Monsters are real
And ghosts are real too.
They live inside us
And sometimes they win ~Stephen King
★

TWENTY TWO YEARS AGO

ARCHER

The nimbus clouds were annoyed. They had gathered in a pack and obscured the sun. Now they unanimously cried in huge long sheets that pelted against the windows. Strong winds blew against the mansion and the windows slammed closed with a loud bang. The sound of the rain muffled Alea's fervent pleas for help, but for Archer, they echoed around the huge bedroom and into his ears further awakening the beast from it's sleep induced stupor. Now the beast fought for control. It wanted revenge against the man who had flogged it, the man that had formed welts on it's fragile skin, the same man that had called it worthless.

The beast that resided deep inside Archer took control of his scrawny body. His fingers curled tightly around his blade and he stood up. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, the veins in his neck and head popped out like chords and his lanky frame shook with rage. Pure and white hot rage.

Maybe it was true that the apple didn't fall far from the tree. Maybe it was true that Archer was just like his father, a vulgar  and brutish man who thought love was shown through thrashing his kids. Archer, however, believed the contrary. Archer believed that he was a virtuous boy and someday he would grow up into an equally virtuous man. He would most probably join law enforcement and he would help kids just like him to escape from their abusive parents but to do that,  he needed to survive.

Powered by his pent up rage, Archer charged like a bull. Marcos was going to get the shock of his life—

"No!" Alea croaked. She had turned as white as a sheet and she was shaking like a leaf. A mixture of tears and sweat flowed down her face in tiny streams.

Marcos whirled. His eyes widened when he saw the knife and he reacted by connecting his fist with Archer's nose. Archer's nose burst open like a geyser spewing blood every which way. It produced a funny whistling sound that indicated that something was broken. The world spun dangerously and he spat a mixture of blood and mucus. So much for a rescue operation. Marcos added a few expert jabs to Archer's ribs and he was finished. The knife cluttered to the floor and he fell with a muffled thud to the fluffy carpet, clutching his ribs. 

Marcos picked up the dagger and his eyes gained a suspicious spark. Archer helplessly curled himself into a fetal position to protect himself from the blows. Marcos' hairy hand rose and the knife began it's decent. He was going to die. If this was happening about a week ago, he probably would not have flinched or even raised his hands to guard himself against the impact. Back then, Archer anticipated death. Sometimes he lay awake in bed waiting for the icy cold hand of death to come and free him from his suffering but it never came. Now, he had so much to live for. His school counselor, Madam Dianne, a woman who hailed from France had taught him the power of self esteem. Calliope, the house maid, who had been more his mother than Abigail had ever been had taught him to dream. To envision a life where there was no pain. Where fathers didn't beat their kids and where mothers fussed over their children. He had to live for them now because he wasn't unlovable. They loved him and his sister loved him too–

Was he dead? He opened his tear filled eyes to gawk at the opulence of the after life. Was it a land of milk and honey like he had been told in Sunday school? Was it filled with rivers of chocolate and ham sandwiches because Archer really like ham sandwiches. Well, the after life was not as spectacular as he had been made to believe. The after life was just one blindingly monochromatic bedroom with a slightly rumpled king sized bed, a white closet and a stick thin girl hitting a big burly and hairy man multiple times with a curtain rod while white curtains  lay crumpled in a heap in one corner of the room.

What? Archer blinked his eyes a half dozen times. Maybe he was in hell. He couldn't see the layers of burning hot fire that Calliope had told him about, though.

Shit!  Not  hell. He was still in his bedroom and he needed to do something first or else his sister was going to be finding out for him what the after life looked like.

Archer tried to stand but the world spun beneath his feet and he fell to the floor. He became nauseous and a tremor shook his body. His father was right. He was not macho enough. A punch to the nose and a few jabs to the ribs and he was on the floor vomiting blood and bawling like a baby.

"Please, don't hurt me. I am pregnant." Alea whimpered.  Marcos, who had now gotten hold of the curtain rod, froze instantaneously.

The sound of slanted rain drops pelting the window froze them in time. Then the curtain rod came up and descended on Alea's shaking body. A loud crack resonated in the room bringing Archer to attention. Alea fell to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Archer was no doctor but he knew that the sound indicated danger.

Alea was pregnant? Archer needed to do something. He wanted to scream but his throat was shut  with so many emotions. Hate? Anger? Bitterness? Archer wasn't sure. Screaming wouldn't help anyway. Abigail would not come to their aid and Calliope was out shopping. Damn it.

Marcos lifted Alea off the floor by the neck like she was some sort of play thing. She wasn't moving. Her eyes were closed. God please let her be alive. His meaty hands curled around her neck and he began to squeeze. Even then Alea didn't move. She didn't scream just..... nothing.

Archer painfully hefted himself off the carpeted floor. He ignored the whizzing sound that his lungs produced. He spied his knife lying on the fluffy carpet and he forced himself to crawl towards it. After what felt like a long gruelling hour, Archer's fingers curled around the handle of his knife and a bloody smile stretched his lips. He probably looked like a satisfied vampire.

Archer skewered his father's legs then hefted himself to a sitting position and stabbed his thighs multiple times until he let go of Alea. Alea fell to the floor yet again and Archer felt white hot anger spear through his body. Marcos dropped to his knees and Archer plunged his knife into his father's stomach with more force than necessary. Marcos' blood stained the white fluffy carpet but that was not enough. Archer wanted more. He looked at his knife streaked in blood. The tip had broken off but it could still work. It could still finish off the man that had brought him so much pain. The pungent smell of open bowels filled the room and Archer gagged. He raised the knife ready for another strike but Marcos' voice stopped him.

"P-p-lea-se." Marcos was huffing. Pearls of sweat beaded his forehead and upper lips. His lips quivered and pride swelled in Archer's chest. He had done this. He had slain a monster.

"I begged you to stop so many times. Did you stop then?" Archer said just as a pair of hands yanked him away from his dying father. He looked at the smiling face of his mother and a tremor sneaked up his spine. He hated this woman with all his heart. He had been too close to death but his mother had not cared. Not even once had she come to their aid. From now on, it was going to be Archer and Alea for life. No one else.

Archer ran to where Alea lay on the floor and checked for a pulse and found none. Tears fell down his gaunt cheeks and he ran to Calliope who was now standing at the door holding a bag of groceries. Archer buried his face in her black and white uniform that smelled like garlic and he sobbed.

"Call an ambulance please. Alea is pregnant." Archer cried and froze. He realized he had made a big mistake. His mother paled and her face turned cold.

"Get him out of the room." Abigail ordered. Calliope dropped the groceries and carried a kicking and screaming Archer out of the room.

Alone with her writhing husband, Abigail smirked.

"Call a d-doctor." Marcos begged.

"Why?" Abigail asked. "You are not exactly in as much pain as I want you to feel."

"Plea-se." He huffed. The sweat gave his face an oily shine and he began to shiver.

Abigail's smile widened. She removed the knife from her husband's stomach and plunged it into his chest. For effect, she twisted it and that marked the end of the legacy of Marcos Finn.

Abigail walked towards her daughter and removed a stray strand of jet black hair from her face. She sat by her daughter until the ambulance came and whisked her away.

It was the perfect crime. Nobody ever figured out that he was dead in the first place. He was just one more father that had abandoned his family in search of a young bimbo. And for the rest of us in the Finn residence, life moved on as though everything that had happened was just a bad dream.

Well atleast until today.

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I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it. My favorite character in this chapter was Abigail. Flood me with comments on her character.

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