Page 3 of Monsters Like Us
My fingers slide beneath my pillow, closing around the knife. My mom’s screams are a brutal symphony as I climbfrom my bed, creeping toward the door. My hand is slick around the knife’s handle.
There’s a thud against the opposite wall, and my mom shrieks again. The fight has moved. Ted curses, a sickening crack of bone against bone makes me cringe.
Unable to stand it any longer, I ease my bedroom door open, the hinges squeaking. But neither of them notices.
Ted’s back is to me, his hulking frame bent over my mother. She’s lying on the floor, blood streaming down her face.
“Please—” She raises her hands in surrender.
He hauls her up by her hair, and her hazel eyes find mine. Regret glistens there. Time slows as her face contorts in horror as he lifts her higher, then tosses her down the stairs like a bag of trash. The crack of flesh and bone against the wood thumps over and over again, making bile rise in my throat.
And then... deafening silence.
I stand there, disbelief being replaced by a red haze. Rage boils over, raw and unstoppable. My feet move before my mind processes what’s happening.
“Dumb fucking bitch,” he mutters from the railing, glaring down at her crumpled body. “No one will miss ya.”
The snarl tears from my chest as I launch forward. The knife flashes in the gleam of moonlight slicing through the window. My grip is steady as the knife plunges into his skin. His howl joins mine in a vicious chorus.
Slash.Scream.Slash.Howl.
Slash. Slash. Slash.
Blood spatters, hot and viscous, on my face, hands, and pajamas. The metallic scent drives me wild. He staggers and pleads, his voice weak, but I don’t stop. Not until his body crashes down the stairs, bones snapping like brittle sticks.
He hits the bottom, legs and arms bent at oddangles. I slowly descend, blood dripping from the blade. His wide, terrified eyes lock on mine.
“P-please.” His voice is a raspy whisper, a shadow of the booming baritone that once haunted this house.
A sinister smile curls my lips. A laugh bubbles up, half hysterical, half release.
As quickly as it came on, I cut it off, staring down at him with the fury of a thousand victims who’ve found their power.
“No. Mercy.”
I drive the blade into his chest, straight through his heart.
My voice thunders inside my head.Be sure. Don’t let him get up again.
I pull it out, then stab him again. The blade cuts into his skin, red blooming from it, as I slide it from one side of his neck to the other.
The life drains from his eyes, and for the first time in years, the screaming in my head goes quiet.
I crouch at my mother’s side, fingers seeking a pulse I already know won’t be there.
Nothing.
She’s cold, her eyes empty.
Dead.
Just like Ted.
With the knife still in my hand, I climb the stairs, take her phone from the charger, and walk back downstairs. My eyes sweep over both bodies. I feel no sympathy. No regret. Not after the hell I’ve endured.
Maybe that makes me a monster.
I open the front door. The October air bites my sweat-soaked skin. Halloween lights blink across the street—indifferent to what happened inside this old, dilapidated house, bright witnesses to what I’ve become.
