The Demon Inheritance

TWENTY-NINE

I glanced over my room. Not much had changed, although I now had my sword on the wall and Oliver's jacket was up on a rack against my closet. "It's over. I just don't want to tonight. I'm going to stay home with Rachael. Sorry, Mary... I know that no one ever knows the last time they see someone. I should be going but, hey-"

"Don't read too much into your own decision," Mary said, chuckling. "I don't blame you. It's okay. I will actually be home in a few minutes anyway. I don't like pizza as much as I used to."

I gaped. "How dare you?" I felt a tug on my wind. So then, I picked up another toy and made it squirm and dance in the air in Rachael's room. "Pizza is amazing. Something is wrong with you, sis."

"Maybe... Dillan wants to go bowling after this. I don't like bowling so I'm going home anyway. I only came for those cinnamon bread stick things you can dip in icing. Yum."

"You have such a sweet tooth. You should learn how to make cake and stuff," I told her. "You know, a part time to killing demons and stuff."

Crack.

My wind went limp in the shock of the sound. I felt my skin prickle as my hairs stood up all over me. I sat up, dropping my phone and rushing over to my sword. With my luck, it decided to stubbornly stick to the wall. It didn't want to go, as silly as that seemed. "Mary, hang up. Something's going on."

"Emma?! What was that? Are you-"

"Hang up. Call the police for me and tell them to get to my house. I can't do this because I have to keep everyone safe here."

My phone beeped out, and I walked out of my room without a weapon. All I had was my wind ready to tear apart any threat that showed itself. I passed by Rachael's room and peeked in. The kid looked scared. I twisted her lock so that it wouldn't let anyone in if I failed at keeping myself alive in this instance. "It's okay, baby. I'll come back. I love you."

After shutting the door, I continued down the hall and eventually into the living room. I found that no doors had been opened. The sound had come from the garage. I grabbed a kitchen knife, much less stubborn, and made my way outside.

I felt rage fly through me. "You think it's wise to mess with my family, I will show you just how wrong you are, asshat." I gripped the knife in my hand, hoping that in the potential moment, I would actually have the guts to defend myself.

I made my way towards the garage. It was already dark outside, and the clouds above had already started giving to the world. Raindrops plummeted slowly in tiny amounts, like it was sprinkling. I continued my way through into the garage, and opened the door.

It was black inside, but with the light of a passing car through the blinds, I could see enough of what had happened.

My mother was on the floor, a hammer in her hand. She was straddled onto Dad, a crazed look in her eye. My father was dead. There was no denying it. A quarter of his head had been pushed it, bits of brain matter sprayed all over my mother's clothes and the floor. She grinned, bits of the brain dangling from her teeth.

I stumbled back against the door I couldn't remember shutting. Then, I spilled out my lunch all over the floor. I couldn't even be warned with a queasy feeling before vomiting. I hoped that somehow, I had seen something wrong. That somehow, Mom and Dad would rush over to me and ask if i was sick and needed soup for dinner instead of whatever we were going to have instead. But that didn't happen. Instead, there was a sound like a suction as my mother pulled the murder weapon out of his skull.

This isn't real. Wake up. This is the night-terror dream, but extended. It has to be!

Her voice was an amused growl. "Emma, come here. Trust me, it will be fun."

I gripped my stomach, wiping the chunks from my mouth. My body quivered, but I fought to stand up. "Mom, stop! What's gotten into you?!"

The woman kept coming. There was something in her eye that almost suggested that it wasn't even her. But that couldn't be it. Mom was a demon, even if she didn't know it, and demons couldn't be possessed. She had to be a demon, or I wouldn't be Kalos.

I dropped my knife, gagging on the rising bile that came with inhaling the scent of fresh blood. It was copper and iron, choking the air all around us. My mother grabbed the knife from me, and I couldn't fight her off. She dropped the hammer in front of me, and then traced the blade over my face.

"Poor little Emma is so confused!" she grinned. "Something wrong, honey? You miss your daddy already?"

With a quivering hand, I picked up the hammer. It's the dream. You have to kill her again, but it's okay. I swung at her, but she dodged and sliced the knife into my arm. Luckily, I had grabbed one of the duller knives on accident. I took a step forward, and Mom aimed to plunge the blade into my chest. I moved at the right moment, kicking her leg so that she fell over. I straddled her, then, with the hammer, I buried it into her eye. Blood splattered as her eye popped, and the caved in part of her face began emitting a disgusting smell.

I shook, tears running down my face. Time to wake up.

I waited a moment as a car went by. I got to see a perfect view of her face. Her single dull eye looked glazed over, and her hair was knotted with blood. I shook, starting to fear the worse.

Why am I not waking up?

I tried to choke back the vomit again, holding my stomach.

This is a dream.

I forced myself to stand up, shaking. For the fear that I would land on either of the bodies, I was able to stand up. Leaving everything, I went out of the garage and walked back into the house. I limped toward Rachael's room, in denial.

I'm going to wake up any second now.

I ripped off the doorknob with my air, then pushed the door open. Rachael was missing. And there was blood all over the walls.

What happened? Why am I dreaming more than I normally do?

I walked into my room and laid on the bed.

You can't wake up. This is not a dream.

I screamed, then felt all my strength just drain from me. All the strength but my wind, which pulled over my sword, WHITESTONE. Whitestone threatened to tear open my throat. If this was a dream, I would merely wake up... And if it wasn't... It isn't. There isn't a reason to live on with what I had done. I had... killed Mom. I had killed my own mother.

Before the weapon could plunge inside, Mary called. I answered the call, stroking the blade.

Mary sounded horrified. "Dad... killed... Mom... Killed... Himself... Emma help me..."

I hugged the pillow to my chest, and screamed into the material. It had happened too fast. And yet... I had a will to live. That will was Mary Clarkson. "I'll be there. Meet me in the woods."