Page 107 of Horror and Chill
I breathe in deep and test the words.
“The first time, they came to the house at night. Pastor Williams and two other men. Said I had rebellion in me; that the devil had his claws in me. I can still feel the carpet under my knees. My mother watched from the corner, her hands folded like she was proud. They circled me, palms pressing hard into my shoulders, the crown of my head. They prayed loud enough I swear the walls shook. I cried, begged them to stop, but that only made them pray harder. One of them tied a scarf around my mouth so the devil wouldn’t ‘speak through me.’ They made me strip down to my slip,” I force out, heat rising in my chest. “Said the devil hides in the flesh, so the flesh had to be exposed. I was fourteen.”
Corwin swears under his breath, but I keep going.
“They poured something they called Temple Tincture over me. A bitter, amber liquid that bit like mouthwash and whiskey mixed. It made my lungs clutch and left my skin flaming and tender, but not scarred. They said the burning was proof the devil was leaving. They held me down while I screamed, and every time I fought, they called it proof of possession. I can still hear the way the men laughed when I gagged, still see my mother standing silent, doing nothing. My father took me to my room and wouldn’t even look at me.”
When I stop talking, the car goes too quiet. The silence is so loud my ears ring. Corwin’s mouth is a thin line, like he’s grinding his teeth to dust. Evander’s eyes flick to the road and back to me like he’s contemplating heading back to the church.Garron grips the seat so tight his knuckles go white, like it’s the only thing preventing him from breaking something.
“That only happened once? Michael made it seem like it was a constant,” Garron asks.
I swallow. “There was another time. It was worse than the first.”
“What could possibly be worse than what you just said?” Evander grunts.
“In high school, I was caught by a teacher watching MTV music videos in the computer lab. The principal called my mom, and she came to get me. She took me to the church, and when I got inside, Pastor Williams was nowhere to be seen, but my youth pastor was there waiting for me. Debra left, and I was alone with Lundy. He ordered me to strip. Right there. My hands shook, but I did it. He made me climb up on the altar they used every Sunday for offerings, like I was some sacrifice laid out for their god.”
“He better not have…” Garron spits.
I shake my head. “Just listen. ‘Hold yourself open’, he told me. His voice was calm, too calm; he terrified me. I obeyed, because the punishment for refusing was worse. My arms trembled as I did it, shame crawling up my skin. He demanded I hold myself open so he could see what I so badly wanted someone to touch.”
Goosebumps ripple across my body as I remember that day. I had no interest in someone touching me there. I just liked music and dancing; I wanted to watch what all the other kids watched. If it was on TV for the world to see, it couldn’t be bad, right?
“He poured water mixed with peppermint oil straight over me. It ran down between my legs, over my stomach, to my vagina. The burn was instantaneous. It wasn’t just a sting. It seared, icy and hot at the same time, crawling into every crease, making my lungs seize. I gasped for air, but it kept coming, sharpand relentless. He said the pain was proof the devil was leaving me. That’s when Williams walked in. He didn’t stop it. He didn’t care. He screamed at me, spittle flying, his face red like I was the sinner in the wrong for daring to exist. Then he stormed over, yanked me off the altar by my hair, and dragged me to the wooden cross at the front of the chapel.”
I take a breath and steady my thoughts because I will not let those men or that place make me cry. They did that enough as a child; they don’t get to do it now that I’m a grown woman.
“He tied my wrists so tight my hands went numb, pulled the ropes high so my arms stretched out. My back was to them. I couldn’t see. But I felt it. The switch lashing across me, over and over. My back. My neck. My thighs. My calves. No part of me was spared. The cuts weren’t deep, but each one burned like fire. My knees gave out, but the ropes kept me upright. When they finished, they laughed. They cleaned the welts with rubbing alcohol, dabbing at me like I was a slab of meat. The sting made me sob harder. Williams said it was cleansing. Lundy called it mercy. I knew it was neither. By the time my father came to collect me, they had shoved me into a choir robe. My clothes were gone. He didn’t ask where they went. Didn’t ask why my face was blotchy or why I winced when I sat in the car. He drove me home in silence, sent me to my room, and locked me there. No food for seven days. No water except what I stole from the faucet when I couldn’t stand it anymore. Seven nights of hunger for watching a music video.”
When I finish, I watch their faces. There is no pity, only white hot anger and rage.
“Anything else?” Corwin asks again, more like a dare.
“No, that’s about it,” I deadpan.
“I will peel the skin from their bones and pour bleach on the wounds,” Corwin breathes.
I feel my stomach flip at the image. “Sounds kinky,” I say too quickly, because dark jokes are a bandage.
Garron looks at me with a weird kind of softness wrapped in his anger. “We will not let them do this to anyone else.”
We drive a little farther, not toward the Airbnb like I expect. Corwin pulls into a strip mall and kills the engine. The lights of a pizza place glow like a lighthouse, promising something normal.
“I thought we could get something to eat,” Corwin says. “Pizza.”
We slide into a booth by the window and order two large pies. One with ham and pineapple, because fruit, in fact, does belong on pizza, and one with mushroom, pepperoni, and green olives because it’s classic.
We talk like people who haven’t agreed to murder my parents this week. I tell them about how I started camming while teaching. How I met Lorna and about the small gatherings we have with Kira and Chad. I tell them about new piercings I want, about maybe getting a tattoo of my new favorite book. I ask them about high school, who dated who, and stupid things that felt like the whole world then.
Then it dawns on me that I have no idea if they work. Can you work while being murderers? I’ve never asked. So I do. “Do you three have jobs? What do you do for a living?”
“Garron works in construction, I do graphic design, and Corwin actually runs a landscaping crew,” Evander answers for them, and I stifle a giggle.
“I can’t believe you do something so mundane.” I quirk my lip at Corwin.
“Tread lightly, Little Horror. I like to make dead things pretty. To create a flower from a weed.”
The pizza arrives, interrupting my teasing. It steams between us as we tear into slices; it tastes like the dinner of gods. Sauceon my lip, cheese stretching when I pull the slice away. We talk and nibble, but then I notice the door swing open.
