Suspicious, Isn't it?

1881.

February 1st,

8:09 am.

A man, A mortician at St. Peterburg who later met a beautiful brunette, she later gave birth to a little boy named Alfred. Clive, the mortician at St. Peterburg's had met a young boy scruffy-looking, however, looked ripe and ready for his picking.

"Hello there." His British accent was stronger than the little boys who was Irish. Clive had thought that his parents might've suffered in the potato famine in the 1840s.

"Ello there." His voice was slow but he quickly added "I have no name so don't bother calling me anything" He nervously scratched his head. Now he was standing scratching his head. "Come with me," Clive asked the little boy.

They walked to an apartment block with street lamps flickering. The door was bright red and white on the trims he opened the door for the little boy. The feeling it gave off was warm, nice and a long sense of kindness, although the Aura was different to the feel.

1882

December 2nd, 6:06 pm.

Oh, did I forget? It's 1883 the boys are now 14. Clive has thought of a name for the kid who was Irish. His name is Cuckles. Clive had lost love for Cuckles. Alfred was now the favourite child. Handsome and wise along with intelligence. He could name all of the names of kings and nobles from before. Alfred was spoiled with gifts all shapes and sizes. Big too small.

Cuckles grew lonely his arguments grew with his mother and his father. It was now that Clive would push his master plan. A plan which would help humankind, Would it? Wouldn't it? Could it cause suffering to his new test Guinea pig? Pssssh no. Clive was all about himself and the money.

Cuckles was wondering the basement on his own. Clive followed close behind in the darkness.

A massive thump, Cuckles laid there cold.

His head was bleeding, Oozy evening.

You could now see that his head was dented.

His hair was dyed red from his now dark blood.

Blood had made its domain on the concrete floor.

Drip... Drip... Drip...

Clive's mouth grinned. He looked like a starving wolf who'd just caught its weak and pathetic pray. It didn't fade as he smiled even more once he started dragging the half-dead body. It was Clive's turn to work. Too finally get out into the news into the social rankings of the best.

1883

January 6th, 7:17 am

Finally, after 8ish months he'd woken up from his coma.

He felt an aching pain from his head.

He slowly reached to the back of his head with his badly bruised hand.

He felt mush just mush.

Nothing but mush.

Horrified he took his hand back to his face.

Blood that was dark and deep red.

The pain only pain and confusion that's what echoed throughout his damaged head.

He heard footsteps.

CREEK! CREEEEEEEK!

Footsteps followed after them

"Ah, Are you ready for an experiment?" He evilly smirked

"Mr.Clonkers I don't even know what that word means." He fluffed as his eyes and body flinched as his eyes could not make out anything.

He pulled out a butcher's knife.

Screaming didn't bother his wife who was too busy chasing after her spoiled sun.

It'd been at least six hours since the screaming had started and finally, it had come to a miserable end for Cuckles. Bloody scars covered his body. After using the oil-powered oven. It had exploded somehow Cuckles survived. His body now crimpled.

Clive had walked up from the basement.

Alfred had hugged his father while he was covered in his adopted brother mutilated blood.

1883

March 23rd, 3:03 am

Dark and slightly rainy, creaking once more had echoed. Cuckles had been clueless for the past few months. He'd been stuck in extreme experiments. The man who'd he once thought to be kind and generous now dark and mad. All he heard was machines being made endless for his own torture.

Screams would be loud but not heard. His depression had gotten worse, why did he survive these things? Just why. He'd only thought about good times which there was none. His eyes widened as he saw a dark figure, who is it? He'd only feared the worst.