Page 67 of Grave Possession

The old me would’ve cowered, maybe turned and tried to run, only to get snatched up in the blink of an eye.

Not this time.

My hand swings up in an arc from my side, slicing the knife jaggedly through his jugular. This knife is clearly not as sharp as Nox’s. Arterial spray erupts from his throatlike a sprinkler, drenching everything in the small bathroom, including me. Grasping his injury, he drops to his knees, expiring in seconds. He collapses to the cheap linoleum floor with a thud, body sliding in the wetness, and feet sticking out of the doorway, alerting the other man in the house.

“Chris!” he hollers, heavy footfalls making their way towards me. Peeking out around the corner, I see a massive linebacker of a man storming in my direction. His dark, shoulder length hair sways side to side as his onyx eyes narrow on me. I jump over the lifeless body lying in the threshold, and take off down the hallway. I do not want to be cornered in the small bathroom with him. The man’s pace increases until he’s almost close enough to grab me. I dart into another room at the end of the hallway, rushing to close the door behind me. His hulking form slams into it, sending me flying backwards and thudding onto the floor. The screwdriver flies from my grip but I hold tight to the knife, slipping it under my thigh to hide it. He towers over me, a heaving beast of a man, ready to rip my throat out with his bare hands. “Who are you?” he snarls as I try to inch away.

He brings his booted foot down hard on my ankle, pinning me in place as I cage my cry of pain behind my teeth. “Who sent you?” Twisting the tread of his boot farther into my skin and flaring pain anew, he waits for me to break.

“No one.” I mock whimper. Yes, this hurts, but I’ve endured so much worse than this poor attempt at torture.

“Keep talkin’, you’ve killed two of the Boss’s men,you’re lucky I don’t shoot you where you lay.” Could this be anymore cliché?

“I called Randy for weed, he tried to rape me, so I killed him.”

“You killed him? That sick shit was you?”

“He’s lucky I got interrupted before I cut off his dick, and shoved it up his ass,” I snark.

He assesses me, a glint of mirth shining in his eyes. I fight the urge to squirm out from under his scrutiny. His foot lifts off my ankle, “Get up. I’m taking you to see the Boss. He can decide what to do with you.”

I don’t fucking think so.

I didn’t escape one psycho only to be caged and controlled by another one. I rub my injured foot, rotating it, and buying myself valuable seconds of sympathy from the tower of a man in front of me. He extends a hand to help return me to shaky feet, and I accept, slipping my left hand into his. As he pulls me up, I fly into his chest, imbedding the knife blade deep into his gut. My hand, already slippery with his friend’s blood, slides up the handle of the utility knife from the force of my thrust. The blade cuts into my skin but the pain barely registers. With a flick of my wrist, I slice through the flesh of his abdomen, shredding apart his intestine.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I say, pulling the knife out, and watching as a waterfall of red pours from his injury. His eyes are saucers as he pushes me away, placing his palms over the wound to slow the flow of his leaking life-force. He glares at me, deciding whether to stay and fight or rush to emergency care. I smirk as the colour begins to fade from his face.

You won’t make it out the front door, sir.

The man turns, bloody hands smearing red over the bedroom door as he further opens it. His steps stagger, palms abandoning his abdomen to steady his stride against the wall. Does he really think he’ll get out of here alive? Adrenaline must be fuelling him as he stumbles towards the exit. He’s fading quicker than expected as I trail behind him menacingly. I must have nicked that big main artery.

He collapses inches away from the front entrance, and I crouch beside him, observing his final breaths. I feel no remorse, no shame, and absolutely no regret as I watch the light in his eyes dim. He wouldn’t have lived even if he made it to the hospital, I pierced his bowel. My aim was dead on, and even if I was unsure, the heavy smell of shit mixed with iron would’ve confirmed it.

Locking the front door to prevent any more interruptions, I recentre myself. My mind working like a checklist to absorb what happened tonight as I walk through the house, picking up my keys and both knives I used. My DNA is everywhere: skin cells, blood, hair. I’m going to have to burn this place down to get rid of it all.

Stripping, I leave my clothes in a bloody heap inside Randy’s bedroom. Quickly, I shower, cleaning the knives, my hair, and myself. I don’t want to smear my victims’ blood all over my car, and I definitely can’t risk running into Nox at home before I’ve had a chance to wash away the evidence. While cleansing the blood from my skin, and the bacteria that no doubt made its way into the cuts on my hand, I lose myself in the rhythmic sound of the water.

Did I seriously think smoking weed would help my trauma? What if I got a nasty batch that was laced and it killed me? What if it made my anxiety worse? Hiding it from Lennox would be enough to ruin any chance I had at a good time while high. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I had finally gotten away from these people, then I have one bad day and turn into my mother, looking for comfort in substance. The thought sickens me. I’m disgusted with myself, scrubbing my skin until it’s raw.

For a drug house, it’s surprisingly stacked with the things I need for first aid. I sanitize and wrap my hand, slipping latex gloves on as to not leave anymore blood or fingerprints.

I use the elastic on my wrist to throw my hair up into a bun as I search the house for new clothes. The grey baggy t-shirt and man’s jogging pants I find will have to do until I get home. I’ll get rid of them once I get there, along with the switchblade and utility knife. Dousing the shower in bleach from the kitchen, I hope to erase any lingering sign of my presence. I cover the bodies in drain cleaner that was hiding behind the toolbox in the bathroom, the corrosive chemicals working quickly to disintegrate the organic material.

It seems as though Randy was an avid collector of fancy lighters. In his room, I find a display case full of flint wheel lighters, shiny gold and silver ones adorned with a multitude of designs. Scooping up the many tiny cans of lighter fluid that are stacked at the bottom of the shelf, I start to squirt the flammable substance all over the house. Going from room to room, leaving an easy trail forthe flames to follow. I saturate the bodies and my pile of clothes, hoping nothing will be left behind for the police to find when they inevitably show up. I click on all four burners for the gas stove in the kitchen, skipping igniting the flame, so the gas leaks out into the atmosphere.

Turning, I head back to Randy’s room and grab a lighter. When I pick up a random silver one from the front, a matte black one with shiny black flames catches my eye. I scoop it up as well, inspecting it.How fitting.I could keep this instead of Randy’s chest bone. A lighter means nothing if Nox finds it, but I’d have a hell of a hard time explaining a bone to him, even if I have skulls and rearticulated animal skeletons as decor. I couldn’t lie to him if he asked where it came from, or why it wasn’t attached to another skeleton. He can read me like a book. It’s why I’ve cut myself off from him all day, he’ll hear the waver in my voice immediately. I pocket both lighters, scoop up my boots, and move to the window.

I slide the glass up in the frame, and very ungracefully try to climb out. The oversized black joggers snag on a protruding nail head, and while trying to free myself, I fall out of the window, thumping into the soft overgrown grass below. I brush myself off, and stuff my bare feet into the new, barely broken-in, blood-splattered combat boots Nox bought me. Mine haven’t been seen since my time at the cabin and it pisses me off, they were my favourite.

Standing in the lawn, I observe from the outside what I’ve done. As a whole, it’s a monstrous scene, one that would for sure have Officer Smith tossing his cookies. I guess it’s a good thing I’m in a different jurisdiction, andno one from Nox’s department will have to deal with what I’ve done.

Pulling the silver lighter from my pocket, I spin the ignition wheel and the flame flickers to life. I toss the lighter through the open window, ensuring it catches the trail of lighter fluid, then hightail it back to my car. Peeling out of the driveway and down the road just as the house explodes.

Chapter Forty-five

Ghost

Night has set in by the time I roll up to Mallory’s last known location. I pull off the road and onto the shoulder, clicking off the police lights. Where the fuck are you, baby? There’s no rest stop here, so I surmise she never actually stopped here. I can almost guarantee the GPS systems on the phones aren’t a hundred percent accurate, and she could be anywhere. The thought chills me to the core. I have to remind myself that Ted’s gone and this isn’t like before, just because she’s MIA doesn't mean she’s in danger. Mallory likes to process her feelings alone, it’s why she went to the mill by herself. I just wish she would lean on me, even a little bit.

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