Fatherhood

Fatherhood

By Torbjörn Stevenson

Chris stood above the toilet, the smoke from his pall Mall cigarette travelling through the air and serpentining out of the window. The wind outside catching it and forcing it to dissipate into the nothingness of the black night.

So this is what being a father was like, he thought to himself, rubbing the dark circles that hung beneath his eyes, his thin rimmed glasses falling down the bridge of his nose. Worried constantly about your son and what your wife is doing to him.

And this was marriage, burning incense in the bathroom to hide the scent of smoke from his wife. Marriage? Well. Chris preferred to call it Hell. Taking another hit off of the pall mall red, he ashed it out the window of the second story apartment, the rain still pouring down outside, a loud crackle of lightning striking. Chris counted until he heard lightning. Five seconds, that meant fifty miles away, right?

Had she always been this way? He couldn't remember her being this way. But She had gotten so bitchy and easily aggrivated over the past week, that in the beginning, Chris had chalked it up to being Postpartum depression, but this, well this was getting a little out of hand. He shook his head as he released the cancerous smoke from his lungs and looked out into the black tainted city night. He took a drink from the glass of juice sitting on the back of the toilet and looked along the white washed walls of the bathroom.

Hannah had taken to isolating herself in her room, what had once been their room, with the baby, never letting Chris in, and he could only wonder what he could have done to do this. Hell, to be honest, he couldn't even remember the past couple months. He sat down on the toilet and ashed the cigarette oncemore, the groans and bumps of the apartment becoming obvious in the silence of night.

This is why they had chose to live in Lincoln, the quietness of the place was intoxicating, like an abyss. Sure, nothing really went on, aside from the bar that was down the road from the Summerset apartment complex, but it was the perfect atmosphere to raise Trent. The school system having been one of the highest in Oregon.

Lincoln was a lot different from the bustling New York neighbourhoods that Chris had grown up in, and a definite change in pace as opposed to the ways of Raleigh, where Hannah had been raised in.

The house creaked defiantly as Chris ashed his cigarette, the picture above the lightswitch moving slightly. He simply shook his head, watching the portrait of a beach that he had never been to sway slightly. Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning and the darkest hours of the night, the swaying and creaking got to Chris, inciting fear in him, for no other reason than the strange ways they made the cat behave. A long time ago, Chris's mother (Or had it been his grandmother?) had told him to keep cats and kittens away from infants as they were not opposed to sucking the very life from the child.

Chris couldn't understand this myth, as the only companion that had stayed with him since the child's birth had been virgil, the Siamese cat that he and Hannah had adopted years before they had even moved in together. He ashed the cigarette and took one of the last hits of it, relishing in the burnt taste of the filter.

In the beginning of their relationship they had taken to bringing the cat back and forth between their separate apartments, like a child with divorced parents, until eventually, Virgil stayed strictly with Chris. For some reason, animals, especially cats, had always loved him.

The lightning outside began to pick up as Chris clicked his phone to life, the electronic clock on the face of the dinosaur Motorola blinking out 1:27 AM. Hannah had actually isolated herself now for a full 12 hours. He was shocked, in that time, he would have had to at least piss, but it seemed as if his lovely wife had a stronger bout of will power than himself.

Chris took the last hit of the Pall Mall and flicked it outside, watching as it was extinguished by the water that was now pouring down over everything in Lincoln. Closing the window, he let the aromas of the incense pour out for a few more seconds before it went out, the smells mixing to the final bit of sulfur in the bottom, smelling as if a match had just been shook out. He grabbed the bottle of febreeze and anointed the room in the scents of Spring Breeze.

Propping the door open and flicking off the light, he exited his haven of nicotine, the blackness of the outside world overcoming. He had been sure that the stove light had been left on, but it seemed that Hannah had finally left her own haven of what he liked to now call, her bedroom.

Wondering where Virgil was, Chris continued out and towards the kitchen. The shadows around him seemed to move in anticipation as he finally came through the doorway to the kitchen. The cat would usually be talking to Chris at this point, walking up and meowing, following Chris like a shadow. The storm still continued to rage outside as he stepped into the kitchen, something gooey attaching itself to his foot. Obviously Hannah had been out here, leaving what Chris thought was a diaper out in the open for him to step on. That would be something she would do.

Chris shook his bare foot off before proceeding further towards the fridge, hoping he had, at the bare minimum, one beer left. Pushing the door to the fridge open, he searched in the dark for one of the Miller Lights. He couldn't feel any of the coldness coming from the fridge as he continued his search. He assumed that the electric bill was once again, late.

"Daddy" he heard from the hallway leading towards the bedroom, the eerie sound of the voice so child like, glazed with innocence.

Chris rose from the fridge quickly, his head bouncing off of the top door to the freezer roughly as he fell down onto the ground, his head smashing into another gooey form on the floor, his glasses flying over into the abyss that was the darkness of the apartment. The warmth of the object is what surprised him, overcoming his face and splashing over his eyes with a sticky liquid. Feeling around again, Chris could feel only what he could think of as fur beneath his fingertips.

The carcass of Virgil slid towards him as he brought his hand back towards his body, the cat giving an awful squelch as the blood continued to pour out from it. It had obviously been hacked in half, the chest cavity being open and the intestines splayed out for the world to see. The cat looked up at him with a look of helplessness, the electric light of the outside world bouncing off of its now soul less orbs.

Chris looked down to the animal, appalled at the macabre discovery before pushing his head off of the now severed bottom half of the cat, the lower half had been completely flayed, no longer having any bit of the fur on it, and the legs of the creature were pinned into the linoleum with surgeon-like precision.

Quickly rising to his feet and backing against the wall, he looked down on the scene with horror flashing in his eyes. The steak knife used to operate on the creature sat merely inches away from the crime scene, and a set of bloody foot prints lead the way haphazardly back towards the bedroom. The footprints only seemed to be about four inches long, Chris guessed, and were spaced very close together.

But that couldn't be. It had to have been Hannah, there was no way that.. No. He couldn't do this, Chris thought to himself. He moved through the Normandy-esque blood bath towards the knife drawer and pulled out the largest one he was able to find, brandishing it as if it was a KABAR, he moved to the table and fumbled with the napkin dispenser before tugging out the .38 snub nose that had laid in wait for an intruder.

Tucking the knife into the back of his pants, Chris made his way to the hallway leading down towards the bedroom, the blood splashing around his toes as he walked slowly. The rain continued to pour as he eased himself against the wall, adrenaline rushing through every vessel of his body.

"Fuck.." He mumbled under his breath, before calling out, "Hannah, I saw what you did! Was it supposed to be a sign to me?" He stayed against the wall, awaiting an answer.

Silence.

Chris moved from the wall, aiming the gun down the hallway as he slowly stepped towards the bedroom door. The wall leading towards it was his guiding light, the only other door in his way was the hall closet that was on his left. Careful not to brush the door handle, he walked down the hallway, his bare feet splashing crimson paint among the linoleum.

Thinking quickly, "Hannah, we can talk this out, just don't do anything to Trent." He stopped just inches from the closet door awaiting any kind of reply from his estranged wife. He listened closely, a soft hum echoing from the bedroom, but aside from that nothing.

Silence.

With quick footsteps, Chris made it to the door to the bedroom and twisted the door handle, a sticky liquid dripping off of it as well. The door squeaked as he pushed against it, slowly opening as he shook his hand off. Something was definitely in the way, and he couldn't, at this point, tell what it was.

The humming had gotten louder as the door slid open, and Chris could see inside by the candle light, blood splashed along the floor, as if it had been painted on. There was a squeak along the hinges of the door, as if something was being pushed down on it, straining the weight of the portal, disallowing entry into the room.

Squeezing himself into the room through the small crack that was allowing the light to filter into the abyss that was the hallway, Chris stopped with great terror, seeing Hannah slumped against the doorway, and with one final step in, she fell against the floor, her slender frame making entrance and exit into this haven of blood impossible.

The first thing he noticed were the eyes, slid completely back in their holes, the pale green that had once been there gone as if it had been stolen from him. Replaced by only the whites, and the blood that was dripping from what had once been her hairline. The blood had clotted long ago in her body, but the grievous wounds were still there, reminding anyone who looked of the torture. Blood had seeped down from her hair, pouring along the face of what Chris had once called that of an Angel. The hair upon her head had been completely removed, much like with Virgil's penis, with surgical precision.

Putting the gun down on the ground, Chris clasped his hands over his mouth and let out a sob as he continued looking at the body, what had become a shrine to his once lover. The woman who he had thought hung the stars and moon. The humming continued in the room, just outside of Chris' realm of consciousness, a gentle whisper, the melody ringing about the room, bouncing along the walls, and seeming to echo in the haven.

Her left breast had been removed in a type of morbid surgery, the glands of her heart just barely staying within the confines of skin that it had lived in, the blackness of the blood having stained the floor. The intestines were currently trying to leave the body, looking like tentacles, the single cut that had given the heart the abillity to spray out the last few drops of blood, had also splayed Hannah's stomach contents completely open as well.

Shaky hands lit one of the Pall Mall cigarettes, blood having stained the tips of them with each gentle caress of her face, and the lighter glinted to light. Chris's eyes continued scanning over the gruesome discover, seeing little things that had not been seen originally, such as the way her hair lay next to Hannah's body, and the way the light blue color of her painted toenails still shone through the gruesome puddle of blood.

With a huff on the cigarette he looked around the scene for the weapon used, the perpetrator. Hell. Anything.

The next thing he noticed was the crib, in all of its glistening glory, the blood having seemed to pour from it as if it was brought directly out of his wife's chest. Entrails and intestines dripped down the sides, wrapping their way down either leg that Chris was able to see, the light of the candles, and the cherry of his cigarette showed Chris what he needed to see, the stained red on what was once a beautiful white. The comic book heroes that had once been on the blanket that was stuffed down in the crib, now were stained completely black, shapeless and faceless figures glaring at the bespectacled man.

Chris rose from his knees and walked on shaky feet towards the gruesome crib, huffing on the cigarette, his mind still racing on the possibilities, on the danger, the terror of his wife and only son being slaughtered. But it wasn't possible. Chris would have heard the front door open. Would have heard the screams of his wife. of their chi-

The monster inside of the crib was not his son. Could not be. The hideous thing was not Trent. Maybe it had been once, but not any longer.

The eyes of it stared up at Chris, the blackness of the iris is what was the worst and also was what was first noticed. An inhumane glint to the eyes, the colour having been drained aside from the redness of the veins. They seemed to follow Chris, no matter how much he moved. The organs of the infant were tugged out of its own chest as well, wrapped around his small arms in a macabre sort of sweater. The organs blackness hid the blood that had seemed to be drained completely from the child. The dental work however was a grotesque dream. Chris had never seen anything like it in all of his years working as a dentist. Sharp jagged teeth had spiked out of the infant's gums, the cheeks having been pulled back to show them off. The cigarette ash dropped on the chest of the child, into the wound that had been slit open for the organs, and between the fingers of the infant that had become talons. the yellow tinge to the nails striking out along the full 6 inches of nails.

The child gave a wicked hiss as the still red hot ash hit its insides, and rose up, the haunches that had once been its legs bowing to the back, causing Chris to take several steps back.

The deep smell of burning flesh struck chris's nostrils next as the infant grasped the still lit ash, plucking it from between its ribs and dropping it to the ground, it's claws instantly crushing the cherry out. Chris gasped as it began to climb forward slowly, the teeth flashing out. Chris fell back through the door, slamming it shut. The sound of raking nails echoed through the hallway as Chris stuttered to stand up, tripping over his own feet.

He could hear the breaking of the wooden door, and fell forward as his body turned, back and towards the kitchen. The smell of the fresh blood was a macabre treat compared to the rancid blood of the previous one. One foot before the other, Chris thought to himself.

The sludge of the blood caused Chris to fall to the ground, the slippery surface causing him to slide on his chest. His head crashed viciously into the cabinet, the front haunch of the cat in front of him. The yellow slits, eternally open, stared him in the eyes. Chris laid there for a second, his thoughts not on the danger, or on the death of his infant child and wife, but he was steadily in that state of serene shock. He could only think of the blood, and how exactly he could clean it from his t shirt and from the white, pristine kitchen floor.

He felt the nails enter his skull, and with his last thought, he could only think of how he was leaving the world with the only friend he had left in it, the one looking him in the eyes.

Virgil's eyes watched as the creature grasped the steak knife and began opening up the body of what had once been its father. Virgil, dead, decaying and unable to help, could only watch.