Page 77 of Sinister Legacy
Keira: No!
Unknown number: Look up at the corner, near the bookshelf. See the camera?
Lowering the phone, I lift my weary gaze to the small, square camera while the tinny music continues playing its haunting circus notes.
Unknown number: Welcome to the games.
Iinch closer, a thin layer of sweat coating my skin beneath my clothes and cloak. The scissors threaten to slip from my fingers, so I tighten my grip until my knuckles turn white.
The sickening anticipation in me curls my toes as it whispers secrets to the beating valves of my heart.
This is the man who has unleashed his demon on me more times than I can count. Little did he know that mine was slumbering in the darkness, soon to stretch its limbs and climb out from the shadows.
A smile plays on my lips, one I’m thankful stays hidden behind the mask. My darkening gaze drinks him in, vulnerable and scared on the floor.
The music. The crinkling plastic. The sounds of his whimpers. I feed on it all like a starved vampire fledgling thirsting for blood and chaos.
After placing my phone down on the sheet-covered desk, I let the cloak drag over the floor as I hunt him like prey, circling his prone body on the floor. I can taste his fear in the air and the confusion when he gazes up at me.
His wide eyes slide down to the blunt scissors in my hand, and he shakes his head violently, as if the act alone will force my predator back into the shadows.
Tilting my head, my gaze dances over every inch of his naked skin. His knees are drawn up to his chest, and as I walk around him, I let my attention wander over his hairy balls that protrude from between his thighs. Balls that have slapped against my ass for the last time.
I’ll miss the way his unhinged monster toyed with my need for pain and punishment. But at some point, like tonight, the punished has to become the punisher.
The scales need to balance.
But maybe there can never be a balance between two sick people like us, whose only drive in life is to seek destruction. Maybe the scales will always tip too far toward one end or the other until we take it too far one day.
Like tonight.
Shoving him onto his back and straddling his waist, I grip his stubbly, sweaty cheeks. He tries to talk with the gag in his mouth, to plead with me to let him go, and I wonder if he knows it’s me.
A calm, so unlike anything I’ve ever known, settles over me as I stare down at him through the holes in the mask.
This feels soright.
Is this what my father felt when he let go for the first time?
This euphoria at finally being free?
Sliding my mask up, I smile down at my stepdad as the cool air kisses my damp face. “Hi, Daddy. Let’s play a little game.”
Eyes wide, he cranes his neck off the floor even more as I wriggle down his body until I’m seated on his flaccid dick. And to think that something so impressive when it’s erect can look so pathetic now.
His nostrils flare while I gently use the scissor blades to play with the dark curls on his chest. He begins to make screaming noses behind the gag, which makes me curious to see what other interesting sounds I can draw from his body.
“Come here, sweetheart,” my daddy says, gesturing with the knife for me to join him at the head of the table.
I scoot off my chair, my pigtails swaying, and run up to Daddy, who pulls me in front of him. The large turkey is bigger than my head, but Daddy said it would definitely fit in the oven when I asked him. And now, here it is, cooked and seasoned.
Mom and Grandma smile softly at me from across the table, wineglass in hand, as Daddy leans down to whisper in my ear. “There’s an art to carving, sweetheart.”
I love my daddy. Sometimes even more than Mommy.
Maybe because he doesn’t shout at me when I dirty my knees outside or tell me to stop burning ants to a crisp with Mom’s magnifying glass. And he has also never spanked my butt for disturbing a swarm of buzzing flies while poking the insides of a dead squirrel with a stick.
But Mom has.
