Tales of Massacre: Revenge

Bk1 Ch1 • A New Home

FIRE fights with dripping crimson tearing down like claws at the floral plastered walls. The torrid heat boils the blood within, and each second, one fraction of the house succumbs to falling.

"Mommy!" A child's voice cries out, but it is drowned by sweltering flames, and the blood-curdling shriek that rips through the air.

A thud slaps across the floor, as a fist plummets limp against the hard hot ground, disconnected from its owner.

And everything is lost to blood and death.

OCTOBER 23, 2011

Josephine, a girl who has just reached nine years, sits in the back of the family car as it weaves past streets enshrouded in vehicles.

"I miss my friends back at Stillwater..." Josephine looks gloomy, her head hanging low. She skims through pages of a scrapbook crafted as a surprise farewell gift from her childhood friends. Glued to it were pictures brimmed with fun memories, though it didn't last long physically, but Josephine kept it in her mind, somewhere locked like in a vault.

Somewhere to remember eternally.

Josephine is usually quiet. She opens up to people who she thinks she can relate to. And with all her childhood friends, she was fortunate her parents were able to encourage her to make some. Once she was given a bike by the age of five, there is not a day where she would not rove down a cul-de-sac street where she would unite with her buddies.

All that is in the past now that a new wave of life is about to crash over her.

Her father, Carlisle, adjusts the rear-view mirror, making the glass reflect his somber daughter perched obediently in the back. "Josie, honey, I know how much you miss home, but look at the bright side... you get to make more friends in a new neighborhood."

"But they might not like me," Josephine replies in a mumble, her words a slur of whispering syllables.

She glances at her mother, Lindsay, whose head is buried in one palm. As if picking up her gaze, Carlisle nudges his wife with a question. "So, that job interview... how'd it go?"

Lindsay massages her temple, and answers in an exasperated tone. She is a compassionate mother of one daughter, and a wife of a loving husband, despite her tendency to be overwhelmed by emotions. Storm before the calm she says. "Well, to kick-start life here, I have to bury deep into the archives and look into the story about Superintendent Petrova's suicide, along with a carcass of children."

"Ah, when I was a kid, no one dared to tell that tale of massacre. But, the story has already been exposed to many. Why research?" Carlisle says.

Lindsay heaves out a heavy sigh. "Boss man believes there's something more to it. And if we emerge with an untold side of the tale, then publicity goes to us and not the rival."

Josephine watches buildings sway past in a constant blur, her attention miles away from her parents. Every road trip, or car ride, Josephine remains silent, and merely observes other lives mingling around and about. When the city transforms into a nabe of suburban houses, she buckles up as a fresh home awaits in a distance.

"We're almost there," Carlisle announces enthusiastically. His fingers curled around steering wheel then rotated it to the right, guiding the vehicle around the curb. He skims passing houses, then delicately slams the brake pedal.

Lindsay studies the front exterior of the house they had purchased weeks ago. "This is it. I'll go unload the trunk. And Josie, don't wander too far." She steps out of the car, and saunters to the rear.

While Josephine's parents work to convey their belongings from the car trunk, to the untouched lawn, she merely watches the house before her. The more she peers it in scrutiny, the more it appears to twist with patterns.