Just in time for Christmas. I stood in the street facing the house. Outwardly, it hadn't changed. The lights were festive and simplistic, a pine wreath hung on the door. I rocked back and forth on my heels, eyes squeezed shut. I shouldn't. I shouldn't. I can't. When I opened my eyes, I was on the porch. What am I doing? I could smell the people inside. Not my family. Not my home. I rub my cold hands over my face vigorously. Fighting the first of many internal battles. Go in. Come home Maddie. Comehomecomehomehomehome. My hand touches the door. Grazes the wood. I hear a faint laugh from inside. The hand curls into a claw. I inhale deeply. I'm so...hungry. The hand, my hand, knocks on the door. I drop down to my knees at the sound. STOP THIS MADELYN. It'll stop when you do what you came here to do. Laughter. Laughter. Who's laughing? Footsteps approaching the door. Heheheeheehee. There's something growling. The faint squeak of the doorknob turning. The hinges creaking as the door opens.
"Yes? Oh..oh my dear. Are you alright, miss?" I smell the man's hot blood pulsing so close, so close. And something else. Long dead, decayed, familiar. Loss. The growling turns to a pained moan, deep from my throat. I feel the hesitant touch of the home owner's hand on my shoulder. I reach over and place my hand on his. "Do you need help? Please, what can I help you with dear?"
"Help..." I snicker, and grip his hand tighter, before digging my nails into the soft flesh of his wrist. With a jerk, I rend the extremity from the arm it's connected to. His blood pours down my side. I look up just in time to see his look of concern abating to a look of fear and shock. I spring up with a snarl as he backs up, tripping on his own feet and falling backwards into the house. The other voice is gone. All I feel is anger and hunger and the roar of the beast. I step into the house, still holding the amputated hand, and slam the door behind me. "Ben? Who was at the door, honey?" When the woman walks into the room, I toss the hand at her. She catches it with surprisingly good reflexes and then screams when she sees what it is, and what threw it at her. The man seems to have gone into shock. I step over his bloody, slightly twitching figure. The woman's shrill screams are hurting my ears, so I grab her by the arms and throw her into their Christmas tree. She falls with the tree, ornaments and tinsel scattering around her. I see tiny rivulets of blood where some of the glass balls have cut her. I gather a few of the ornaments as I crouch over her. Shattering them between my fingers, I rake the shards of glass over her face, her throat...everywhere. Licking at the gashes. Feeding. She won't stop screaming so I grab a strand of the lights and wrap them around her neck. Her eyes bulge in her shredded, bloody face as I tighten. Tighten. Even after her heart stops it's frantic beating. It's only when I hear the groan of the man behind me that I let the strand, slick with blood, slip out of my hands. I pause, blinking a few times in confusion.
I'm home? Where's dad? Mommy? What am I...I shake my head in frustration. Focusing my eyes on the body at my feet. This woman is dead. Why is she in my house? I turn my attention to the man who's currently attempting to crawl to the table, leaving a red trail behind him. "Why are you in my house?" That smell again. Dad's aftershave. Mom's perfume. Baby powder. Faint smells. Stronger is the smell of death. My family's dead. Killed. And me...and me. I shriek. I lift a heavy end table over my head and heave it at the man, hindering his pathetic attempts at evasion. It lands on his legs and I hear bones snap over his screaming. Grabbing a poker from the fireplace I pummel his body with the iron rod over and over again. Blood and gore flinging everywhere, within minutes the man is barely recognizable as what was once a living being. Panting, my mouth tasting of blood, I give one last jab, impaling the fire poker into his skull. I step backwards until I hit a wall, sliding down it and landing with a thump. All I smell is blood. The fresh blood. The other smells are gone. The voices and laughter are quieted. I wipe my bloodstained hands on my bloodstained shirt. There's nothing here for me. No family. No memories. I hear barking in the backyard. My countenance turns to pleasure as I leap up and dart off the terrace towards the kennels that still line the far edge of the lawn. My mutts! My dogs! The smile on my face is genuine and innocent despite the blood caked around my mouth. I'm brought to a rude awakening when I draw towards the runs. The dogs, snarling, barking at me. My dogs. My Tommy. Autumn's puppies, now grown, showing their teeth and growling. I place my bloody hands flat against the chain link, the smile melting off my face. "Please..." At the sound of my voice, the dogs shrink back whimpering and whining. Tails tucked in between their legs in fear. I stare at the shivering mutts until I hear a faint voice. Monster. My monster...haa haa haa. The dogs start howling. I'm howling with them. And running. Running away. Running from the voices and the memories and the place I can't call home. Running, but not escaping.
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