Throwing the Knife

❊ Chapter 1 ❊

She didn’t know what compelled her to throw the knife. All she knew was that she did: fast, far, strong, and true. But it stuck in the wall exactly where she had aimed, if she aimed at all--she couldn’t be sure. Although, she also didn’t know what made her retrieve the knife, go back to where she originally stood, and throw it again. Maybe it had been the curiosity to see if she could land it in the same place as the first time, or maybe it was the insistent unknown force that made her do it before.

        As she went to get the knife for a then seventh time, she heard the click of a door opening and her mother’s unmistakable, “Lyssa, I’m home!”

        The familiar voice snapped Alyssa out of the trance-like state, and she panicked. Moving to the wall quicker than she had before, she pulled the knife out, leaving a single, nearly paper thin two inch slit down the wall from all her throws. Inspecting the little mark, and thinking of what to reply to her mother, she absentmindedly began gently tossing the knife: just flicking her wrist, letting it flip once in the air, and catching it again.

        Alyssa needed to hide the knife. She then remembered that she had left the dishwasher open. It was what she had been in the middle of when this had started. All she remembered was picking up the knife to put it away, when she was overcome with the urge to throw it at something. Apparently the wall at the end of the hallway was the best target. Everything after that was blurry. Alyssa remembered it, but vaguely. It was as if someone had been holding a screen in front of her vision--along with all her other senses--through the time she picked up the knife to her mother calling her name.

        “Alyssa?” Her mother called, worry weaving its way through her voice.

        “I-I’m here, Mom!” Alyssa managed to call back, finally finding her voice after the strange event. Even though her memories were dull, she knew exactly what she had been thinking the entire time. Thinking back after, the thoughts couldn’t have possibly been her own, but she knew deep down that they were. The thoughts were dark, dangerous, and vicious.

        “Oh, good. I was worried for a second!” Alyssa had nearly forgotten the situation. Running into her room, she stashed the knife under her mattress.

        “Heh, yeah... Um, sorry about that.” She called from her room.

        “Don’t mind it... Oh! You’re doing the dishes? How wonderful! Thank you honey!” Her mother sounded happy enough. It was true, she didn’t often help around the house. She played off of the comment, and acted like the good daughter she usually was.

        “Yeah... You’re, uh, you’re welcome?”

      “Thank you.” Alyssa could hear the smile in her mother’s voice, and she scrambled to remember the real reason she did the dishes. Thankfully, it came to her instantly. Her mother may act all thankful then, but she hadn’t the night before when she threatened to lock Alyssa in the house all weekend if she didn’t do the dishes. That was an obviously effective threat, and this time it was specifically because it would have kept her from the movies. A group of friends and her were going to one this weekend, though they didn’t know which yet. She didn’t care as long as Ben would be there, and as of that point, he would be.

        Alyssa walked as casually as she could back into the kitchen, and finished putting things away before re-loading the dishwasher. All the while her mother was asking her how her day was (boring), and what she learned (nothing). Her mother continuously held the conversation until the phone rang some ten minutes later. As her mother picked it up Alyssa silently thanked whoever was on the other end of the call and dashed into her room.

        Grabbing the knife from under her mattress, she locked her door and began examining the blade. Nothing was different about it since the last time it had been washed, but something had changed. She couldn't place her finger on it, but she knew something had.

        Getting an idea, she grabbed a piece of paper, drew a dot in the center of it, and taped it into a corner where two walls met. Lining up the dot so it was exactly on the crease, she admired her handiwork.

        Just then, she heard her mother calling again. "Lyssa! Where's the butcher knife?"

        Alyssa glanced down at it in her left hand and closed her eyes. She then turned her head more towards the door and yelled back, "Being washed. You're going to have to use something else!"

        She didn't have to wait long to hear her mother’s tired sigh and simple confirmation type of response. Alyssa spun the knife in her hand and whispered, "Here goes nothing." If this went how she expected, then she just had a random surge of adrenaline earlier. If this went how she feared, something was wrong with her.

        Alyssa raised the knife in front of her face, already standing as far as possible from the target, which was about fifteen feet. She lined it up, took a deep breath, and moved her arm, flicking her wrist again more than anything.

        As the knife flew she knew already what the outcome was. The split second it took to fly turned into five. She noticed every movement of the blade, every time it flipped or rolled. The sound of the knife sinking into the wall hummed in her ears, and she shivered with wide eyes. The blade had gone where she knew it would.

        When she walked closer she could see that not only had she hit the paper, she hit the bullseye. She slowly drew the knife from the wall, and stared at it.

        The sound from it had been louder than she had thought, for her mother asked, "What was that noise?"

        Shaking, Alyssa held the knife with her forefinger on the dull side of the blade. "N-Nothing, Mom! That was nothing!"

        She felt herself lurch forward and steadied herself on a dresser. Studying the knife like it held secrets to a new world, she stood there. Her thoughts had drifted to the same area as before when she was getting ready to throw. Those dark dangerous thoughts had come back.

        Those thoughts that not only saw the knife as a tool, but a weapon. And those thoughts that had for a while seen that one spot on the wall as multiple targets. Those thoughts that used the knife not for cooking, but killing.

        Alyssa found these thoughts scary. These scared her, but something scared her more. The thoughts were thought by her. And when the spot on the wall became random faces she didn't recognize, when it became just another target, she hadn't just thrown the knife. She had enjoyed it.