Our children can creep us out.
There are two types of parents: those who openly agree with the above statement, and liars.
I love my son. I’m proud of him. Yadda, yadda. We say the same shit about all of our quirky friends and family.
Damien pushes the envelope, though.
“Can I have some sheep’s blood, Dad?”
I tried to hide my disdain. “Why sheep’s blood, son?”
“Because the incantation asks me to mix sheep’s blood with the lion semen.”
“Ah.” I rolled back and forth on my feet.
“Dad?”
“Hm?”
“Do you have any lion semen?”
These conversations were the norm. I envied parents who lamented having the sex talk with their preteens. I wish that my son was awkward in a normal way. I wish that his conversations involved his own semen.
I’m not sure what disturbed my sleep last night. All I know is that I found myself wide awake at nineteen minutes after one, three hours after I’d gone to bed.
I knew that something downstairs had awakened me, but I didn’t know why.
So I was on edge as I crept down the steps, heart racing as I tried to stop myself from imagining what I might find there. All sensible consideration told me that I should just turn on the lights, but my gut said that would be a terrible idea, and I couldn’t bring myself to override the feeling. That’s why I crept through the house with only muddled moonlight to guide my footsteps.
I stood by the edge of the living room and took a deep, steadying breath that did nothing to quell my shaking. Closing my eyes, I told myself that nothing could reasonably warrant my apprehension.
I was wrong. Stepping around the corner, I found my own living room to be foreign as it sat awash in moonlight.
Damien had clearly found the sheep’s blood. At least I hope the red designs painted on my walls had come from some sort of animal, because it would take an entire human’s supply to produce that quantity of blood. I recognized a sulfur symbol and a pentagram, but most of the bizarre shapes were entirely unknown to me. Their sharp, drippy angles made my skin crawl.
I stared at the floor to see that plenty of other skin had already begun its march. A hairless flesh pelt lay crumpled in the center of the room. I grew more longing but less optimistic that no humans had been harmed in the preparation of this terrible sight.
I wobbled on my feet.
Something shiny stood out. I looked to the middle of the room and saw moonlight reflecting off a mason jar filled with eyes.
Whoever had removed them had done a crisp, clean job.
I leaned forward to vomit, but had to stop. Extending my head into the room was like slipping deep underwater: the pressure in my ears forced me back.
I stepped away, only to hear a squishing noise as something pulled on my feet. A coppery smell told me that I had been standing in congealing blood.
I really wish I’d worn my slippers.
In a daze, I staggered back up the stairs. Yes, I should have cleaned everything up. Yes, I should have confronted Damien. Yes, I should have done more before rinsing my feet in the shower and crawling back under the covers.
But like I said, parents are human. I was scared, and I thought that closing my eyes and going to sleep would make the problems evaporate.
*
It didn’t work.
For five seconds, I felt like everything was fine. Then I was struck with that moment when a sleepy brain recalls that something is wrong, but can’t quite remember what.
Then I remembered Satan’s playground in my living room.
Chest hurting from my hammering heart, I got out of bed and picked my way downstairs in the morning light. The fear was mostly gone as I moved through my sun-soaked home. Partly gone. It didn’t matter, really, because everything hinged on what I would find in the living room. I held my breath and rounded the corner to discover-
Nothing. Everything seemed back in place.
I smiled and pretended that I didn’t notice the copper smell.
The relief did nothing to relax the tension in my chest, though. If anything, the pain worsened as I leaned closer to the living room. Without thinking, I lifted my t-shirt.
Three deep claw marks ran across my ribs. I tried to reason them as anything other than a malicious attack from a non-human while I was sleeping, but I’m not a good liar, even to myself.
The thing is, they appear to be non-animal as well. They burn when I walk past my sage plant.
Could tell me what the hell this is? Of course, part of me – a big part – doesn’t want to know.
I do realize that I have to confront Damien.
But the reality is that my kid creeps me out.