It was a call that came through like a siren blaring, short and rapid, at an ungodly hour. A time at night when the cicadas would hum with the fireflies that would dance in tune to their music. One that you knew that nothing good was waiting at the other end of that line.
There was laughter during the small birthday party, my little one was already covered in confection despite being five years old. It was a habit she never really grew out of embracing the cake like a long-lost friend. Her mother always tried to tell her to be a lady during such celebrations, trying to grow her into a spitting image of her. I didn’t mind letting the rules slide during her birthday. Her cherubic grin was sprinkled in mashes of white frosting and yellow cake. Her smile faltered just as mine did at the sound of the phone. My hard-worked hands rubbed the thick brown curls to ease her mind, though both of our smiles were uneasy. The phone’s ringing sounded like a hurricane siren to us both; telling us to rush to safety.
My wife made no motion to acknowledge the ring that had interrupted our night. I didn’t realize she was near me until she leaned down to finish the job I had started. Her long, thin black hair hid her irritation as she joined in to clean up our child. My daughter hissed in pain from the quickness of the motions, her skin becoming red as the cake was rubbed away.
The phone rang a second time giving no time to ignore the first call. The clanging urgency of the sound was so clear that the gentle thrum of rock a bye baby played was completely lost to it.
I sat up to finally address the unwanted visitor. I tried to play it off like nothing was wrong despite the clamminess that grew against my skin and mouth. Fear bloomed with a mix of adrenaline that spiked as I reached for the nuclear red rotary phone in the next room. The one that sparkled like new, despite the inches of dust that covered the wooden pedestal upon which it sat. I picked up the receiver, expecting it to weigh just as heavy as the stress of my soul. It swung easily from the resting place, kicking up a pillow of dust as I pressed it to my ear.
“It’s time.” I heard my father’s voice at the other end of the line. His stoic tenure shook from the message. With all the simplicity of a shut door, the call ended with the pit in my stomach boiling over into nervousness. I sucked in a breath and immediately started to cough from all the dust that settled over the room. The receiver was put into place, navigating the haze as I moved back into the party room.
The lovingly crafted birthday party, depicting various pastel unicorns, had lost all wonder when I returned. The gleam in my daughter’s eyes that was all pride and excitement had dimmed. Her cheeks were redder than when I left the room and smelled of salt.
My knees felt weak with the news, so I went to the wooden chair we were using to hold Melody’s birthday gifts. I moved them to the floor before sitting upon the creaky ancient thing. Gesturing to my child, she wasted no time coming closer to where I sat. I opened my arms enveloping my little one in a tight hug. The child sniffled a few times burying her face into my chest as I stroked her hair.
“Daddy,” she moaned with a wet sniffle as she held to me as tightly as her little body could. As if trying to use her birthday wish to make me stay.
“I’m sorry Mels,” I whispered, making sure the words that I spoke could only be heard by the little one. “Be strong for Mommy. Be extra strong for Daddy. And when I call for you on that phone back there, just know that I do that because I love you. We’ll see each other again someday.” Melody nodded with each instruction taking to heart our conversation.
“I’ll make you proud of me, Daddy,” Melody answered back muffled with her face pressed within my chest.
My wife could already sense what the discussion could be and refused to look at me. The blank stare on her face erupted into silent tears of anguish and rage. I was used to these tantrums from her when something didn’t go her way. The tears were so well-timed that the trains could be run on better schedules with her emotions.
“Why did it have to be today of all days?” Tamara asked, heaving bitter sobs through sorrow-tightened lips. She closed the gap between us extending a razor-tight grip upon my arm. A wisp of tobacco that I recognized from her brand of cigarettes tickled my senses, and her eyes were darkened by the threat of her world coming apart.
It was apparent she too, didn’t want me to leave. The face was nostalgic and cruel and would do no better at keeping me in place than a wet paper bag would keep out the rain. She hated these talks that I had with our daughter about my eventual leaving or why.
“No time would have been a good time.” I refuted back, offering no soothing emotions to calm my wife’s tantrum. I broke her grip on my arm as I turned my attention to my daughter. I could feel the sting of her heat-filled stare caused by the callous coldness that I displayed to her. Tamara’s jealousy burned furiously with my neglect of her, though I really couldn’t care less what she thought of me.
“I’m sorry,” I offered instead of comforting words, though Tamara knew. It was the same reason she always tried to interrupt the time I had set aside to teach Melody about our roles within our family. How much she’d sneer at me for wanting to start target practice with Melody crying that she was still too young.
My wife was wearing short sleeves, showing the different needle welts healing; to show her progression towards being sober. Her thin frame was filling out to finally give some shape to the bean-pole figure that she’d had since I met her. Tamara had worked hard to show how much of a wonderful mother to our child she could be, terrified I’d toss her out like so many others have done.
Moving Melody to the side; I reached out to give my wife an apology hug. Tamara initially refused the embrace, her head turned to the side, trying to show her resolve. However, she soon melted into my arms, sniffling a little bit and clinging to me as if she depended on it. My hands pressed against her neck and held her close so that the sticky tears joined Melody’s. Both of my girls’ tears stained my clothing as I squeezed them gently and without remorse, inhaling their mingling perfume of tobacco and sugar.
“Daddy, are you going?” Melody asked with the same sadness in her tone that Tamara held. “Please stay.”
I reached down, caressing the top of her head with the same fatherly affection I’ve shown since she was an infant. The birthday party soon shared the same somber energy that I was leaving the two of them in Unicorned-themed depression if there was ever a word for it. The cheeriness of the pink transformed into bitter goodbyes.
Melody knew she would have to wait. Tamara knew at least this much why when I chose to be with her. That a phone call would come and disrupt the small world we had built together. It was hard to convince her to have a child in these circumstances, but nature prevailed when other preventive measures failed. I always told her that she’d make a wonderful mother; one that will help our child in the exact way needed in my world.
I kissed my wife goodbye with a soft peck on the cheek though she wanted much more. I released her as I did to my daughter. My shirt held two dark spots soaked with tears and perfume. I would probably have to change my shirt before I went, there couldn’t be any more reminders of this life. I gave them both a passing glance as I stood up from the chair and headed into the kitchen.
The pots and pans still sat by the sink, waiting for me to clean them. The same sugary swill filled the room and muted the birthday theme outside. Tamara did her best to keep a good kitchen, but there wasn’t much she could do with a hyperactive five-year-old. I smiled at the small child’s handprints shimmering against the periwinkle paint along the ground. It seemed to follow the path that I was looking for specifically until it came to rest upon the small drawer. The sugary trail was like playing a game of candy land.
I opened the drawer, seeing the metal blue lockbox inside that I knew like the back of my hand. The key wasn’t far behind, hidden up against the top of the drawers with some magnets. The answer was revealed as it was plucked from its hiding place; the lock on the box undoing with a soft click.
The metal box had a pistol inside that I had maintained every week since I was old enough to read. Something my father had taught me just like the rising of the sun every morning; needed to be done so that our jobs were made easier. It was something that Melody was beginning to have a little bit of interest in, watching me take it out every Sunday. The oils gleamed as I lubricated and shined every facet of the weapon before putting it back into the container.
Since it was our family treasure, in addition to making sure it was maintained we would also practice on empty soda cans in the backyard until the sun started to go down. A tradition I was hoping to continue with Melody after her birthday.
I held the sliver of my dad’s memories so tight in my hand that the cold metal left a small imprint of bruising on the inside of my palm. With rote precision, I double-checked to make sure it was loaded and then went out through the living room, moving to the flimsy patio door.
A car was waiting outside, an old rust-colored Buick with the familiar silhouette of my uncle Chris sitting in the driver’s seat. The man looked about the same when I met him when I was younger; wrinkles creased into the folds of his skin, belaying his old age. Greying hair around his temples with the salt and pepper look with the beard to finish his timeless features. Dead brown eyes seemed to swallow his fake smiles.
I turned near the creaking door to take a look at my girls. I could offer more words of wisdom to them, especially Tamara, who looked as if a stiff wind could break her apart. I could have offered meaningless platitudes but I merely waved. I did all I needed to before. They couldn’t even look at me as the car started off the driveway, their two hands linked so tight that they were almost white.
I went in easily towards Chris who was watching me with a blank stare from the driver’s seat. I opened up the passenger door and slid into the car that had the same smell of tobacco and body odor. It lingered upon the air and I gratefully took in the secondhand smoke to cut the edge of my anxiety. As soon as I clicked my seatbelt in, Chris moved the car forward rounding the corner of the driveway towards the road.
I gazed at the figures of my family turning my head to view them as we drove out. Just like the sun, I watched them slink into the horizon as night swam covering them in endless shadows.
~-~
The atmosphere in the car was as quiet, though I was thankful there was no more crying that could cut me. The stillness engulfed me, softening my senses and dulling my emotions. It kept stripping me of feeling until the only thing I could sense was the weight of the pistol in my coat pocket.
Chris drove smoothly along the unpaved back roads, weaving at a reasonable pace. It had been ages since I had seen him, since before my father had left, and it had been even longer since we had even driven together. I remember times when I was younger when he’d take me out for ice cream or to people-watch at the small downtown square during the seasonal parades. Times that he made sure were secret between a grown man and a young child. As I grew older; he seemed to fade and grow less interested in our time together.
Some hastily wrapped presents in the same unicorn shiny motif in the back caught my eye in the passenger mirror. He’d be taking my place after he dropped me off, just as he did when my father left.
“I’m sure Melody and Tamara will enjoy your presence there. Maybe something to bring back their moods.” My voice is level and even as the car turns towards the north.
“I hope she doesn’t have the toy I got her.” Chris offers with a shrug. “There wasn’t much of a selection at the gas station.”
“It’s okay, it’s probably better than the one you got me when I was younger.”
Chris laughed as he recalled that day. “Yeah, I think you were about nine when I came around. It was just after your birthday I think. I got you some tools and wrapped them up with newspaper. I don’t think anything was open at the time.” His voice dragged a little as he sighed. “It was just something, Noel.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the comment about “something”. The toolset was something to ease the sting of what happened to me. In an odd twist of fate, it was almost the same as what happened earlier with Melody and I’s birthday. The call came through on the tiny red phone so early in the morning that the birds hadn’t even chirped yet.
I knew of the duty that my father had but the fact of the matter didn’t happen until I heard the sound of the telephone. It always seemed to be a time that was spoken about but seemed to be a legend; just a fable to tell a lesson. I didn’t think at the time it was true. I was still so tired in my pajamas that the hug I got from him felt like a dream. So painful and raw that I’m sure Melody was feeling the same ache. My mother spread lies that I wasn’t good enough to keep him next to us for longer. It wasn’t the truth, obviously but it helped my mother deal with her grief. It was only a year after he left that she passed away from an overdose.
One that I’m sure would define Tamara in the coming days. The question was if she’d stay alive longer than my mother.
It’d be a few hours at least until we got to our destination, and I was okay with it being silent. I let the long stretch of road lull me as the scenery started to change. The sparseness of the fields interjected with towering trees with weaved branches. The forest became more pronounced than the fields, growing thicker together in a wave after each pass of the mile marker. A project our family put together in times past, planting trees of various types every year and expanding on the land we owned to provide natural visibility. The paved roads were intentional to direct people into a scenic drive around our property and away from anything that would cause any suspicions.
Various “no trespassing” signs marked the true path of the forest as the car drove deeper along with one of the paved roads. The packed pines and oaks twisted together in an archway, guiding the car forward in a steady hum. Over time, the smooth lane turned into bumpy soil which tested the car’s suspension.
There was a faint noise that crested over the roar of the engine. It sounded like a muffled scream. Chris reached over to turn on the car stereo, louder than what seemed to be necessary. He must have heard what I did displacing the notion that it may have been a hallucination. The music was fast-paced that drowned out my thoughts. My stomach greeted me with nausea from the curving of the roads as well as the manic pixie dream music. Despite me wanting to open the window in the car to get some fresh air, I remained in my suffering from poor music and never-cold-enough air conditioning.
The noises were masked only for a short while until we were closer to the destination. The howling sounded again, a cacophony of wailing that crawled up my arm, chilling the blood in my veins. As Chris moved his hand to crank the music up once more, another burst of the unspecified screeching moved once moreover us. The steering wheel was gripped so tightly by my uncle that I could swear he was trying to cut off the circulation in his hands.
“It’s not your burden to take, Chris,” I added calmly, cutting through all of the noise with surgical precision. I was surprised at how clean my voice was, how devoid of emotion.
“It doesn’t mean I still have to listen to it,” the man offered in tough rebuttal, taking in slow haggard breaths against the bluster outside. The setting sun cloaked the unpaved road in so many shadows that they felt alive.
The obsidian illusion masked the tightly woven oaks and trees until they seemed to resemble the screeching souls that I heard. Each tree branch reached out to our small car to impede our journey. Warped wood of long flowing hair and thin gaunt males with fingertips so long to scratch morse code upon the Buick. The woods themselves hint at the idea of a person through each turn and wail.
The shrieks themselves, with a little bit of good fortune, didn’t seem to get any louder the closer we got. Chris turned off the radio, finding the music adding no more to the situation. His demeanor was pallid as his hands were still tightly gripped upon the steering wheel. A fine mist covered the air, obscuring our vision, but the bright headlights that Chris turned on earlier cut through the mist with ease.
The cacophony of anguish seemed to be at a constant rhythm until the road ended after rolling through the fogged arbor. Chris stopped the car, the strum of the engine idling against the repeated wailing in the air. My uncle turned to me and then reached over to press his hand upon my thigh briefly with a warmth that took me back to my time as a child. If I already wasn’t cold, the action alone would have done enough to take me there.
“Take care of my family.” I whispered to the man as I moved out of the car. He gave me a knowing nod to me and turned around to go back towards my home.
I watched the car leave, its tail lights fluttering in the dark like fireflies. I didn’t know how to feel coming up here alone; the yelling became like white noise as I walked up the path. I came to an entryway that would direct me to where the family’s secrets lay. The entrance was marked with two large steel posts that originated from almost the 15th century, with brass tacks and fluid arcane symbols. If someone had managed to get this far, this barrier would stop anyone. The secrets themselves of how they were put together were unknown but it seemed to be something that reacted to my family’s blood. The locks wavered as I brushed my fingers instinctively over the grooves. They fluttered with an electric hum as I stepped through; feeling the atmosphere change. My lips and fingertips tingled as I continued.
~-~
I knew I was getting closer to my destination as the same closely knit trees started to strip themselves of vibrancy. The steady patchwork of wood and roots drained by the shadowy veil of the magics obscuring the area.
Though the moon was full and clear, it was shadowed by the ghastly gigantic hand spreading over the walkway. The image of it was so stark that I almost doubled back to make sure I had touched the right runes. My heart started and then slowed as I reminded myself that if I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have heard the screams clearer now. The change of volume shaking the white noise of the torment in the background; just like the giant hand in the sky.
It was hard to imagine missing such a mysterious piece of anatomy, but that was the beauty of the trees that were planted over millennia by my clan. It was supposed to hide the lapses when things weren’t quite as they should be. Events like this happen from time to time even when you take all the precautions in the world. You could have a codebook on how to handle pandemics, and still, misplace it when you need it the most.
I found myself looking upwards towards the gigantic palm which was a change of scenery from the endless maze of trees.
It was smooth as if filled with helium through all the grooves of the fingertips and palm were visible. The flesh was taut, shining from within, glittering like diamond dust spread against the skin. It seemed to be in a place frozen like an afterimage of light, reaching towards anything it may grip onto. If it desired, it could slam its palm upon any stadium and crush it effortlessly.
The length of the arm connected to the hand seemed to lift from the innards of the rickety house. The appendage emerging from the foundation tried to claw the rest of its humongous body from wherever it came. I bit my tongue looking at the ghoulish sight until I tasted the tinge of blood, swallowing the fear as far as I could make it. I had to become a silent viewer; a passenger upon the many horrible deeds that lay before me. I let the unease flow through me or else it threatened to swallow me whole.
I walked along as if taking a stroll as the shadow of the hand covered me. I became like the fly walking along with the countertop, unsure if it was to live or to be smashed into bits. I was invading this thing’s space even though the home had been in the family for generations. The person that lived there kept up immaculate housework; despite the angry monument of a god above me, I kept my eyes on the detailing as I came closer and closer to the home in question. It wasn’t fancy by any means: a one-story gothic house made with real stones and masonry.
A flash of color caught my eye as I sidestepped a fresh mark upon the bloodstained granite. The chisel upon the side was covered with the same gore that dotted the pathway. How would my father be so careless? It was hard to tell exactly when the accident occurred with the shadow of the giant obscuring the details. The blood wasn’t exactly fresh but the trail led toward the door of the home.
I tried to blot out the newer details as I became much closer to the alien existence. It teased the outline of its face with eyes that seemed fathomless, staring at me with intense hatred. I didn’t even notice the thrum of screaming that was still present, though the sight of the monstrosity was enough to steal the breath from my lungs. It wasn’t anything that I wasn’t aware of, anything I wasn’t already told about, but to see it for myself was always different than hearing stories of it. It could never do it justice to the sheer terror that illuminated every orifice of the giant elder thing. I shook my head as I started upon the stone steps, reaching the heavy set double doors with the same flourishes of arcane delight upon the entrance.
The door wasn’t locked, as it followed the same locking mechanism as the way onto this path. I entered the home easily after giving my blood again, feeling the same whooshing as I adjusted to the new atmosphere. I closed the door behind me, banishing the giant threat of the god behind me. The vision of a crushing shadow no more than an open door away.
~-~
The same magical defenses spread out from the other side of the door frame, pulsing with magic and keeping everything as secure as we could make it. The inlay within the home with the gold accented filigree serves to funnel the echoes of power that this prison held. Anyone with half a brain could figure out the power that leeched upon every corner of the granite that spread out through the masonry to create something divine.
The screaming which had become as seamless to me as my inner monologue buzzed like white noise though the volume had increased. I could feel the home shifting just ever so slightly as the giant continued to pry itself from within the ancient earth.
Now within the house, I realized that there wasn’t just one voice but several. As I moved towards the first bend from the entryway, I realized why the voices were so loud and persistent.
Visions of pressed silhouettes, bodies entrenched within the walls of all races and creeds. People that I should have known but didn’t hold any emotion towards. Their mouths opened in a howling rictus that I realized was the resting place for thousands of souls. Their pallid features that should have been long since decayed were preserved as if freshly passed on. Their mouths were in unison, producing the scream that I had heard miles away. Thankfully there was no smell as their corpses had somehow been preserved in their gruesome state.
One particular body was sideways within the brick walls. Their body melted into the wall like water, their corpse screeching plentifully and strong. Their gaze was elsewhere, staring at some point in time that only they could see. Upon their person, a moment of impact shows how their life was snuffed out. For the one that I was staring at, a knife across the throat; the wound still fresh though lacking in blood. There were many similarities to the one that I had picked out; each in different directions–but all of them crying out.
In the keening, I could hear my father. The nurture of his voice was unmistakable and I drew upon it like a beacon. The figures shifted within the corner of my eye as I moved closer to his voice, the rage and hate barrelling in the chaos. His voice held all the emotion that I couldn’t bring myself to feel at this moment. I felt like a leaf caught within the depths of a tornado, floating helplessly as thousands of winds tugged me from one corner to another.
There was an oil lamp nearby waiting for me upon a small table where one of the wall lunacies crouched within the wall nearby. Perhaps that’s why it took so long for my eyes to adjust: because of the lack of light. The edge of their twitching foot almost knocked the apparatus off the table. I probably would have never noticed it if it wasn’t for the twitching corpse. I mentally thanked it as I eased the lamp into my hands, adjusting the flame so that the illumination of the halls would become clearer. The screams were merely a backdrop as I lifted it high into the air.
Closing my eyes, I focused on the pitch of my father’s voice. I tried to remember his laughter and the words he spoke to me in all of my memories of him.
The same structure was rudimentary as I walked along the wooden floors. If there was any creaking, it was drowned out by the yelling that echoed along the wake. Forefathers of those that took my father’s job before him. My fingers brushed against the brick, feeling the ridges of each patch, grazing over open-mouthed protectors now stuck in their neverending story. I opened my eyes and readjusted myself against the threat of noise; catching different faces that were faintly familiar to me, though I didn’t immediately recognize them.
But it didn’t matter, it was all about finding my father. His voice and the way that he used to speak to me during our twilight hours at our makeshift gun range. The steely tenure of his voice told me how proud of me he was. I could never forget that voice. It was all that kept me alive these passing years. My hurried steps were light and focused; I could feel the swinging of the gun inside my coat pocket.
The lengths of the hallways had more depth than what appeared on the outside to curious eyes. The machinations of whatever kept this thing in, and these bodies crying at the mere drop of a hat would explain it twisting what should have been two bedrooms and one bath into a maze of hallways. The arcane symbols glowed brightly, the same that dotted the entryway into the home containing just as much whatever was trying to break them. To say that I came in the nick of time was an understatement.
My father’s voice became more pronounced as I turned to the hallway that he had allowed himself to unravel. The nuclear red phone was nearby, sitting on the same wooden table that was present in my home. I wasn’t sure how he managed to be so calm with so much chaos was about, but it’s something we all train for. I could hear his pain and symphony of him so clearly amidst the orchestra of voices around me. It was hard to believe that I was able to proceed this far with just a note on things, but I could never forget him. It was something I always kept so close to my heart.
I wanted to think that my next meeting with my father whom I hadn’t seen in almost 20 years would be more advantageous. It’d be like a scene out of a movie where you embrace for what seems like forever. I wanted it to be picture-perfect as he held the very best of me when I needed him.
His appearance hadn’t changed much since the years from the last time that I saw him, which worked in his favor. I didn’t focus much on his face where the kindly yet cold eyes were twisted in a supernatural rictus of fear. No, my eyes were upon his hands, which now had melded into the brick. His left foot pressed into the earthen pool as his voice lumbered higher and higher while his right leg shook in terror. His clothes were jeans and a pressed blue shirt; the edge of it splattered with blood. His hair was stiff, slicked with sweat that mingled with the same salt and pepper-look that Chris sported. There was a mustiness about him that I recognized permeated the household. There wasn’t as much of a smell, though I now can say that it was the aroma of his fear. My father’s gaze was glassy and unfocused as all the others that shared the same experience.
It was then I realized all the people’s eyes were not on me no matter how much I was a new fixture in the home. The end of something no matter how much they lost themselves to the madness; tied to a duty grander than just living a simple life. It was pulling on them erasing the sleep that they endured and sacrificed.
Just like my dad had done and what I was expected to do.
I unconsciously gulped, feeling the lukewarm bile of my spit settle down into my stomach like a snail’s mucus slope. My clammy hands wound tightly against the relic of the gun in the side of my coat. Feeling the cool metal against my sweat-soaked skin, holding the trigger tightly as I wound and unwound my finger around the trigger. All while I stood there with the father that I loved so dearly.
The images of me and my father’s time together whirled like a rapid slide show. Shooting at cans until the sun went down in the backyard. His steady voice showed me how to breathe as I released the trigger to make the soda can fly off the shelf with a loud ting in the air. I tried to remember him as he once was with the little time we spent together. Strong and proud, not this scared husk of a man before me. In my mind the vision of him was telling me to be brave, asking me not to have any fear and to love him despite how absent he was. Something that I hope I provided to Melody for how little we had. My father’s fear was feeding whatever was trying to crawl out of its prison. I knew as much as anyone who took this job. The only way to stop it is to cut off whatever is feeding into it. Something that day had broken through that seal my father had built up to stem those emotions.
His scream came through like a punch as his body twisted once more within the insurmountable mortar. Something that he was gripping so tightly within his hands that I didn’t notice before fell out and hit the ground. I recognized the junior badge that he had gotten for me a year before he was called to this place. It wasn’t anything specific, just a plastic five-point star badge from old westerns that was covered in cheap copper reflective paint. It was something he always called me when I had completed the gun targets, “his little sheriff”. I remember him getting it for me after my birthday, slipping it to me when he thought my mother wouldn’t notice.
Honestly, I thought I had lost it so many years ago that I didn’t realize that he had broken the rules even though he put them within my head. You must leave everything behind, all that matters is this place and your duty. My father always had a soft spot for me and he lasted about as much as he could. No one can truly cut off all their emotions, there are always some that leak through like wind through a closed door.
I didn’t immediately reach down and grab the fallen treasure, instead of bringing out the pistol that I was cradling in my left hand. I removed it from its hiding place, the irony of the star as I glanced up at my father like the giant unmoving target he was. There was no time to waste upon gentle memories or nostalgia, because they could become poison, overtaking everything in me before I even had a chance to cure it. My father became in my mind just like one of those soda cans and before I knew it, I was slowly breathing in and out.
In and out.
And then squeezing the trigger.
It was louder than I remember and was a welcomed change to the howls that swirled around me. The bang erupted from the small thing like a sword cutting through all of the noise with its finality of death. My father’s body flopped like landlocked fish, blood oozing down the front of his shirt where the bullet had entered. Hopefully, it would be a quick death but you can’t tell with these things. I waited a bit more, wondering if I should shoot again as the silence wasn’t immediate. Thankfully over time, it seemed to change from a tormented hellscape to uneasy quietness, shedding the chaotic nature of the room.
I watched with reserved awe as the previous caretakers that were stuck in their hellish fever got sucked back up into the walls, the surfaces smoothing over as if they never existed in the first place. It was clear that my father had been feeding the entity, causing all of the events. The shape of the corridors melting back to their normal dimensions as the once large expansive halls returned to the quaint one-story home. My father went in like the rest, with no prompt or reason, as his life’s purpose was done. Hopefully, the dreams that followed were less filled with hatred and fear.
I waited for what seemed to be hours before reaching down to pick up the toy star. The reflective paint had worn off on the ordinary thing in a stripe that I didn’t notice until now. I imagined my father doing it to comfort himself during long days when things proved to be too much. I would probably have to destroy it first thing in the morning. I couldn’t make the same mistake.
I just wished I had more time. There was so much more to teach my daughter before she’d take my place. How to shoot a gun and care for it. The heirloom would get to her eventually once Chris came back to pick up the few things I left behind.
Her mother would also help with things, probably blaming the little one for all the attention I didn’t give her while I was there. Just like my mother did to me.
Tamara was just a means to an end, I didn’t care who I picked. She was desperate for normalcy and as long as I could give her anything she desired, it was easy to convince her to go along with whatever I wanted. Just enough attention until I got myself an heir. Heavy drug addicts will do that once their source goes out, and Chris will probably be more than happy to provide as she spirals.
Chris will also teach Melody the rules and abuse her in a different way than what Tamara is currently doing now. Teach her about her place and what her family line means.
Hopefully, the torment will drive the emotion from her to allow her to survive in this special home. Maybe she’ll find a partner and provide an heir before she is called to do her duty. I’ll give her as much time so that she can fulfill all the things that I was cut short. This thing lives on emotions and we need to protect this world from that. It takes a special kind of abuse to kill that within you.
I just hope Melody will remember who I am. So when she is called to fulfill her birthright; she can take the very same gun that I’ll leave her and kill me as her last act of love.
As is our tradition.