Samuel Kasper's cousin (non-canon version- short story)

Unfortunately, this version of the short story is not canon! Due to a very strict page limit for this assignment I had to condense and simplify so much of these characters, their dynamic, and context.
Sadly, this has made me very unhappy with this story!
Although this offers slight insight into Arlo's story, it is not to be considered canon in any way
I will be posting a canon full version of this story as soon as possible!

Arlo was in his senior year of highschool when his cousin- who stood at seven feet tall- was arrested for serial murder. Samuel Kasper had an infatuation for young college boys without their heads, and during the summer of 1999, Samuel was discovered to have thirty one bodies on his property. For three weeks, vested men in gas masks drilled the basement and hollowed the yard, hoisting black body bags from the property like a conveyor belt.

Only once had Arlo met Samuel Kasper during a family reunion when both were in grade school, and Samuel had chased Arlo with a rotting cat he found lying on the road.

Unfortunately, Arlo had the same sunken eyes, height, and stubbled jaw as Samuel. They were nearly identical with the exception of Arlo’s extraordinarily large nose that rounded to a point much like a hawk’s beak. That summer of 1999, when Arlo got home from school, when he watched Samuel Kasper’s arrest, he felt to himself very deeply that he would only ever be known as Samuel Kasper’s cousin.

Four months after Samuel was arrested, Arlo began attending the Idaho community college that was just a half hour from his grandparent’s house. He asked for a gap year and was denied.

On the Friday afternoon of his first week, he was seated at a table just outside of the campus cafe with a pencil in his hand and his stubbled jaw against his palm. With furrowed brows he studied the question on his paper; in your own words, describe nature versus nurture. He sighed deep through  his nose and rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm.

A figure blocked the speckled light beaming through the trees, and Arlo looked up to see a redheaded boy with round eyes looking at him. To Arlo, he had attractive features.

Both boys stared at each other, and when neither said anything Arlo wondered if the boy was waiting for him to move. Arlo slipped his fingers under his papers and began to rise.

“You’re Arlo Kasper?” The boy asked, and Arlo stilled. He kept his eyes on the table.

“Yea.”

A bird in the tree above them twittered, the leaves swayed, and a group of friends laughed as they walked by.

“You should ask me my name,” the boy said.

“What’s your name?” Arlo asked.

“Rowdy. I have psych with you.”

“Oh. Yea,” Arlo said, and lowered back into the seat. It creaked under his weight.

“I think we also have English and math together,” Rowdy said, and slipped his satchel off his shoulder to sit on the open chair facing Arlo. He crossed one leg over the other.

“Really?”

“Haha, no I’m just lying,” Rowdy said, “Are you majoring in psychology? Or is it just a filler class,” Rowdy said. He spoke in a lighter tone, one that was clear, and Arlo became very aware of how mumbled his voice sounded behind his nose.

“No, I don’t really know yet, uhm. Maybe film.”

“Like directing?”

“Writing.”

“Oh- my brother’s a screenwriter. Did you see the new movie with Christian Bale? American Psycho?”

Arlo shook his head no.

“My brother was a writer on it, actually.”

“Oh,” Arlo said, nodding, “That’s actually really cool.”

“I think we should work on that packet together,” Rowdy said, leaning forward to place his chin on his fist with his eyes on Arlo’s worksheet.  “and we could just have it done before the weekend, together.”

“Oh, now?” Arlo asked.

“Yea… I’m trying to make friends with you,” Rowdy said.

“Oh.”

Arlo’s tires crackled against a gravel driveway as his Toyota eased to a stop in front of his Grandparents’ home, which was a one story, two bedroom model. The elevated porch had two rocking chairs that slowly teetered from the wind. The thin planks on the exterior of the house were yellowed from age and had not been repainted since Arlo’s grandparents bought the property in 1947.

Arlo looked at the house through his front window, then at Rowdy in the passenger's seat.

When they entered, the screen door shuttered after it closed behind them, and Arlo suddenly became very aware that the home stung with his grandmother’s rosie perfume.

He walked around a coffee table and leaned over with a grunt to pull the chain of a pink lamp, which revealed the living room. The walls were plastered with floral wallpaper which almost matched the pink velvet covering the couch in front of the television. Every window was dressed with curtains, and every piece of furniture was dark green or pink.

“Cute,” Rowdy said, placing his satchel down by the door, “My mom has that exact lamp.”

Arlo led Rowdy down the lightless hall then ducked under his bedroom door frame as he entered. He became very aware that his room had the subtle dinge of a wet dog. When flicked on the lights only two of the three bulbs in the ceiling fan lit.

His room had a desk in the corner with no chair, a dresser, a mirror on the closet door, and a poster of the Iron Giant above the head of his bed frame. Clumps of clothes were strewn about on the floor and two empty chip bags laid abandoned on his night stand.

Arlo dropped his school bag by the door and kicked off his shoes. Rowdy passed him and sat on the edge of his navy blue queen sized bed.

“Is anyone else home?” Rowdy asked.

Arlo stood by the door still, his hands in his hoodie pockets. Every Friday night his grandparents attended bingo, and he was left alone in the house. He wondered if Rowdy was nervous.

He had brought Rowdy alone to an old house in the middle of a field, then into his bedroom with one busted light and a slightly tangy smell. Arlo pictured bringing Rowdy down to a basement with a single dangling light bulb, and he took a deep inhale through his nose.

“No, uhm… I’m sorry, I didn’t really think about that,” he said.

“No, it’s fine,” Rowdy said, shifting on the bed for Arlo to sit beside him.

Arlo walked shoeless to Rowdy and sat down beside him. The bed frame creaked and the mattress dipped under his weight.

The moment that he settled, Rowdy placed his hand against Arlo’s knee, and Arlo looked down at it. Then, Arlo looked at Rowdy, and Rowdy was looking back up at him.

He pulled his knee away, and his brows furrowed to form a crease between above his nose.

“Are you gay?” Arlo asked.

“No…” Rowdy said, watching Arlos' face, “Yes, I’ve been flirting with you.  Are you?”

“You have not been flirting with me,” Arlo said.

“Are you gay?”

Arlo pictured Samuel’s face.

“No,” he said, “I don’t know.”

“You can kiss guys and not be gay,” Rowdy said.

“That's… I think that's wrong,” Arlo said, standing up.

“I think we should kiss.”

“What?” Arlo said, beginning to smile.

“You’re smiling.”

“Because- I don’t know. This is just crazy.”

“We should kiss,” Rowdy said, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Arlo ran a hand through his hair, still staring at Rowdy who kicked his feet casually.

“... Okay,” Arlo said.

Every Friday night, while Arlo’s grandparents went to play bingo, Rowdy and Arlo would sneak into the house to watch a movie, or talk, or kiss.

And on the third Friday night together, Rowdy slid a black VHS tape from his satchel and showed it to Arlo after they walked through the front door. On the top of the tape, written in sharpie, was Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

“Oh. Really?” Arlo asked as he sat down on the couch.

“You don’t like scary movies?” Rowdy asked.

“I don’t really watch them, I guess.”

“Why not?” Rowdy asked, dropping the arm that was holding the tape. “This is my favorite movie.”

“Oh. I didn't mean I don’t want to watch it, we can watch it,” Arlo said in his mumbled voice. He then leaned forward to untie his laces.

“You sound like you don’t want to,” Rowdy said, walking over to stand in front of him.

“I do…” he said with his head still down.

Arlo felt Rowdy’s slim fingers slide into his hair to scratch his scalp. He raised his head to look up at him, and Rowdy stared back down at him.

“I want to,” Arlo said.

Rowdy smiled and brushed Arlo’s overgrown bangs back to kiss his forehead.

After grabbing a bowl of popcorn and two cups of flat cola from the kitchen, Arlo settled on the couch with Rowdy curled up against him under a quilt. The opening monologue played a few feet away on his grandparent’s ten year old television with crackled audio and a discolored screen.

Arlo was focused wholly on the weight of Rowdy’s hand against his thigh under the blanket,and how his thumb rubbed back and forth against his pajama pants.

When the screen suddenly cut to the face of a corpse, Arlo’s eyes unblurred to the screen. While he and Rowdy stared at the corpse, a radio reporter monologued over the scene.

“Officers there discovered what appeared to be a grisly work of art, the remains of a badly decomposed body, wired to a large monument.”

The beat in Arlo’s chest became heavier.

“What’s this about?” he asked.

“It’s a chainsaw massacre in Texas,” Rowdy said, looking up at Arlo.

“Did this actually happen?”

“No,” Rowdy said, then leaned his head against Arlo’s shoulder, “but it’s based on a real serial killer.”

“Oh,”

“Ed Gein, he skinned his moms face and wore it- which is why they call the killer in this leather face. uhm, he actually did a lot of grave robbing instead of killing.”

Arlo didn’t reply.

“I can’t remember if he actually fed humans to other people or if that was someone else. This isn't real though, it's just based on him.”

Arlo shifted in his seat and took in a deep inhale.

“Would you ever write a horror film?”

“Uhm, no,” Arlo said, “I don’t really think so.”

“Why not?” Rowdy asked.

Arlo pictured Rowdy’s nude body without a head, curled up at the bottom of a hole in the backyard.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Forty minutes into the movie, the television speakers blared with a woman’s screaming and the buzz of a chainsaw. Arlo sat very still with a very focused gaze. He stared at the screen as leatherface sunk his chainsaw into the neck of the male lead. He beheaded him in front of his girlfriend, who had been hung on a meat hook.

He wondered, to himself, if Samuel used a chainsaw to behead young men. Or a hacksaw, which he could picture catching on skin and ripping with each cut. He pictured Samuel dragging a boy closer by his ankles, then hacking his throat with an axe. This disturbed him deeply and he reached up to hold his own throat, which made Rowdy chuckle.

“Are you scared?” he asked.

“No,” Arlo said, not looking away from the screen.

“Yea, it’s kind of fun.”

“I guess.”

Arlo became aware of Rowdy’s hand on his thigh again as he began to rub it back and forth on the felt fabric of Arlo’s pajama pants.

“Would you ever wanna try something like that?” Rowdy asked.

“What?”

“I mean like- not like real life. Just like acting it out.”

“Uhm, I don’t… What?” Arlo looked at Rowdy, “What do you mean?”

“Like roleplay. Like you and me.”

Arlo could feel his heartbeat pressing behind his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Why not? I just think it would be fun.”

Arlo didn’t say anything for a long time. He stared down at Rowdy, who stared back at him with round black eyes. His arms and legs felt light under his skin, and his stomach was floating.

“Yea, okay,” he said, then looked back at the television.

Three months later, on a Friday afternoon, Rowdy stood in front of Arlo’s closet mirror with his arms held out on either side to see how far Arlo's sweater could rise. The navy blue hand knit sweater fit him like a dress and hung down to his knee caps.

The ceiling fan above them spun lazily and Arlo’s gameboy chimed with each coin he collected.

“Where do you get your clothes?” Rowdy asked, turning to see his backside in the sweater.

“Uhm, Goodwill mostly,” Arlo said.

“Really? Not hand-me-downs? Since it runs in the family.”

Arlos expression dropped, and he looked up to stare at Rowdy through the mirror.

“Huh?” he asked.

Rowdy tucked a strand of his long hair behind his ear and admired himself in the mirror. Then, he turned and walked back to Arlo. He stood directly in front of Arlo while he removed the sweater.

“Hey, I think we should spend the fourth of July together,” Rowdy said.

Arlo didn't respond.

“My family won't be home for the week, I think you should come and spend a few nights. We can watch the Iron Giant finally- if you bring it. My window opens from the outside, we can play robber.”

“When did I say my family was tall?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said it runs in my family,” Arlo said.

“You said that,” Rowdy said.

“Oh…”

“Yea, you said your dad was tall.”

Shirtless, Rowdy placed his hands on either side of Arlos shoulders. They stared at each other, then Rowdy pulled Arlos head to rest against his bare chest. Arlo wrapped his arms around Rowdy and squeezed his body carefully.

“Do you want to?” Rowdy asked.

“What?”

“The trip to my place. For fourth of July.”

“Okay.”

On July third, Arlo’s Toyota rolled into the driveway with a duffel bag in the passenger’s seat. The house was an elevated two story home with wooden plank steps leading up to the front door, which was painted black.

Arlo neared the front door with his bag slung over his shoulder. He glanced behind him at the other houses, then forward when the door opened.

“Hey guard dog,” Rowdy said. He was wearing a T-shirt with red text that read “natural selection.”

“Hi,” Arlo said.

Each plank bent under Arlo’s sneakers as he stepped up to the door, and Rowdy reached out to hold two of his fingers to pull him inside. Arlo was met with the smell of clean linen and pine.

Rowdy’s living room was spacious with a leather couch sitting in front of a wide screen television. Rather than carpet, the flooring was sleek wood. The kitchen counter was marble which reflected the lights in the ceiling above, and the window to the fenceless backyard had string-pull blinds.

At the end of the hallway was Rowdy’s room, which was carpeted. The dark brown bed frame matched the dresser, which had a radio, an MP3 player, and a figure of leatherface on it.

The walls were littered with posters. Texas Chainsaw Massacre, IT, The Silence of the Lambs, American Psycho, and a handful that Arlo didn’t recognize. Strewn beside his bed were printed pictures of Heath Ledger, Christian Bale, and Andre the giant. There was one in black and white of a blonde man with square glasses that Arlo didn’t recognize.

He stood holding his bag over his shoulder with a deep beat against his broad chest and in his ears. He pictured Samuel’s mugshot on the wall.

In the corner of the room, on top of a white desk, sat a computer.

“I’m gonna have to sleep on top of you I think,” Rowdy said as he sat on the edge of his twin sized bed. “That’s fun, we could play that one captor game again.”

Arlo stared at the computer. Rowdy turned his head to look at it too, then back at Arlo.

“Have you ever used a computer?” he asked.

Arlo nodded. They were available for use at the college library.

“Mines broken,” Rowdy said, “I spilled water once and now it won’t turn on.”

Arlo let out a heavy sigh through his nose and set his bag down, and Rowdy stared at his face.

Arlo laid with his hands clasped on his stomach while staring up at the fan that turned aimlessly on the ceiling. Crickets chirped just outside of Rowdy’s ajar window and a distant train chugged against tracks. Rowdy breathed deep and slow beside Arlo, sleeping soundly. Arlo’s calves hung off the end of the bed, and his left shoulder dipped over the edge of the mattress.

He wondered, to himself, if Rowdy’s computer could in fact turn on. For the past three hours, Arlo wondered.

The mattress creaked as Arlo carefully turned, placing his hands on the floor to ease his weight off. Then, after he stood, while watching Rowdy, he walked to the computer. He stood in front of it breathing heavily through his nose, and held his finger against the round power button that glowed blue.

He looked back at Rowdy who laid still. Then, he pressed the button, and nothing happened. Then, the screen lit with big blue letters that read Dell- Window2000, and a bar at the bottom began to fill with white. When it was full, the screen went black again, and then blue with the start screen. A twinge stung Arlo’s chest as the speakers let out a chime, and he immediately looked back at Rowdy again, who lay still.

Swiftly, he moved the mouse over the internet explore logo and double clicked. Then, just as swiftly, he opened the searched history and began to scroll.

After three long scrolls, his eyes caught ‘Kasper.’ He stilled. Then, he clicked.

The computer engine chugged as the page loaded to reveal a yellow screen with dark brown text in paragraphs. Beside the first paragraph was Samuel’s mugshot. The top of the forum read; Kasper’s Batch. Arlo held a hand to his mouth, and his frantic eyes caught the beginning of the third paragraph, which read;

173 polaroids have since been discovered in Kasper’s home, each aiding to identify victims and used as evidence during the court trials. Despite the original discovery of thirty one victims, it is estimated that forty to forty five-

Arlo scrolled, and a polaroid of two severed hands resting on a countertop peaked into view. Arlo closed the tab. He stared at the blue screen for a long time, then shut the computer off.

He spent the rest of the early morning in the bathroom, weeping.

The next day, Arlo and Rowdy prepared breakfast together in the kitchen, watched the Iron Giant, went to the store to pick up bang-snaps and a twelve pack of sparklers, then began to prepare for the picnic.

And when they went to the cliffside overlooking the town, Arlo rolled out the quilt for Rowdy and stood beside it while Rowdy sat crisscrossed. He stared down at Rowdy, and after opening a bag of cheetos, Rowdy stared up at him. Crickets were beginning to chirp, and a distant firework set off the first boom of the night.

“Are you mad at me?” Rowdy asked.

“No,” Arlo said.

“Okay, I think you should sit down,” He said

“Uhm…” Arlo said, and stayed standing. His chest was visibly rising and falling. “Hey, I’ve been wondering about something, I think.”

When Arlo paused, Rowdy said nothing. Another firework popped in the sky.

“I think I’ve started uhm… I’m not comfortable with some of the stuff we do, and-”

“Stuff we do?” Rowdy said, and Arlo nodded once, “You like the stuff we do.”

“Yea, I guess. I’m just worried, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” Rowdy said, his tone flat.

Arlo shifted his weight and put his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“I didn’t know you knew about Samuel,” he said, then waited.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I don't know,” Arlo said, “I saw you were looking at articles about him. Last night… I don’t like how it makes me feel about myself, I guess,” he said.

Rowdy’s confused expression faded and he looked away from Arlo towards the town. He reached up to scratch the side of his head. Arlo watched him, and two fireworks popped one after the other.

“Okay, well I just don’t agree with that. From my experience you’ve really liked being with me. The roleplay is for you.“

“No- I’ve been doing it because I thought it was for you.”

“You’ve literally had sex with me when I was asleep, what do you mean it's not for you.”

“Because you asked me to!” Arlo said, letting his arms go up before dropping them back down.

“I never asked you to do that. I let you because I thought that's what you wanted.” Rowdy said.

Arlo stared at Rowdy’s blank expression. As a firework burst, one half of Rowdy’s face lit with red glow.

“Arlo, it’s fine that you’re into some of the same things Sam is into-”

“I’m not.”

“Okay- I don't know, I’m not saying it’s your fault. Maybe it’s just genetic. I like you, it’s fine. It’s like I have my own leatherface, we’re happy,” Rowdy said, and began to stand.

Arlo ran a hand through his hair and he turned away to walk a few paces. He then circled back, staring at Rowdy’s blank face.

“Rowdy, you’re with me because I’m related to Sam.”

“No- jesus no, Arlo. Why would you say that? I just like you. I like being around you.”

Rowdy reached out for Arlo’s hand, and Arlo pulled it away. Rowdy reached again and took two of his fingers, and Arlo felt soft lips press against his knuckles. He then hid his hand in the pocket of his hoodie, watching Rowdy’s expression. It stayed blank.

“Arlo,” Rowdy said.

Arlo took a hesitant step back, still staring at Rowdy, then turned and began to walk down the cliffside to where his car had been abandoned.

“If you leave me I’ll tell everyone you raped me,” Rowdy said.

Arlo stilled. He looked back at the silhouette on the edge of the cliffside, backlit with red from a bursting firework.

“Don’t leave me, Arlo.”