Chapter Thirty-Two

Samantha skulked by the fireplace, as her father stood in the vast family room, his arms outstretched, the gun dangling in his fingers. He was basking in the luxury of his childhood home. It was his right to possess this house, rather than remodeling another to mimic it. He wanted to place his father in a small apartment somewhere, or a nursing community. Roderick needed this house to raise his family; his loving, beautiful family that owed him so much.

He looked at his daughter, who sat tense and still as he said, “This is where Daddy grew up.”

She said nothing.

“Isn’t that interesting?” he continued. “You didn’t know your grandfather that well, but we had some good memories in this house. Some not-so-good ones too. One day, this will be Daddy’s house and he’s going to move us here.”

Samantha continued her silence, her body trembling.

“Daddy thinks you’ve been bad, Sam. I think you want to hurt Daddy.”

“No,” she whimpered.

“I think you sicced them on me. I think you’re behind it all.”

“No, Daddy, no, I didn’t do anything.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” he said, pointing an accusatory finger and stepping closer. “Call them off.”

Samantha began to cry, and he painstakingly knelt down and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her.

“Call them off. Call. Them. Off.”

Samantha didn’t know what to say or how to reply. “Daddy,” she began to cry.

“Call them off, you…” and he was then interrupted by the sound of a familiar shrill echoing through the house.

He gripped the gun as he held it before him, and cocked it. He crept to the center of the room. “No! They’re here,” he began to sob, “Alright, show yourselves! Come on!”

Unbeknownst to Roderick, Samantha’s attention was drawn to a little golden puppy that appeared in the hallway. As her father’s cries reverberated through the house, it silently scampered up to her as it gleefully spun in circles. It looked up at her with its pink tongue dangling. Samantha reached out and touched it, patting it on its smooth head. The puppy licked her fingers.

It then scurried forward, stopping suddenly to turn and look at her with raised ears. It then scurried a little bit further stopping to look at her again. Samantha realized that the mysterious canine wanted her to follow. She looked at her father to make sure that he was still distracted. He simply stood there with his gun raised, looking at nothing and completely ignoring her with his back turned. She quickly and quietly crawled towards the puppy, which led her down the hallway and out the front door. Once she was outside, she lost sight of it completely, but took the opportunity to disappear into the trees.

Meanwhile, Roderick crept up the stairs, following the various shrieks and screeches. Shadows moved around him, disorienting, and he felt the urge to retch. There was still no sign of them. Roderick would not flee, not this time. Not until Samantha called them off. He could hear their screeching, and one of his enemies appeared before him. Her wail was strong enough to move the air, blasting him over the side of the stairs. But before he hit the ground, he was slammed against a wall by another Fury that swung and kicked.

He lay in agony as the Furies scowled over him beneath balding scalps with strands of thin red hair. Their carrion-leather wings shrouded their bodies like robes beneath long billowed capes. Spindly fingernails clacked like talons from the tips of bony fingers as they glared at him with blazing green eyes. They began to scream again.

Roderick jumped and fired his gun, hitting one directly in the head, and dark blood splattered on his robe. His parched lips grinned; could they be hurt after all? The other two looked down upon their comrade who lay motionless. Perhaps if they were caught by surprise, then he could inflict injury. He fired his gun upon the other two, their blood showered him as well.

As he stood over their bodies, his skin crawled. Where the dark blood stained his robe, small red-skulled beetles began to gnaw at his skin. He tried to swat them off, but the motion pulled his skin back as their heads burrowed deeper into his flesh. He managed to grab one by its abdomen, but its gooey carapace slipped through his fingers. In seconds they had vanished beneath his skin.

He tore off his robe to view the three bloody entry points on his chest. His skin pulsed as three mobile lumps beneath crawled upward. The pain was agonizing as their prickly legs trailed across his muscles, and he convulsed as he lurched into the kitchen. He grabbed the sharpest knife he could find, and dug the tip in at each lump, but they darted about to avoid the blade. He speared one, and tugged it out through a flap of skin before he flicked the knife outward. The demonic insect left a trail of blood as it skipped across the floor. He repeated this for a second beetle, and both monstrous insects scurried away.

The third burrowed back out and up his neck, onto his face. He jabbed the knife into his cheek, cutting away a piece of flesh with the creature attached. It leapt at his face, and he managed to grab it just in time before it was able to bite him again. Swatting it to the floor, it took off in the direction of the other two. He followed and then realized it was heading towards the bodies of the old hags. He then saw two of the bodies vanish. The one that remained was lifeless, until the insect crawled into the bullet hole. The hole in the Fury’s head sealed up, rejuvenating completely, and it leapt onto the wall, alive and well, and impossibly agile for such a frail-looking, wretched thing.

Roderick dove for the gun but the winged crone grappled him first. The two rolled across the ground, and she bit him on the shoulder with crooked yellow teeth. He grabbed her by the hair, and yanked her off with what little strength he had. When he got to his feet, he felt three slashes go across his chest from another crone that appeared in front of him. He cradled his chest as blood dripped between his fingers; the wounds burned and he dropped to his knees.

The three gathered around him and began their relentless wail.

The sound shot into his ears directly to his brain, and suddenly he found himself lying in a bed. He recognized the room. He found himself in a fourteen year old girl’s body, with thin contours and pale immaculate skin. The door to the bedroom opened and there stood the silhouette of a young man. The young man entered the room, and Roderick felt a tightening of the stomach, a quickening of the heartbeat. Roderick recognized the young man, as he sat on the edge of the bed. He stiffened in fear. There was a sickness in his gut, and his mind raced as sweat beaded over his body. Roderick felt emotions that were not his own. Terror was his new bedfellow, followed by emotional violation. He was a nameless, soulless object being used by another for sadistic pleasure driven by malice.

Before his attacker could climax, Roderick heard a voice. It was a familiar voice. It was one that he had once found quite pleasant, and made him feel complete. The voice drew him back from the violated body. When he opened his eyes, he saw the three Furies still standing over him, but their decrepit faces looked at someone else in the room.

“Rod,” Elizabeth said sternly, “I know what you’ve done.”

The old wretches hissed at her angrily, but she was ignorant of their presence as she crept closer. She saw her husband, in the middle of the floor in fetal position, a catastrophic wreck. His skin was covered in red and black blotches, and his hoarse voice was meek.

“L…Liz…Liz…” Roderick dribbled.

She said, “I need you to confess. I need you to tell me what you did.”

Suddenly, one of the Furies screeched, “Stop her! He’s ours!” and with that another one leapt towards her, opening her mouth and releasing a powerful wail.

Pain jackhammered in Elizabeth’s head, and her ears rang. She gripped her skull in confusion as she dropped to the ground, and keeled over in pain. Their screams were a tidal wave, a tsunami, and with a burst from their lips shards of glass flew about the room from shattered windows. The entire house erupted outward with glass shrapnel.

They raked their nails across Roderick’s back, like cats sharpening their claws on a couch, and laughed sadistically as he cried out. Both suffered from the supernatural call. Elizabeth fought the pain in her skull. She rose back to her feet and stepped to her spasmodic husband.

She took a deep breath, shouting wearily, “Rod! Confess! I know what you did! Just say it! Tell me what you did to your sister!”

“No!” he cried.

Elizabeth couldn’t be sure if he was yelling at her or at something else.

“Say it, Rod! Say it and this can all stop!”

“No, no, no, no, no!”

“She must be silenced!” A Fury declared. “She will deny us our pleasure!” and with that, the shortest of the three leapt onto the ceiling, and grabbed hold with her lanky fingers, directing her scream directly on top of Elizabeth.

Elizabeth begged him, “Rod, you have to admit what you…” the throbbing in her head increased, and her nose began to bleed.

While the other two Furies assaulted Roderick, Elizabeth struggled against her increased pain. Images were forced into her mind, images of her daughter, as well as a voice.

“You failed her. You failed your daughter.”

“No,” Elizabeth said with choked breaths, “no, I didn’t mean to.”

“Yes. The child you brought into this world, only to allow her to be hurt. You put her in harm’s way. You betrayed her.”

“No! No, I didn’t know!”

“How could you not? You think anyone would believe you didn’t know what he was? You’re just as guilty as he.”

“No! No, it wasn’t me! I love my daughter!”

“You failed her. You dare call yourself a mother.”

A child depended on the parents for safety and love, and all they had given her was anguish and confusion. She had failed her daughter. She had betrayed her.

“No! It was him! He hurt her! The blame is his! His!”

She saw the gun lying on the ground. She picked it up and fired it into the air, punching a hole in the ceiling. “Rod! They can’t hurt you if you confess! Do you understand! Just say what you did to your sister! Say what you did!”

“No!” he cried again. “No, no, no, no!”

“Say it!”

“I can’t!”

“Say it!”

“No!”

“Say it, goddamnit, say it!”

“I did it!”

Suddenly all was still.

There was an eternity of silence, and Roderick realized he was no longer under attack. The screaming had stopped. He opened an eye and saw empty space. He got on hands and knees to look around, and spotted the three old crones perched above him like buzzards on the stairs, snarling. He saw his wife’s face and watery eyes as her chest heaved.

“It’s true,” he said to her, “I did it.”

He heard his pursuers behind him howl in defeat.

“You did it, Rod? You did.”

“Yes,” he whimpered. “I…I raped her. I raped her.”

As his tears began to pour, the Furies let out one final wail before disintegrating, like dust particles in the wind. His lips quivered as he regained his foothold.

“I did it,” he said again. “I…I hurt her. I’m so sorry, Liz. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry…”

Elizabeth looked directly into her husband’s eyes, and shot him in the chest. When he dropped back to his knees, she looked into his eyes once more before putting a bullet between them.