Part of a larger (yet to be published :P) story, just trying my hand at writing a horror scene. Be warned, there is language, and an alcoholic, and blood, and violence... Just be forewarned! 1008 Words Optional happy ending included!
It had all started normally. Nothing out of the ordinary that day. Of course, Dad being completely smashed was ordinary. She was sitting on the armrest of his chair and she could smell the alcohol seething from his pores. Were it not for the fact that she was used to the odor, she might have gagged.
Mother was busy working in the kitchen, chopping vegetables while the soup was simmering quietly in its pot. She worked quickly and diligently, her fingers moving with great dexterity so as not to chop them off with the knife. She never talked while she cooked, never took a chance to do anything that might upset Dad.
The girl knew better than to ask her father why her mother did all the work around the house. Asking the question once was enough, as she had learned when she was six. After being yelled at for ten minutes she had earned a paddling and a grounding. “Women are worthless,” Dad had told her, his voice at first calm but growing louder by the second. “Meaningless beings placed on Earth to serve men! Why, Zeus himself gave the world women as a punishment for disobedience!”
But his finisher was the killer. “... and maybe one day, you'll be working your ungrateful little ass off for a man as well!” The girl had cried in her room all night. She never cried again. The little girl had become harder from that point on, learning from her father's ways and building a wall between herself and the rest of the world.
But now, at twelve years old, the wall was broken and she was vulnerable again. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she dared to oppose her father. “Dad, stop! You're hurting Mother!” the girl shouted at him, catching her breath in between sobs.
It had all happened so fast. Dad simply walked over to Mother. She asked him if he wanted anymore salt in the soup. For no reason, Dad punched her right in the gut. The air went out of Mother, and she didn't even bother to retaliate as Dad drove his fists into her body. She swung through the air with his hands, like a marionette bouncing buoyantly on its strings.
“You know what's hurting her, sweety?” he asked with agonizing emphasis on the last word. “You are! You're a disappointment to her, you snot-nosed, self-centered brat! All you ever do is need, need, need! You need to be fed, you need be clothed! Need need need need need! I'm just helping her release tension!” he said, smiling as he pummeled the woman. “This is your fault, bitch, not mine!”
With a final blow to the face, Mother was knocked to the ground, completely unconscious. Her neck made a sickening cracking sound, and she lay sprawled out on the floor with blood gushing from her mouth and nose. “Now look what you've done, you little slut!” the man yelled, all the while smiling.
The girl raced from the room. She needed to run. Her father was going to come after her now, she knew it. She heard his shouts fade a little as though something had caught his interest, but she was to afraid to look back at him.
“Daddy's coming, dearest! He's coming to make it all better! Come on out, it'll only hurt for a little while!” he said, his voice that of a raving lunatic. But his shouting caused her to panic more, and the panic caused her to remember something; the attic! It had a pull down ladder and the trap door was almost impossible to see when it was closed!
She scrambled down the hallway, pulled on the drawstring, and flew up the pull-down ladder. She closed the latch quietly behind her, biting her lip to keep from sobbing aloud. The girl sat along the back wall where the round window was, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Then she let loose muffled sobs into her arms.
She stopped. There was a strange silence below, her father's footsteps having ceased. She watched the latch intently, looking as if she might burn a hole in the door with her stare.
Her father's head peeked up slowly, the trap door resting on it as he did so. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with saccharine arsenic.
“Mommy,” she whispered quietly.
--------------------------------For those who prefer happy endings, keep reading--------------------------------
He came slowly closer, smacking the head of a golf club to his palm. The startled girl fumbled to her feet. She ran to the cover of the many dusty items of furniture, weaving in between so as to loose her father's gaze. She hid behind a sofa, finding a box of stuff from their old house nearby.
Dad walked closer to the back wall, looking behind shelves and boxes for the little girl. “Come on out honey!” he called to her, not knowing of the plan she was cooking up behind the sofa. He turned around and kept searching.
“Daddy?” a frightened voice called. He whirled around, his back to the window, to see the terrified face of his daughter.
“Yes?” he asked, grinning like a wolf and advancing slowly toward her, still playing with the golf club.
“Go to hell.” she said, her face suddenly filling with hatred. She produced a metal baseball bat from behind her back and took a powerful swing (aided by an arm that played softball for five years) right at her father's head.
The man shrieked in pain, feeling like he was splitting open. Dropping the club, he brought his hand to his head, rubbing his temples and taking a step back. He stumbled on the edge of a rug and fell backwards. The pane of the window shattered as the man fell backwards out of the attack. Seconds later, the girl's ears were gratified with a thud, her father hitting the ground.
She smiled and sprinted down the stairs to call the ambulance for her mother.