MicroHorror

It was this way with Edna when the demons came to call. They knocked on the window of her soul and whispered through the cracks of her skull. When at first they entered, Edna was terrified. Soon enough, however, she gloried in their power.

I should have paid attention when the houseplants turned brown and died, just as I should have taken notice when the wallpaper disintegrated into a chalk-like dust that floated through the house. What I did notice was that our cat had exactly nine seizures before succumbing to the world beyond. I cried over the cruelty of fate, even as Mother dismissed these and other calamities with a wave of her hand.

“Edna is family. She lives with us and we have to accept her, no matter what.”

Sometimes, Edna raked her claws across my flesh, drawing blood. Other times she ripped out chunks of my hair. Still others, she grabbed me so tightly that I heard my bones crack.

“It’s not her fault if she’s possessed by demons,” Mother insisted.

One day, when I looked into Edna’s eyes, I saw a red light shining through. It was then I realized that Mother was not home enough to protect me, and that I would have to run away. On the morning of my plans, Edna approached me at the kitchen table. She must have sensed something.

“You cannot escape your fears,” she said, as red lights flashed inside her eyes.

“But I can escape you,” I whispered, “and that is all I want.”

She took a menacing step toward me. I gasped and slid under the table as she extended her claws. When she began ripping at the tablecloth, I withdrew the steak knife I had hidden under my chair cushion and emerged ready for the attack. Her screams did not deter me, nor did the sight of her blood cascading in arcs before it splattered over the floor.

I stabbed away until she collapsed before me. I looked upon her with a sense of sadness. It was really too bad that it had come to this with Edna. I thought Mother would be angry when she returned home; instead, she gripped my hands in hers.

“We’ll have to bury Edna under the floorboards, dear, and keep it as a family secret.”

We never speak of Edna, not even when her screams cut a bitter edge through the long dark nights. For the most part, we lie in bed until the pale morning sunlight burns our sins back into our eyes. Sometimes I wonder if we really had any choice in committing them. We sit at the kitchen table and pretend that everything is the same, but the fragments of our conversations usually fade into oblivion as we focus on ignoring our secrets.

We must also contend with the demons. They crawl beneath my flesh, causing me to scratch until I bleed. I stand alone in the privacy of my bedroom, naked and exposed, as they wrap their insidious presence around me. When I look into the mirror, it makes me shudder to see the red lights shining in my eyes.

I know that Mother knows from the tears in her eyes. I want to reach out to her, but my hands are cold and my fingernails sharp enough to draw blood, as well they should be. I know where Mother hides her knife and I cannot really blame her. The day will soon come when she will have to use it. Right now, Mother sits at the kitchen table, staring at me with sad, empty eyes.

We both know that just as it was this way with Edna, so too it will be this way with me.