Page 51 of Anathema

I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth to stifle the acids burning the back of my throat, and tiptoed toward his hiding spot. Tucked in the corner of the shed, behind a stack of crates, Raivox sat hunched over himself, that disgusting sound louder than before. Movement flickered in my periphery, and I turned to see the stretch of intestines slithering across the ground into the little beast’s mouth. A glance toward the carcass showed the striped head of what I was certain was Agatha’s beloved tabby, Baxter.

Oh, no.

“What have you done?” I whispered, staring at the poor, unwitting thing. Not that I had much love for the feral little monster that tore up my legs with its claws, but if Agatha suspected I had any connection to its death, she’d probably tear me up with her claws. “Birds don’t eat cats. It’s the other way around.”

After minutes of my listening to those wet, masticating sounds, the murdering little creature stumbled, clearly engorged, and I glanced back at the severed head.

“No, no. You can’t leave that behind. You need to eat the whole thing and never eat a pet again, understand? Rats in the house are one thing, but we do not eat pets.” With a shove of my boot, I guided the severed head over to him, the repulsion of it all winding my gut in knots. “Eat it.”

Raivox hobbled over to the cat head and sank his teeth into the side of its face.

Instead of ripping away a chunk, he tottered to the side and let out a long, groaning sound, as if too full to take another bite.

“You must eat it! You can’t just leave her cat’s head lying about, or it’ll be my head rolling on the floor next!” I pushed the head toward him again, but he swatted it away with a clawed foot.

Oh, no. I’d have to bury the damn thing, or risk her finding it. While Agatha wandering into the shed was rare, she had gone in on occasion, for God knew what.

Swallowing a hard gulp, I bent down to lift the head off the ground with the very tips of my fingers, avoiding the bloody threads of meat that hung beneath it, and padded toward the shed’s door. The mere sight of it tugged a gag from my throat en route, but I swallowed back the urge to vomit.

Beyond the cracks in the wood, an obscure figure passed by, and on a quiet gasp, I froze.

If someone saw the severed head, I’d surely be punished. I winced at the last punishment to which Agatha had subjected me, when I’d been forced to clean out the abdominal cavity buckets for Uncle Felix. I swore I’d never do anything to earn that awful task again.

“Damned bird,” I whispered through clenched teeth, desperately trying to swallow back the gurgling sickness climbing my throat as I clutched the head.

Once the figure had passed where the cracks in the door were widest, I couldn’t discern whether, or not, they’d kept on, or still stood on the other side. With the cat’s head precariously dangling at my side, I padded closer, listening. A chittering noise from behind steeled my muscles, and I turned to see Raivox hobbling toward me on all fours.

“No!” I whispered, waving him off with my hand. “Back to your corner.”

He paused, head tilted as if confused.

A rattling of the door handle sent me spiraling into mindless panic, and I tossed the cat’s head to my right, where it rolled beneath a dilapidated wagon used to transport bodies to the nearby graveyard.

As the door swung open, I held my breath, wiping the animal’s blood on my dark skirt. Uncle Riftyn stood in the doorway, one of his hand-rolled cigarettes propped between his lips. As he removed it, he blew off the smoke, and his lips curved to a smile.

“What are you doing out here, Maevyth?”

I gave a furtive glance over my shoulder, and exhaled a breath of relief when I didn’t see Raivox standing there. “I thought I might’ve heard something in here. An animal.”

“An animal? I should check to make sure it isn’t rabid.” He stepped closer, farther into the shed, and my pulse hastened as I fought the urge to glance toward the discarded head.

“I searched. There was nothing. I was just leaving to head up for lunch.”

With a smile, he tipped his head. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, actually. Alone. About your sister.”

Oh, no. Then wasn’t the time for that conversation. Certainly not with him. “I’m actually really hungry.”

“She’s worried,” he said, ignoring me. “You know Aleysia. Protective. She thinks a man like Moros will ruin a pretty innocent thing like yourself.” I doubted that was the most pressing issue on my sister’s mind, which left me wondering if she’d lied about telling him about the baby. Or maybe he just didn’t give a damn.

He lifted a lock of my hair, letting it slip between his fingers. “She’s sick, thinking about him forcing himself inside your tight, virgin cunt.”

“I’d venture to say my sister doesn’t think about those things.” As I skirted him for the door, he grabbed my arm, sending off alarms inside my head.

“I could ease you into it.” A wire of shock snapped my back straight, and as if sensing it, his grin widened, and he released me. “Only if you wanted me to, that is.”

The urge to scream at him ripped at the back of my throat. That he could say these things to me, while my sister fretted over the child he shared inside of her. Even if she hadn’t yet told him, what sickening audacity that he could proposition me so crudely. “You are my uncle.”

“Step-uncle. We’re not even blood related.”

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