In the arms of Mr Michaels

In the heart of an old, decaying mansion, unrest simmered. The walls, once filled with laughter, now echoed with cries of pain and despair. The mansion had become a prison of torment, showcasing the destructive power of unchecked anger and cruelty.

Noah stormed through the dimly lit hallway, his heavy footsteps a drumbeat of doom. His face twisted with rage, his eyes burning with fury. The veins in his neck bulged as he screamed, “Ethan! Get over here now!”

Young Ethan, trembling and wide-eyed, stumbled into the room. His small frame looked even more fragile in the oppressive atmosphere of the mansion. Clutching a broken toy in his hands, its once-bright colors now dull, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to break it.”

“You are worthless! Useless boy!” Noah’s voice thundered through the room. “How could you spoil your toy? Pick it up!” His hands shook with fury as he unfastened his belt, the leather hissing through the air like a snake.

Ethan stood paralyzed with fear, unable to move as Noah advanced on him. The first blow landed with a sickening thud. “Stupid child!” Noah ranted, his voice dripping with venom. “Spread your arms! Don’t touch that table!” Smack! Smack! The belt came down repeatedly, each strike tearing deeper into Ethan’s tender skin. The boy’s cries filled the room, a heart-wrenching symphony of pain and terror.

The assault seemed to last an eternity, each second stretching into a lifetime of suffering. Ethan’s mind was a whirlwind of agony and confusion. He didn’t understand why his father hated him so much, why the man who was supposed to protect him was the source of his greatest fear. All he knew was pain, the searing pain that radiated from every part of his body.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Mrs. Laurel Asher appeared, her face a mask of alarm. Her heart clenched at the sight before her. “Noah, what are you doing? Stop it! You are injuring the boy.” Her voice was a desperate plea, a cry for sanity in a house gone mad.