Young Writers Society

Since I was seven years old, I always knew I was different. I heard voices ‘round me all the time no matter if no one was talking. The first words I heard were, “Kill him.” I didn’t pay much attention to the words at the time, because I didn’t care. I told my daddy ‘bout it. How I heard what he’d been thinkin only moments ago, that’s when he slapped me hard, ‘cross my right cheek it stung - a lot.

He called me a liar, said “pretty girls don’t tell ugly lies.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and took a swig before plopping down in his favorite reclining chair and sat there, while I cried holding my face in my palms.

I reckon that’s the moment I stopped tellin’ folks the things I heard.

I’d went through the years like seconds, and before I knew it I was a young woman on graduation day. After the ceremony I looked for my dad. I knew he wouldn’t be here but I still let the little girl in me wish. He never showed up.

There was this party, I was invited to of course I went, better to be surrounded by booze and music then left in the sickening silence of my dying daddy. I didn’t have friends, not at that god-awful party but I still sat there for hours drinkin’ a few beers and listening to drunk idiots tryna hit on pretty girls. (They didn’t get far of course.)

I sat there, listening to the people around me and their thoughts.

Boys thought about them girls and their short skirts, and the ladies gossiped ‘bout whose boyfriend was hookin up with what pretty girl over on the couch. Annoying. The lot of ‘em they all talked crazy, about unimportant stuff that wouldn’t matter in the coming years.

I finally decided, after a few beers and maybe a cigarette that it was time to get outta here, and face my might-as-well-been empty home. I hopped off the kitchen stool and started weaving my way through the sea of people that plagued every corner. I felt suffocated in a room full of smoke and loud noises.

“Kill him,” The words echoed in my mind, and I went still the color drained from my face. Had I thought that? Or was it from someone here, I could feel myself panicking and I needed some fresh air.

“Kill him, kill him, kill him.” A voice breathed into the back of my brain.

I needa to get outta here, quickly. I thought to myself, my claustrophobia started to poke at my eyelids and I felt faint. As I pushed my way through the crowd, I felt the weight of the suffocating atmosphere pressin’ down on me. When I suddenly felt a hand clasp my arm I gasped as they pulled me out of the crowd. Startled, I turned to see who it was.

It was a young man, around my age maybe a bit older than me, his expression concerned as he looked at me with searchin’ eyes. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked me, his voice barely audible over the din of the party.

I blinked, momentarily taken aback by his sudden appearance and the genuine concern in his eyes. Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied, though my voice sounded shaky even to my own ears.

He didn’t seem convinced. “You don’t look fine,” he breathed softly , his grip on my arm gentle but firm. “Come one, let’s get you some fresh air.”

Without waitin’ for my response, he began leadin’ me towards the doors, navigating through the crowds with ease, which told me he was used to parties like this. The sounds of the party faded into the background as we made it to the sidewalk, although it still smells of strong cologne and cigarettes. I felt better already.

“Thanks,” I murmured, finally meeting his gaze. “I don’t know what came over me in there.” I said exhaling a shaking breath, I looked up at him. He looked almost unreal, not in the sense that he was beautiful, he was! But something about him just felt… off?

He nodded at me, a silent -Are you sure you’re good?- passed between us, and I nodded my head yes, giving him a thumbs up as an awkward silence passed between us for a second, before he looked at me and gave me a small, odd smile and started walking off.

I turned to head back to my home but before I took a step I heard the words, “Kill him, now.” raging in the back of my mind, but it wasn’t my thought. I turned around my eyes darting ‘round for the man who was just with me, but he was already gone like a ghost in the mid-October air.

A shiver ran down my spine, and goosebumps ran across my skin. Home. I need to go home.

***

The oak floorboards creaked under my weight as I stepped into the house. I slipped my boots off my aching feet and tip-toed to the livin’ room, the lights flickered, two of ‘em going out, I didn’t bother to change ‘em. I craned my neck to see over the back of his pipestone red recliner. Of course my daddy passed out cold a beer hanging loosely from his grubby fingers.

I ignored him and his dead-beat self, and made my way to my bedroom to lock myself away until I could escape in the mornin’, if I was lucky enough.

As I walked down the dark hallway, I couldn’t help but notice his bedroom door, it was slightly ajar—a sight that was uncommon in our household. Curiosity and a sense of dread mingled within me as I creaked the paint-peeled door open. It was dark, too dark to see much. I made my way through the room, hands out in front of me guidin’ my way, prayin’ I don’t run into anything. I reach the curtains and pull ‘em open just slightly, the golden light of the sunset shining into the room.

It was quiet here, quieter than the house already was. I walked through his room runnin’ my hand over the dusty objects that hadn’t been touched since god knows when. I make my way over to the vanity, mom.

This was mom’s vanity. I sat in the plush olive seat in front of the vanity and looked over its dusty surface, a variety of her makeup still plagued the white top. Her favorite lipstick still stood proud in its cradle along with the others.

Persimmon. She let me wear this one after I begged her to just let me try it. I was nine and just wanted to look like my mommy. I regretted that later, when I heard my daddy yellin’ about how she can’t give expensive things to a child, and that she should just leave if she was gonna waste his “money.”

She used to tell me when the time was right, she’d come back and kill that horrible man. Then she left.

I pick the lipstick up and wipe the dusty mirror, my reflection stares back at me as I open the tube and swipe the beautiful shade against my dry lips. As I stared at myself in the mirror I saw her reflection for a split second but it disappeared just as quickly.

I open one of the drawers on her vanity, a box.

It’s small, just bigger than a deck of cards, so I pick it up and gently open the box. Inside I see pictures… one of me and one of my mom. I see a third, it’s face down in the box and I carefully flip it over, it’s me and her together—and a man. It’s not my father, but he and my mother are in the background, kissing.

My eyes went wide, and I set the box on the vanity, pickin’ up that one photo in my trembling hands. He has dark, curly hair and deep emerald green eyes.

I look back into the mirror, my emerald green eyes stare back at me as if stabbin’ me. My hair is auburn like my mothers, but the prominent curls stand out like a damn sore thumb.

He… No. That can’t be, my father is in the other room, I can feel myself panicking lookin’ from the mirror and back down at the picture, and I see it. I look like him. He even has a mole on his left cheek, where… My mole is.

No. My mother wouldn’t have lied to me, the man in our livin’ room is my father…

“Are you sure?” A voice makes me cry out and fall backwards onto the beige carpet bringin’ the pictures fluttering down with me.

Again, the voice speaks. “Are you sure, my dear?” I scurry up and look around me for a second scared it might be my daddy but I still hear his snores coming from the living room.

“Come, sit down my dear.” The voice urged. The mirror, the voice was comin’ from the mirror-

I crept towards the vanity once again, cautious and more aware of my surroundings. I pick the stool that I fell off back up and sit down carefully, my reflection looks at me once again.

This time though, it didn’t mimic me. I moved just a fraction, yet it didn’t follow. I gasped and my hand flew to my mouth as I looked back to the bedroom door, “He’s still asleep, no need to worry.” I whipped my head around and I was right, my reflection was talkin’ to me.

"Who... who are you?" I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

She cackled, a slow and chillin’ sound that seemed to reverberate through the room. "Well, I'm you, silly. Just... better," she replied, her smile was sinister, sendin’ a shiver down my spine.

"Better?" I echoed, my voice trembling with uncertainty.

She nodded, her smile widenin’ in a way that made my blood run cold. "Oh yes, much better. Stronger, braver... and oh so much more capable," she said, her tone laced with a sinister edge that sent a shiver down my spine.

I wanted to turn away, to flee from the unnervin’ sight before me, but something held me in place. And then, almost as if compelled by some unseen force, her reflection pointed towards the corner of the room.

“There,” she said, her voice a whisper that seemed to echo in my mind. “That’s where you’ll find it.”

My gaze fell to the closet, I looked back at her but she was gone; and my reflection in her place. I get up quietly and amble to the closet, inside its dark but just enough light for me to see a loose panel in the wood floorin’.

I lifted the board, it was stubborn at first but quickly gave into my tugging and pulled away from its spot with a satisfied pop. Under the board a glint of metal caught my eye, a pistol.

Kill him.

I touched its gleaming metal surface, it was cold sending a shiver up my arm, and down my back. I carefully picked it up, the weight of the weapon heavy in my grasp. As I gripped the pistol in my hands, I went back to the vanity and retrieved the photos from the floor where they’d fallen, and slowly walked back out of their bedroom, closing the door behind me.

Carryin’ the gun in one hand, and the pictures in the other I made my way to the kitchen, grabbin’ a beer from the fridge and setting the pictures on the counter. I took a swig, the bitter taste of the alcohol burning my throat as I tried to steady my reelin’ nerves.

With a shaky breath, I took a second swig from the can. I knew what she wanted me to do, my reflection. It was easy, as easy as swimmin’, except you don’t know how, and you could drown if done wrong. And then, without hesitation, I walked back to where my father lay, still unconscious in his chair.

One final swig of liquid courage, set me straight. As I stared at my fath… The man, I put the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger.

One shot.

Two shots.

Three shots.

His beer can clatter to the floor. And he was dead. It was so easy, I thought as tears brimmin’ in my eyes at the sight of his lifeless body.

Tears fall from my eyes, as I go back to the kitchen to reclaim the photos, a beer, and a lighter from the junk drawer. I drop the pistol on the floor of the livin’ room as I make my way to the back deck, the door opening with a creak and slamming shut behind me.

I sit down on the back stairs, as the sun just barely peaks over the lake, the photos in my hand stare at me, and I swear I hear them laughing, or… are those just the voices in my head? I can’t tell anymore, my head throbs as I crack the beer open and sip at it as I go through the little pieces of my mother, -and perhaps my real father- I have left.

I set the can of beer on the step below me, and pick up the lighter. I flick the lighter open and shut.

Open.

Shut.

Open.

Shut

***

Burning. The lighter sets fire to the photos in my hands, and I hold them until the flames try to lick up my fingers. Throwing them behind me I watch as they flutter to the wooden patio of the place I used to call my home.

The flames roar behind me as I sit staring out into the nothingness my world has become, and I’m starting to wonder if, maybe. I should’ve listened to the voices sooner.