be better,
Than here in your car.

Once in the car Ropeman bombarded me with questions. And although I can’t really remember all of them, the following is a rough account of the conversation.

ROPEMAN: I expect you’ll be meeting up with your friends later?

SIMON: Nope.

ROPEMAN: You’ve not got any plans for the rest of the day then?

SIMON: Dunno, just hang around an’ get bored I s’pose.

ROPEMAN: I’m not doing much myself. I was toying with the idea of renting a movie, how’d you like to join me? You can choose it if you like.

SIMON: I, I dunno, what about me mum? She might tell me off.

ROPEMAN: Well I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, but we don’t have to tell her, it could be one of our little secrets, what do you think? It’d only be for a couple of hours.

The only answer I managed to push through my lips was the one he wanted to hear; I said yes. Turning the car around, Ropeman headed towards the High
Street, this was literally just around the corner. Moments later he stopped the car in a side road and handed me a menu type list. He told me the film was mine to choose. Scanning the titles, there was one that jumped out at me. I’d heard one of my sisters talking to my father about it a couple of weeks before, “That one,” I said, “That is, if you don’t mind?” I added, knowing my parents would not approve.
“Nope, that’s fine. You wait here and I’ll go and see if it’s in,” he said, leaving me alone in the car.
While I waited, an array of thoughts whizzed through my mind; what if I just got out? Just got out and ran? What if I kept running until I got to the safety of my house?
The idea alone settled my stomach, but only momentarily. What if he came looking for me? What if he caught up with me before I managed to get home?
And then there was school to consider. Even if I managed to get away today, it was only a matter of time before I would have to face him again.
Besides, he was trying to be nice. Perhaps he felt bad about that morning. I remember my thoughts bouncing from dark to light, and back again, until finally deciding that everything would turn out okay.
It would probably end up being a pleasant afternoon, if he didn't . . . and he wouldn't, not again; I was sure of it, sort of.
My train of thought was interrupted when Ropeman got back into the car. I cleared my throat in an attempt to rid myself of the bile slowly rising; the burning sensation was unfamiliar to me, but at least it was a distraction. It was too late now. And as the car pulled away, pictures of his sofa and camera fixed in my mind. A copy of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre sat in his lap.

SyeP SyeP
41-45, M
Jan 8, 2013