Reapers - Thirteen Brothers

XII - Leaving (1 of 2)

No help came.

Just now, I regretted making him go away. My eyes darted to the walls, then, to the ceiling. Several dark figures hovered there, shrieking, gnashing their half-sewn mouths. Their bodies were like filmy cloaks with dark wriggling things on them. Most of them did not have eyes but their killing intent seemed to bore into my skull like rusty screws.

They were the same creatures I saw in the hospital that time Vincent showed me that contract.

Mine! No mine! Mine!!! I heard them hiss at each other.

At last, the door opened with an ominous creak. From the darkness, I could see Dad holding a big kitchen knife. Relief washed over me only to be replaced by dread when one of the ghastly creatures hovered around him. Its skeletal hand draped over his shoulder as he stepped cautiously toward me.

"Dad! Help!"

Without a word, he clutched the knife with both hands and lifted it over his head.

The creature pinning me down grinned malevolently and shot up to the ceiling. At first I thought the knife was for the she-monster, but even as she got off me, Dad kept pointing the knife at me.

"Demon!" he yelled, before he thrust it towards me.

I rolled out of bed, barely avoiding the blow. The knife was already half-impaled in the mattress. If I hadn't moved, I was in no doubt that that knife would be in my chest.

"Dad? What are you—" I tried to say but he was already wrenching the knife off the cushion and when he did, brandished it to my direction.

It was crystal clear. Dad was trying to kill me.

I skirted behind my bed as he prodded the blade toward my left shoulder and ducked when he tried to hack my neck with it.

Dad's eyes were glassy and blank. Mindlessly, he blindly slashed the air a few inches shy of my face.

I managed to snatch a pillow and used it as a shield when he lunged at my direction. The knife tore through the pillow and pierced through my left shoulder. Though the wound wasn't too deep, blood gushed out uncontrollably.

Wincing, I used all my force to heave Dad away from me, tripping him with my foot. He groaned, stumbling onto the floor.

White fluff flew everywhere, obscuring my view. Seeing the chance to escape, I darted past him to the stairs. I took two steps at a time down to the living room with all intent of getting out of the house. Before I reached the door, I saw the keys of Dad's truck sitting on the coffee table.

"Come here, Demon!" Dad yelled as he stumbled down the stairs.

I raced to the table, grabbed the keys and my jacket that was conveniently sprawled on the sofa. When I turned for the door, a knife was already pointed at my throat.

I gulped. "D-dad? It's me..."

"Give me back my daughter, you demon!" he growled, about to stab me again. But for a moment, a hint of hesitation flashed through his eyes. Dad stared at the knife, then at me. The knife fell out of Dad's hand, clanging as it hit the floor. Then he fell to his knees staring at his own bloodied hands.

"Dad?" I called again.

I was about to approach him when he stiffened and snatched the knife from the floor. Again, he began slashing and hacking away at my direction. His eyes were vacant again, burning with killing intent.

Yes! Yes! The voices of the creatures rejoiced.

Dad sprung and nearly stabbed me on the neck which I barely avoided by throwing myself behind the couch. A sweltering pain shot from the stab wound in my right shoulder blade. More blood trickled down from it.

Frantically, I hobbled, heading for the door, pressing my jacket on the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. As soon as I got out, I toppled down a rack of tall wrought iron branding stakes Dad used as a decoration. It slowed him for a bit, but a few falls did not stop him from going after me.

I did a mad dash to the pick-up truck, fumbling with the keys before practically hauling myself into the cab as soon as I opened it. Praying under my breath, I started the engines.

A turbulent rumble signaled me to step on the gas pedal. The truck lurched forward with much impact I nearly banged my head onto the windshield. Then I focused on the rearview mirror as I maneuvered the truck out of the garage, into the driveway, then to the street.

When I took a quick glance, Dad was still running after me, barefooted, in his pajamas. The intense look on his eyes still frightened me though I knew he couldn't catch up.