text: So I'm 16 and was assigned a short story assignmentin english to write about a "grotesque character". I was wondering if I could get feedback about anything you notice that could be improved or was overlooked when I edited or even just writing tips... thanks! ~1400 words I apologize for formatting... ** friend.** "*Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.*" - C.S. Lewis He trudged through the snow of the harsh Alaskan winter; the snow engulfed the ankles of his black snow boots and went up to his knees. The cold winter chill turned his nose and face red and was beginning to freeze the snow on his hat and gloves. Carrying animal pelts from his recent hunt, 28-year-old Bernard Helmholtz, a fur dealer, heads towards his home to prepare the pelts for sale. As he trudges along through the under the faint moonlit sky in the Alaskan night, he sees one other person in his entire 13-mile trek. The small town of Ketchikan, Alaska is home to several hundred inhabitants who all know Helmholtz as the man who sells pelts in the town. He is a reasonably tall man with shaggy black hair and an unkempt beard that doesn’t connect to his mustache. He has an athletic build with pale, hairy skin and even paler blue eyes. Helmholtz is a timid and quiet man, not only because he is mute, but because he lives alone. He lives in the hills on the outskirts of town and makes little contact with people with the exception of his monthly sales. Living in Ketchikan since birth, Helmholtz is familiar with most members of the town. The people of Ketchikan have little to do with him because no one is able to, or desires to, communicate with him. Helmholtz hasn’t been mute since birth, he stopped speaking in his later adolescent years from intense psychological trauma. Garrity Helmholtz, his father, was an alcoholic and abused Bernard for much of his childhood. Lashing out at Bernard for small offenses, Bernard is often reminded of his childhood by the scars from thick leather belts on his back and arms which he tries to keep hidden. By hiding his scars, he often hides himself. His mother divorced his father and left the family when he was young causing his father to spiral out of control in his own life and into control of Bernard’s life. Bernard never had friends and never received a formal education. The only person he was ever close to was his older half-brother, Winston, who taught him how to read and write as a child. One morning in Bernard’s childhood, his brother was teaching him in the dingy basement of their tiny house when their dad came down to get more whiskey. Garrity was adamantly against having Bernard become literate. Those were the last few minutes Bernard ever saw of his beloved brother. Garrity grabbed him by the collar and dragged him upstairs and all Bernard heard was Winston’s struggles and screams coming from the kitchen. The worst sound Bernard ever heard was the sound of his brother’s murder and watching the viscous blood dribble down the stairs scared him more than anything he would ever witness in his life. Bernard could tolerate his father’s rule with the accompaniment of his brother. When his brother was killed, so was Bernard’s ability to cope. Everyone he loved was gone. When he spoke he was hit. Garrity didn’t want his son to develop a personality so he couldn’t hurt him like his mother had. When he spoke he was punished and when he cried he was beaten. Bernard’s safety stemmed from his silence. The only form of salvation were the small dreams that he wrote down. His writing was how he kept his brother alive. It kept him sane. The dreams he had were the only way for him to escape his miserable existence. But even in his dreams his father was there - beating him. He physically and mentally curled up into a ball and was unable to express his desire for true human connection. What he wanted most in life was for his brother to come back and to forge a meaningful relationship with another human being. Years later, after his father’s death, the mental scarring from his childhood warped his perception of others. Everyone who became close to him either died or couldn’t handle his problems and left. There was no one and Bernard was on his own. As an adult he found a job and stayed in his tiny old home that set him far away from people. He wanted more than anything to be connected with people but the townspeople saw him as a freak. He lived on the outskirts of town and wouldn’t - couldn’t - properly communicate with them. The town doctors assumed he was sick in the head and left him alone. No one knew of his past and no one bothered to find out. Bernard still writes his dreams of being with people down on the little scraps of paper from sale receipts. He looks at them and weeps as he burns them into ashes. As he sits alone in his room he dreams of others. He hears voices. Voices of his mother, the screams of his brother, and the scolding of his father all continue to haunt him. He often looks out the window and sees a person passing only to open to the door to greet them when nothing is there. As he reaches his home in the midst of the night he sets the dead bodies of the animals in his freezer. He pulls one out and sets it on his cold, steel table. He uses the same knife his father used on his brother to gut the animals he hunts. For Bernard it is a release - a release of pent up aggression towards the man who warped his current psychological being. As he carves the animal open and removes the innards he hears a faint knocking at the door. He assumes he is hearing things again and nods his head as he continues to skillfully remove the skin from the animal. He hears a louder rapping at his door. He assumes it must be an animal so he grips his knife harder until his knuckles are white like the ivory handle of the knife. He walks to the door and opens it. Before him stands a girl - a petit young girl with wavy blond hair glistening in the yellow light of his porch lamp. He relaxes his grip and stares as if he is looking into her soul. Wearing his apron splattered with blood and holding a knife, the girl is visibly uncomfortable. She warily asks to use his phone. He nods and steps out of the way of the door and points her in the direction of the phone. She walks over to it and looks visibly distressed from the pungent odor of the animals and taste of fresh blood in the air. With Bernard still staring, she begins to dial the phone. She turns to him after a few minutes and asks if he has another phone because she doesn’t hear any sound. Bernard, awkward and uncomfortable in the presence of another person, shakes his head no from the other room. She asks to stay the night; it’s late and she doesn’t want to go back to town at night by herself. Bernard nods with approval. He puts his apron on the hook and directs her to the couch. He goes upstairs. After several hours pass and the girl is asleep, he puts his apron back on. He walks cautiously through the kitchen and grabs his knife off the table without shifting his eyes away from her. Cupping her mouth, he grabs her and brings her into the kitchen and down the basement stairs. He hurriedly grabs a rope and ties her to a supporting pole in the middle of the dark, chill room. He holds her head steady as he mutes her panicky screams with duct tape. He goes back upstairs and goes to sleep. When he returns the next morning he brings her food. He places the plate of undercooked meat and scrambled eggs in front of her and carefully peels off the tape. The smell of the eggs does little to mask the aroma of dry blood, death, and rust in the basement. She has the same empty look in her eyes that he had after hearing his brother killed.