Broken II

By Juda Maha 😜

‘You’re a bad mother. And all you’ve done for the last five years is whine and moan about something YOU caused.” I storm up into my room, not taking the time to look my mother in the eye. I slam the door behind me and flop onto my bed. The broken boards underneath creak. 
 
When I was twelve, I stomped on it until the boards underneath broke. At the time, I was seeing something. A shadowy figure, standing in the corner of my room. He would occasionally tap the wall behind him. His body was slim. His eyes, piercing red dots. And to top it all off, a top hat.  He haunted me for months. I only drove him out by shouting petty insults, stomping on my bed, and surprisingly, with salt. My dad had told me that if something demonic were to find me, throwing salt over my left shoulder would stop it. Turns out, he was right.  
 
I peek up, looking out the window at the trees. Rain, heavy as a sack of bricks. The sound is deafening. I pick up my phone. The screen is broken. It broke when my father smashed it against the floor. This was back when I was twelve. I had been out late again. At that time, I was still interested in photography. I had a real knack for it. That day I left school and beelined to a cliff that overlooked a beautiful beach near our house. I took the pictures, and left. When I came back, my dad was furious. After that, he took my phone and broke it. He was a fine person. He just got angry sometimes. Usually, he would apologize after and replace whatever he broke. This time, he didn’t get the chance. He died.  
He and Mother were arguing about a grade I had gotten. Mom said it was a bad grade. He said the opposite. The argument ended up going somewhere else, and he slept in the guest room.
 
That night, an awful storm struck our town. It knocked over a towering tree that took out the right side of the house. That was where the guest bedroom was. I remember jolting awake, the deafening sound of the impact filling my ears. Luckily my room was on the left side of the house. So was Mom’s, and Fred's cradle was in her room.
 
The second I opened my door, I saw the damage. The door to the guest bedroom was wide open, revealing the forest in the thundering rain. I could see the tree and my father's body. I ran towards him. Now I wish I hadn’t. His body was still twitching. I mistook this for life. With all the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I found the strength to pull the tree up, but just by a little bit. It was only for a split second, but I won’t forget it. It was a horrible sight to see. His lips were missing, revealing a red mass of teeth. His entire face was coated with blood. It leaked from the empty holes that were once his eyes. His jaw looked broken. A mangled mess. In shock, I dropped the tree, crushing his face further. I ended up collapsing next to him. Hugging his lifeless body while the thundering rain poured down onto my pyjamas. 
 
Then my mother finally found the courage to check in on me. She saw me with him and called 911. They came quickly. Soon enough, they were cutting up the tree and removing the part that fell on my dad. When they removed the chunk of the tree, my mother finally got a good look at my father’s body. It was even more mangled after I had dropped the tree on him again. It was caved in, almost unrecognizable from the father I had once known. The police described his face as “broken.”  
Life was never the same after that. My mom never got over his death. I can hear her sobbing to herself some nights. She always believed what the police said about his death. That the crush from the tree caused it. But I never did. The night our house broke was the first time I saw the shadow. He was just standing there. I don't think it was a coincidence, seeing him. The way my dad died was so unnatural. How could a tree have gouged his eyes out and torn his lip? I think the shadow had something to do with it. But it is just a hunch. I'm probably just insane.  
 
Mom never wants to talk about that night. It doesn’t help that after the house broke, we packed our bags up and moved. That wasn’t her fault, though. We couldn’t afford to fix the house, so we decided to move. What was her fault was her breaking all the pictures we had of my dad. I remember coming home after school, and the first thing I heard was sobbing and glass breaking. I went to the kitchen, and found her breaking the photos with a hammer, and dumping them in the trash. I was screaming at her. She was screaming at me. We were both crying. After that, there was nothing left of dad. She deleted all the photos of him. She wiped him out of existence. I know that she was suffering a lot and wanted no reminders of him at all. But I will forever resent her for getting rid of all those photos. I hardly remember his face anymore. When I think of him, all I can see is his broken face, with missing eyes and lips and a smashed jaw.  
 
Suddenly, a knocking on my door breaks me out of my daydreams. “Lori?” the voice asks. It's my little brother, Fred. I take the knob and swing the door open. He’s standing there, clutching his stuffie. I get down on one knee.  
“What do you need, Fred?” 
 
He looks at me with doe eyes. "Can you make me a sandwich?" he asks. "Mommy won't come out of the guest bedroom."  
 
The sentence instantly brings back memories of that day. But something about it is wrong. “Mom never goes in the guest bedroom,” I mumble to myself. Fred’s stomach grumbles. “Okay, I’ll get to it. Wait on my bed, okay?" He nods his head. He runs up to me and hugs my waist. “I’ll be right back,” I say in a reassuring voice. I leave my room, closing the door behind me. The rain is so loud it nearly bursts my eardrums. The power is out, but there’s still light outside so I didn’t notice. I start walking to the kitchen, but I’m drawn away from it. The guest room door. Something about it is beckoning me. I slowly walk over to the door. What could she possibly be doing in the guest bedroom? I creak the door open.  
 
She lays on the bed, sprawled out. Red leaks into the white sheets. On top of her is the shadow. The shadow who haunted me all those years ago. The shadow who possibly killed my dad. I stand at the door, frozen in shock. He turns his head to look at me. He steps off the bed, and onto the hard, cold, floor. I get a good look at my mother. Her face is broken. I can hear the distinct sound of the shadow talking. It doesn't sound human. Like a bunch of voice clips mixed together. “I’ll kill you,” I spit at the shadow. He remains still. I guess petty insults won’t work. I run into the kitchen and scramble to find the salt. I pick it up and throw the cap on the floor. The shadow has already reached me. I quickly chuck all the salt at him. It hits his face, melting him into a goop. He lets out a final unholy scream like the life is being sucked out of him. 
I stand back and watch him die. Soon, the only thing left is a pile of mud on the floor. Suddenly, cries fill the room, and they aren't mine. I look at the guest bedroom. Fred kneels on the floor, crying into her stomach. I quickly race over to him. He lifts his head once I enter the room.
 “What happened?” he says, lip quivering.  
“I killed the thing that did it,” I say, out of breath. “It’s dead. It can’t hurt you,” I say.  
“Will it come back?” he asks. 
“No. I promise."   
He lets go of our mom and hugs me. My shirt is wet with his tears. "We're safe." Â