What Killed The Cavemen

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Let’s get one misconception out of the way: No, I am not referring to the cavemen from ancient times who roamed the earth millions of years ago. I am, of course, talking about The Cavemen, the group of 4 high school bullies who tormented the students and faculty at East Clementon High. They’d earn their nickname among those victims because of their appearances. And where they were found. They were each around twenty or twenty-one years old, having been held back and failing school numerous times. Not only that, but they simply looked like cavemen to us. Each of them having hairy faces from either beards, mustaches, bushy eyebrows, or sideburns. The scraggly hair atop their heads was never washed or combed. At least, that’s what me and Emily thought. I graduated at East Clementon High back in 2005, and just yesterday was the annual 20-year class reunion. I saw Emily there with her husband Gerald, who used to be a smelly, fat loser. Nowadays he is very handsome, very charming, and very rich. Emily was the shy, smart girl in our grade, but she did have many friends. I, of course, was her best friend, having been her next-door neighbor since diapers. Now, I’m not married myself, and honestly, my loner life with my dog is all I need. But that’s not the reason I’m here today. I’ve finally decided to put to paper what terrible, horrifying thing happened all those years ago. I will answer the unanswered question on everyone’s minds: What killed the cavemen?

Now, each of The Cavemen could easily be recognized from each of their distinct traits. I’ll begin by describing the youngest Caveman, aged at 19, Oog. Now, that wasn’t his real name, of course. His real name was Paul Young. He had only been held back once but was early on taken under the wing and influence of The Cavemen. Paul was given the nickname “Oog” because he’d spit loogies into the belongings of his victims. He’d spit in their hair, their backpacks, their lockers, you name it. No matter what time of year it was, that guy always had a seemingly infinite amount of snot to spit up. My first encounter with Oog went a little something like this: I was walking down the West hallway to my geometry class in my sophomore year when suddenly I bumped into Oog at the corner of the hallway. Little known fact about bullies, they generally tend to hang around the same few locations. These included the men’s room, intersections of hallways, entrances/exits of the building, and in the gym locker room. On this particular day, Oog had been leaning against the corner of the wall at the end of the hallway, and I never even saw him until I turned that corner and crashed into his chest. All The Cavemen were tall, but Oog was the arguably the shortest. Despite this, he stood at a towering 6’ 5”, he was easily one of the tallest students, maybe even adults. The guy always brushed his hair against the top of the doorframe. Not quite ducking height, but still enormous. His curly hair often dragged along the ceiling, too. I was never sure if the white flakes on his head were lice, dandruff, or dried paint. Maybe it was all the above. There I was, little 5’ 4” me, cowering beneath the absolute giant that was Oog. I tried to stammer my way out of the encounter, but his bright, green eyes stared straight through my skull. He grinned a dirty grin; his smile made up of dirty yellow teeth. One tooth, specifically his front left tooth, had a huge hole in it. He reached down and grabbed me by the collar with one hand, and lifted me up in the air, about 2 inches off the ground. That was another thing about The Cavemen. Their incredible brute strength. He pinned me against the wall and snorted. Then he spit a thick, gooey loogie right onto my new shirt. It dripped down my chest and onto my shoe. Then the bell rang. Oog dropped me right on the ground and strutted off, snickering to himself. Never spoke a word. The only sounds that came out of Oog’s mouth were snorts, groans, or chuckles. Rough, wheezing chuckles.

Richard Winters, or “Grub” as he was known, was a filthy person. Not just in a cleanliness way. He was white, yet there was always brown dirt and grime all over his freckled face. The only way you could tell that he was white was his big, pale ears. Him and his racist family had been horrible to anyone of color. Constantly shouting slurs and obscenities to anyone who they deemed “different.” His hands looked like they were never washed, and you could tell from a mile away. Such big hands. Honestly, I think they were as big as my head. Each one of his thick fingers had long, greasy, yellow fingernails. They always had dirt and food under them, and it was often you’d see a hairy band-aid hanging off his pointer finger. Grub was the brawn of the Cavemen, and his signature bullying method was slugging. He’d punch you right in the gut as hard as he could, and since he was the strongest student in the school, you’d have aches for weeks. Sometimes kids would get two slugs a week. Sometimes more. Or even twice a day. His dad taught him how to use his fists, as Marshall Winters was supposedly a boxer when he was younger. And I believe that. Dude beat up 7 people in a 7 vs. 1 fight. It went down in history as one of the most badass stories we’d ever heard. After about a month it was never spoken of again. But Grub wanted to live up to his father, someday impress him. I think it was when Marshall passed away in a car accident was when Grub joined the Cavemen. He is the most recent member of the group after all. Or at least he was. I’ve never had any encounters with Grub, but he did get to my buddy Walter. Poor guy. He never stood a chance, as Walter was known throughout the school as the class geek. The kid was very weak and frail. His dorky glasses matched his ugly pocket protector. He was a walking stereotype for nerds around the world. Sometimes I wonder how life turned out for that guy. Walter was Grub’s favorite dork punching bag, but with him being Black, it only made things worse. There was one day when I went to my locker on the last day of freshman year. Except, I couldn’t get there because of the massive crowd that had gathered. In the middle was Grub, holding Walter upside down by his feet. His glasses were smashed on the floor and his shirt started falling over his face. Grub was shouting at him as he sobbed uncontrollably. I think it was over something about math class, I honestly don’t remember. What I do remember was what happened next. Grub called over Oog to hold Walter upside down, which he did effortlessly with one hand. Oog then obviously spat a loogie at Walter, which ran down his bare back. Walter shuddered in disgust. Grub then took a few steps back and rolled up his sleeve. He’d wore the same AC/DC hoodie to school every day. He never changed his clothes except for occasionally wearing dirty sweatpants instead of jeans. Now, the main thing that made Grub’s slugging so painful, wasn’t only the brute force and power of the punch. He also loved to equip his pair of brass knuckles. They were dull and chipped, which left scratches on Grub’s victims. However, what stood out was the faint letters on the base: C, A, V, E. He had another pair, too. It read M, A, N, S. Grub never really did learn how to spell. Or proper grammar. But who needs words when you have fists? And when he did need words, it was always the wrong ones. Grub pulled his fist back and landed a very hard and painful blow right to Walter’s chest. Walter before that point had been shouting and sobbing the whole time. But after the moment of impact, he was dead silent. There was a gag in the back of his throat, then nothing. Oog dropped him right on the ground like a ragdoll as he and Grub cackled and walked away. The crowd slowly dispersed, and I ran over to Walter. I shook his shoulders trying to get him to speak. But all he did was stand up, stare me in the eyes, then walk away. That was the last time I ever saw him.

Despite Grub being the strongest and technically largest of the four, I’d have to say that the most terrifying of the Cavemen was Luke Barrington, or as we liked to call him, “Tor.” The reason that Tor (short for Torquent, Latin for twist) was so scary to us in the first place was his method of bullying. He specialized in what is commonly known as “Bathroom Bullying,” or “Bathroom Guard.” This obviously meant that he would wait for his victims in the restrooms of the school, and sometimes even in public restrooms like the pizza place across the street or the local pharmacy. But that wasn’t the terrifying part. Any child’s worst fear is receiving a swirly. But Tor’s swirlies were special, as he would pour large chunks of ice down his victims’ necks while they practically drowned in a toilet or urinal. The torquent of water was too much to handle because Tor would push the kid’s face further and further down the drain, flooding the bathroom floor and the kid’s mouth, nose, and ears. I never received a swirly, because I never made it onto The List. The List was a small pack of sticky notes where Tor would write down the names of his new targets. He didn’t choose at random; they were specifically hand-picked based on things they did in school that day. The most infamous example was Emily. To this day, she refuses to swim in the ocean or in a pool. It was so bad that she needed to go home early for the day because she kept puking up water. What had happened was one day at lunch, Oliver Gregor, the “class clown,” had thought it would be a fun idea to go up to Tor and tell him something that nobody would ever even try to say to any of the Cavemen. Oliver said this, and I quote, “My buddy Emily over there asked me to tell you that she has had the hots for you for a long time. She’d love to suck you off tonight under the bleachers at the football game.” Tor was livid. Everyone knew he was gay, even though he never officially came out. But he was caught making out with some senior named Alan, so it was pretty much confirmed. Anyway, Tor grabbed Oliver by the forehead, yes, the forehead, and tossed him aside at the nearby lunch table. That alone bust open Oliver’s chin, causing him to get stitches. But Tor wasn’t finished. He stormed over to Emily and grabbed her by the hair right in front of me. I should have done more to help her. All I could do was shout from my seat and remain frozen in fear. Tor dragged Emily to the men’s room and slammed the door. It jammed behind him, preventing the school officers from breaking in to help. You could hear her screams and the continuous flushes of water. Tor shouted back at her, barking obscenities and swears alike. Suddenly, the officers finally kicked the door down, but they were too late. Tor had climbed out the window of the restroom, leaving Emily on the floor, soaked in water and some blood. He’d bashed her head on the urinal so many times that there was a large gash on her head. The officers ran outside to try and catch Tor, but he got away. And Torquent was never seen again after that.

Every group has a leader. There’s no doubt about that. Without a leader, there is no order, and everyone is allowed to do as they please with no consequence. The Cavemen had their leader, too. But unlike Tor, this guy remained terrifying for as long as he was alive. Ray Quentin was the leader of the Cavemen, but everyone knew him as Rivs. As a translation from Swedish, Rivs meant “demolished, or destroyed.” Nobody knew the relation of this to Ray Quentin, but many people speculated that it was because his uncle Peter was a demolitionist. I didn’t buy it. I’ve always speculated that it was something related to Ray personally, not a relative or friend. You may have noticed a theme with the Cavemen’s nicknames: they always relate to their character or their actions. Now, the reason for Ray’s nickname was never discovered, but I believe that it was because he’d broken, or demolished, his victim’s spirits. An example of this would be the Fourth of July parade in 2005. Patty Henderson, a smart but rebellious girl, was one of the most popular girls in the 10th grade. All the girls were envious of her looks and smarts, and all the guys were envious of her boyfriend, Chad, for having pulled such a hot babe. I never understood the hype for her. For the past 3 years, Patty had always been on the top of a massive American flag float, waving to the crowd and tossing melted Tootsie Rolls to any 3 to 5-year-old who wanted some. She was the star of the show and justifiably so. For each of those years, her performance was great, completely selling the act that she was so happy and excited to be up on a big flag in 100-degree weather. Shortly after the parade, she’d normally get some lunch with her father, who was the mayor, and her boyfriend. Her mom would usually stay behind and help clean up the mess. On this day, however, she was pulled aside by Rivs into a dark alley. I noticed this and found it way too suspicious. I sneakily followed them through the alley to the back of the local pharmacy, a regular spot of torment for the Cavemen. Just before being spotted by Oog, I ducked behind a filthy dumpster and listened. Rivs was talking in an oddly calming tone, reassuring Patty that she had done nothing wrong. Oog chuckled in the background. After that, there was a zipper sound, a belt buckle unclicking, and a ruffle of fabric. I threw something to cause a distraction. Then I bolted down the alley with Grub and Oog close behind. The other two came sprinting at me from the opposite direction. I ran as fast as I possibly could to the diner across the street where Patty’s father was already seating in their favorite booth with Chad. I told him everything. Ten minutes later, Patty was in the back of an ambulance with her father as many police officers searched for Rivs. He was never found by the police. At least not for another couple of months. Everyone at that point assumed that he’d skipped town and was headed for the city. After two weeks, the manhunt came to an end. Over the course of those two weeks, the other two Cavemen, Oog and Grub, had also disappeared shortly after. Nobody knew where they went or why they suddenly vanished. But for the first time in a long time, there were no more Cavemen. There was peace… Until I found them in my own basement.

The principal of East Clementon High School was my mother. The Mother would constantly patrol the school, just looking for any reason to hand out detentions or punish troublemakers. She was like a predator on the prowl for prey. She’d do the same thing at home, too. Constantly checking my room to see if there was something for her to yell about. It’s obnoxious, to say the least. The students at school thought the same. Instead of receiving immunity for having The Mother as the principal, I received hatred and backlash. Like it was my fault that The Mother was like this. The Mother and I had a complicated relationship back then. Nowadays, we only talk to each other over a phone call looking through glass. That orange jumpsuit always disturbed me. A constant reminder of what she did. Ever since Dad left, The Mother had always been harsh and taken her anger out on me. I tried to get out of the house as much as possible just so I didn’t have to feel her wrath. She’d find me usually hanging out at Emily’s house. The car ride home was always a silent trip of tension. Tension you could cut with a knife. The Mother loved the Cavemen. Not because she liked them as people, of course. But because she could always have a reason to put them in detention. Nearly every day, for 6 years straight, the Cavemen were in the detention room, after school, from 3 to 4 o’ clock. I was always there, too, but not as a punishment. Generally, The Mother made me wait in there so she could finish some paperwork. The Cavemen were always seated in the same 4 seats: The back left corner, front left corner, front right corner, and back right corner. As if they wanted the full scope of their surroundings. There were a few other kids in there occasionally, but normally it was just the Cavemen. Rivs sat in the front right corner, which was closest to the door. Yet he was always the last person out of the room. Another terrifying aspect of his personality. Like he needed his presence to still be in the room. The Mother’s office was right next to the detention room, so she had a window built that let her see into the room while she worked. As if there weren’t cameras all throughout the building. That was something else. The Mother loved security. Hell, she even had an affair with security guard Joe Bartley. That’s probably why Dad left us. Joe’s my stepdad now, but I’ll never call him “Dad.” The guy’s not a good person, constantly smoking, swearing, and hollering at The Mother. He’d get drunk and have hangovers at Eden’s, the local bar. Sometimes he’d get home but not make it inside. Just laid down and slept on the front steps. I’ve always hated him. But if there was something I guess I could give him credit for was his strength. He was much stronger than the Cavemen, which is probably how he easily carried their unconscious bodies downstairs, one by one. Maybe, if The Mother never inherited her deceased father’s fortune, or hadn’t been best friends with a pharmacist, or had an affair with a rough n’ tough wannabe gangster security guard or become a principal of a high school where 4 bullies ran the school, then maybe those 4 bullies would still be alive today, and maybe I wouldn’t feel responsible for not preventing their deaths. The last thing The Mother spoke to me was this chilling sentence: “Today’s the day.”

I’ve been avoiding the big reveal of what killed the Cavemen this whole time because it was truly sickening when I first discovered it. But I’ve finally mustered up the courage to reveal to the world the answer. It was August 2nd, 2005. My birthday, to be exact. I had a big party at my house and needed to get more beer from the cooler in the basement. Mother was out with colleagues and Joe was off drinking his dinner. There were maybe 50 people at this party. We were breaking all kinds of laws, underage drinking, destruction of property, etc. I never liked the basement. It was always too dark and too cold down there. The air smelled like damp bed sheets with a hint of mold. The stairs were old, wooden, and very unstable. There was this constant fear of them breaking beneath my feet and me crashing to the ground. The concrete ground was cracked and eroded, and the brick walls seemed like they’d been there forever. I went over to the cooler. It was against a wooden shelf that had been in the basement ever since we bought the house. It never moved, never had anything on it except for old cans of paint and jars of glue. I never thought that it was anything else but paint and glue. I bumped into the shelf. The wall opened. I shit you not, the wall opened. It was like a secret passage from Clue. The passageway was very dark. But I was curious, so I got a flashlight and adventured inside. The tunnel didn’t go down, but straight ahead. I was walking forward in darkness for 7 minutes. Written on the walls in red paint or maybe even blood was “Today’s the day,” over and over. It was only 4 feet tall and 2 feet wide, so walking is an overstatement. More like shuffling and occasionally crawling. I knew I was approaching the end when I saw a faint, yellow light. Upon arriving, I was in another basement. The basement of the house next door. The house next door was abandoned and run-down for as long as Patty’s father was mayor. And that was nearly 15 years. There were lanterns that hung on the ceiling, about 3 of them. I turned to the left. I’d found them. The Cavemen. They were hung up on the wall, each of them next to each other. They were bound by their wrists and ankles in large chains with their arms held up above their heads. A table was in the middle of the room, wooden and filthy. It smelled so putrid I had to cover my mouth and nose. I could taste the smell of suffering. I’d finally found hell. Each of the Cavemen were wearing nothing but dark grey shorts. The shorts had the school’s logo on them, a brown bear with a yellow cap. These were the school’s gym shorts. The walls and floor around them were stained with dried substances. Later, it was found out that it was a mix of multiple fluids and substances. I could only make out the dried blood on the wall, but authorities later discovered other body fluids. It was repulsive. Each Caveman was lined up against the wall in order of the letter cut onto their chest. G for Grub, R for Rivs, O for Oog, and T for Tor. Grot. Latin for cave. Each of the boys had bags covering their faces, and it was tied tight around their necks. There were many deep cuts and lacerations all over their bodies, and one large gash was on each of their necks. Blood poured from all of them, as if these injuries were recent. It spilled down their legs and dripped onto the floor in massive puddles. Jars upon jars were aligned on a rusty metal shelf nearby, each labeled with what they were filled with. I’ll leave you to decide what was in those jars. I can’t get the image out of my head. They were crucified, violated. Hung up like heavy sacks of meat. After standing there frozen, I ran. I ran up the steps and out of the dilapidated house. I ran over to my house and kicked everyone out. I ran to the police station, which was 2 miles away, and explained everything. I ran out of breath and collapsed on the station floor. I ran out of words to say. I ran away from the crime scene. I ran to my dad’s house, on the other side of town. I ran into his arms. I ran from the past and must confront it now. I ran from the truth. I don’t think that there are any words left to say. Terrible people did terrible things. That’s the truth.

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I’m very aware of the many people who may not believe this confession. But I can assure you, it’s all true. I’ve never fully recovered from that night. Every night when I go to sleep, I have nightmares of the four of them. Hung up on the wall like animal carcasses. The disgusting wooden table. The many rusted and stained tools and many jars and jars of unidentified substances. I can’t get the image of that basement out of my head. I can’t get the putrid scent out of my nose. I can’t get that horrible taste of horror out of my mouth. I’ve kept this a secret from everyone until this point. The only people who know this before I’ve written this are the policemen I told. Not even the party guests found out. They were told there was a gas leak. I wish there was. That way the disturbing remains of whatever happened in that basement could be struck with a match and burnt away. I went to their memorial that weekend. It wasn’t raining or anything. But many people were there. Victims, family, and very few friends. I was there, too. Way in the back. I didn’t listen to the grieving families’ sobs and speeches. I was thinking about Mother. About how she could do such a thing. Sure, the Cavemen were no angels, but they didn’t deserve what was done to them. I was informed a week prior to me writing this letter that Mother is going to be let out soon. Today’s the day. I can’t live with myself, having a horrible parent like that in my life. You may think that this is the coward’s way out, but I don’t care. I’m going to run away from it all. I’ll change cities, get a new identity. Nobody will ever find me. By the time you finish reading this, I’ll already be gone. Nobody knows where I’m going. Nobody will realize that I’m gone. So, I’m sorry, but this is goodbye. Rest in peace to the Cavemen.

-Tristan Romero