Haunted

Warning: the following content contains mention of possession, demons and suicide.

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By: Annabelle Kng

I gaze out the window. The rain is pelting pitifully, and shows no sign of rest. I cannot undo what I will do.

Bony fingers grope along the dull cream ivory keys. Behind the dusty, ripped curtains, I am scrutinizing their every move as the sickly ballad bounces off the peeling walls and rises towards the stained glass ceiling. The song accelerates, as does my heartbeat. My lungs scream for longer and deeper breaths.

The fingers land on a sudden low C chord and her hand retreats back to her knee as she raises her head, peering at my reflection in the glossy black instrument.

For a slight second, I see it. I see it again. Her face changes in a flash to a surface burnt like melted wax. The dark eyes are the exact contrast of her pallor skin: their deep circles make it hard to make out the pupils, merely a hint of her beady eyes piercing through your soul. The face is ghoul-like and gaunt; her cheek so emaciated, as if caving in, leaving two cavernous holes on her face. I stare in horror for half a second, then instantly shroud myself behind the curtain. I want to scream, I want to let out the fear built inside of me, the stress of being afraid of every second I’m around her. It turns my hair to a deep ash.

It sounds like I’m hallucinating or I’m crazy. But I’m not. I. Am. Not. Crazy. I’ve told this to my therapist, to my parents, my friends. Why won’t they believe me? The words of a tired woman.

My stepdaughter is possessed.

A blanket of black feasts in the summer light. Thunder crashes down and the rain pitter-patters drearily on the windowsill. I stare down at the burnished weapon in my hands. The sharp end of the serrated knife points toward the haunted girl, toying with a broken china doll. The big, blue eyes decorating a porcelain face, her ripped, ruffled dress, and tangled black hair followed the cursed Etude everywhere she went.

My eyes fall back down to the killer’s tool. Its silver face grins at me; it urges me, rushes me to use it. Glimpses of a sweeter time, of her laughter and smiles, taint my mind. A prelude to her Father’s death.

In my peripheral vision, it’s wickedness shows itself again, a reminder. This time, longer - a whole second. The wrinkled, wrenched face smirks at me with its crooked, stained teeth.

Thump. Thump.

The acrimony pulses in my veins.

Screech. The foot of my chair scrapes the wooden floor. My knees crack as I rise up. I slowly stroll towards Etude, each of my legs dragging the other towards my foster. I can feel my heartbeats in my veins. I feel them come alive. My fingers are red and strained, my head abruptly starts throbbing and my legs tremble. I hear my teeth slowly turning into powder and my head screaming in anguish. My fingernails drill into my palm and the death weapon in hand. I stare back.

I make the choice.

One smooth stab to the chest and the small body collapses to the ground. Still eyes. Muted skin. I feel it’s soul putrefying.

My hands tremble. Shivers go down my spine. The steaming blade clatters onto the floorboards. The metallic smell of blood pollutes the air, I can taste the microdroplets of the crimson red. An ocean surfaces in my black eyes but it instantly drains back.

I stagger a few steps as my body bangs onto the ground.

My eyes are parallel with my lifeless daughter’s. Her frail soul is incessantly being devoured by the demon trapped inside her. The teeth gnaw at her meat and blood ooze out. It then rips it off like grinding on a piece of bread; her skin is combined with its sickening saliva, making a miry texture.

Everything... becomes blurry. Tears of internal ongoing battle blur my visions. Yet, there isn’t a cloud in the azure sky. Calm and composed.

Image: Nelms, B. (2016, April 6). Argument over groceries ends in woman stabbed, another arrested. The Citizen, 1. https://thecitizen.com/2016/04/06/argument-over-groceries-ends-woman-stabbed-another-arrested/