Upon His Return

Saturday

Though he was gone for months at a time, Ben Richards was a good father. He rarely missed one of Sam’s baseball games, and he loved watching Bethany’s tumbling showcases. The reason for his departure this time was a two month expedition to South America, to explore some newly discovered Peruvian ruins.

As he approached baggage claim, his face lit up as he saw his wife Meredith, Sam and Bethany each clutching one of her hands; their faces were anxious with anticipation.

“Who is that I see?” said Ben, and Sam and Bethany’s heads whipped so quickly to his direction, he was sure they would pop their necks. Nevertheless, their faces lit up at the sight of him.

“Daddy!” they shrieked in unison, and, releasing their mother’s hand, they raced towards him. Ben knelt down and opened his arms just in time for the kids to run straight into them. They had changed since he had last seen them. Sam’s hair was growing darker, and he must’ve grown at least an inch or two. Bethany’s hair, on the contrary, seemed to be growing lighter, reflective of her mother’s blond hair; she, too, must’ve grown at least two or three inches, though her brother, being two years her junior, was still taller.

“Yes, yes!” Ben said through the kisses and hugs. “I’m glad to see you too!”

“Did you miss us, daddy?” Bethany asked.

“Did you see any ghosts?” asked Sam.

“Yes, I did miss you,” said Ben, “and no, I didn’t see any ghosts. Not this time.”

“This time?” said Sam, the awe clear in his voice. “Does that mean you’ve seen ghosts before?”

“How about I tell you tonight? I need to get my bags.”

“I’ve got them,” said Meredith, who had joined them. She set the two suitcases on the ground and hugged her husband; Ben noticed she was wearing his favorite perfume of hers: a simple rose-scented one.

“And hello to you, too!” said Ben, whispering into her ear; he felt her shiver in anticipation.           “Welcome home, tiger,” she said, releasing him from the hug and looking down at the kids. “Let’s take your dad’s things to the car, and we can get on home.”

10 minutes later, the Richards family piled into their car, and Meredith navigated it out of the parking lot towards home.

***

Dinner consisted of salmon with roast potatoes and asparagus. They talked and laughed throughout the meal, with the kids catching Ben up on everything he had missed while he’d been gone. Ben learned that Sam, the pitcher for the local youth baseball team, had struck out three hitters, winning the game. Bethany, meanwhile, had been particularly praised by Mrs. Evans, her tumbling instructor, on her form; this was particularly noteworthy as the other children were still struggling to grasp the new choreography.

“Now, from what Dad told me earlier,” said Meredith, looking between the kids, “I think he got you something while he was away. Is that right, Ben?”

“You know, I think you’re right,” said Ben, and both kids’ eyes lit up again with excitement. “Go on into the living room, you two, and I’ll see if I can’t track them down.”

The kids leaped to their feet and began to race towards the living room. Ben cleared his throat, and the children froze in their tracks.

“Forgetting something, are we?”

“Sorry, dad,” said Sam, and he led the way back to the dinner table, where he and Bethany cleared the plates, scraping off uneaten food and putting them in the dishwasher.

“Thank you,” said Ben. “Now, go into the living room, and I’ll be there in a minute.”

The kids raced out of the kitchen, leaving Ben and Meredith to clean up the rest. It was quick work, and the dishwasher was pleasantly humming ten minutes later. Afterwards, Meredith went into the living room to wait with Sam and Bethany while Ben went to the bedroom, from which he returned, two packages in his hand, both wrapped in brown paper.

Ben sat down on an ottoman across from the kids and handed them their souvenir. Bethany opened hers first: it was a necklace made with silver and topaz, and it sparkled even in the low light of the living room. Sam went next: it was a small statue depicting a small horned man, his messy hair draped down his back.

“Ohhhh, cool!” cooed Sam, his eyes wide with wonder. His face twitched a little. “What is it?”

“I know how much you love supernatural stuff, buddy,” said Ben, taking the statue in his hands and showing Sam the small inscription at its base. “It’s the god Supay, the god of death.”

“That’s so cool!” said Sam, taking the statue back and examining it. Behind him, Meredith’s face, unlike her son’s, became instantly concerned, but Sam in his excitement didn’t notice; Ben did, though. He cleared his throat again and checked his watch.

“How about you two go put your things in your room and start to get ready for bed?” he said. “Did you finish your homework?”

“Yes, daddy,” the kids said in unison. They both hugged Ben in thanks before going to their rooms. Once both doors were closed, Meredith turned to look back at her husband, her eyebrows raised. Ben looked at her, and the look she was giving him told him all he needed to know.

“What?” he said. “He’s nine, almost ten. It’s fine. It’s just a statue.”

“A statue of a god of death, though, Ben?” asked Meredith, shaking her head.

“Hon,” said Ben, and he moved to sit next to her and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s just a statue. It can’t hurt him, or anyone for that matter.”

Meredith didn’t say anything for a moment but looked in the direction of her son’s bedroom. At last, she sighed.

“Fine,” she said. “But no creepy stuff, deal?”

She extended her hand, which Ben shook.

“Deal,” said Ben. “Besides, there’s nothing attached to it anyway. I had a shaman look it over. Your souvenir, though…”

His voice trailed off, and they both laughed. Meredith stood and pulled her husband to his feet, and she led the way to the bedroom.

Monday

Ben sat at his desk in his office, typing away on his summary paper. In the paper, he summarized his trip: what he had found, hypothesized, the like. It needed to be submitted to Taylor Simmons, his supervisor, by Wednesday evening. He had been hard at work on it since he had gotten home from taking the kids to school that morning. Meredith was out, picking up groceries for the week; better to do it now than that evening, when everyone would be getting off work.

Throughout the house, the only sound was that of Ben’s keyboard and the clink of his glass against the coaster. By the time he had written his fifth page, he was starting to get restless, so he stood up and began to pace around the office, before wandering into the kitchen.

There, he found some dishes from breakfast that had yet to be washed. As he set to rinsing, a loud thud caught his ear. He turned, half expecting someone to be standing before him, brandishing a weapon. He was alone, though. Suspecting he had imagined it, he returned to his rinsing, but the thud sounded again less than two minutes later. Now sure of himself, he dropped his sponge and set off in the direction of the noise.

As he approached, more thuds were sounding, each louder than the last. The noise, he determined, was coming from Bethany’s room, whose door was currently closed. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room was adorned with light pink (Bethany’s favorite color) wallpaper and her bed sat opposite the bedroom door. A small desk stood against the left wall, and a bookshelf and the closet stood opposite that. To Ben’s surprise, most of the books, which had been neatly put away this morning, were now strewn all over the floor, some of the open. A quick check to the window showed it was closed, so how did they fall?

Probably just too many books stacked up there. Yes, that’s it. Too many, and they just tumbled out. Ben shook his head and crossed to the books and began to replace them back onto the shelf, careful to not overcrowd. When he was done, he scanned the room again. Satisfied, he backed out, closing the door behind him. Meredith arrived home shortly after, and her arrival drove the incident from his mind. The rest of the day passed without incident.

***

As evening overcame the afternoon, so too did a set of dark clouds overcome the sunny day that had the town had enjoyed. By the time Sam and Bethany finished their homework at five o’clock, it had started to rain. By seven, the rain had evolved into a full thunderstorm. The Richards finished the evening watching Ratatouille, and by the time it finished, both Sam and Bethany were fighting to stay awake.

“Alright, time for bed, you two,” said Meredith, kissing each kid on the head. They each hugged their parents and stumbled off towards bed. After they were gone, Meredith turned to Ben.

“Want to read?” she asked, to which Ben happily nodded. He led the way to the bedroom, and they both read (him, the newest James Patterson book, and she reread Nicholas Sparks’ Dear John for the umpteenth time) before going to sleep. Both drifted off to sleep.

A loud boom of thunder woke Meredith from her sleep. Groggy, she felt around for Ben’s arm, which she intended to wrap around herself. To her surprise, she couldn’t feel his arm. She turned around and saw, to her further surprise, that Ben wasn’t in the bed; a look around the room showed he wasn’t even in the room. She looked at the digital clock on her nightstand: 11:30 pm. They had been asleep for nearly an hour. Where was he?

Resisting the urge to fall back asleep (it beckoned oh so seductively), Meredith forced herself out of bed, pulled her robe on, and set off down the hall, looking for Ben. He wasn’t in the hall bathroom, which the kids used. He wasn’t in Bethany’s room either. At last, she found him.

He was standing in Sam’s room, standing over his sleeping son. He wasn’t moving, except for his light breathing.

“Ben?” she hissed, but he paid her no attention.

“Ben?” she repeated, louder this time, and he finally moved. However, instead of turning to his wife and going back to bed, he stooped down and straightened up, something now clutched in his hand. A flash of lightning revealed that it was the statue of Supay. As she watched, Ben began to caress the statue, as if it were a beloved pet’s head.

Boom! A loud crash of thunder sounded outside, and ben returned the statue to its resting place on Sam’s bedside nightstand. He then turned on the spot and marched out of the room; Meredith flattened herself against the wall to avoid him running into her. Taken aback for a moment, Meredith shook her head and followed him back to their bedroom, where he got back into bed. A moment later, she heard his snoring, as if nothing had happened. She thought of waking him, to discuss what had just occurred, but she stopped herself. What good would that do? Ben had had bouts of sleepwalking when they had first married, but they had eventually slipped away; maybe now they had returned.

She shook her head again and got into bed next to her husband. Within minutes, she, too, was fast asleep.

Tuesday

The following morning at breakfast, Meredith shot several worried looks at Ben, ensuring that he was alright. As far as she could tell, he seemed perfectly normal and went about his morning as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Sam was the same, casually chatting with his father about his upcoming day.

After the kids boarded the bus for school, Meredith left for her yoga class, and Ben retreated once again to his office, planning to finish his summation paper today and proof it this afternoon; he would then submit the final draft tomorrow.

Just as he had yesterday, Ben filled a glass with water, took it into his office, and sat behind his laptop, ready to work. To his dismay, though, he had only been writing for just over half an hour when he heard a clatter, as if something made of wood had fallen to the ground. Curious, Ben saved his document, closed the laptop, and went to investigate.

As he walked, he heard another clatter, the same type of noise as before. This one, he realized, had come from the kitchen. He headed that direction and saw, lying on the floor beneath its hook, the crucifix that had usually hung next to the door to the backyard. Now, it lay on the floor, its small metal Jesus staring up at him, helpless. Ben bent down, retrieved it, and moved to put it back on its hook. However, something stopped him.

He turned the crucifix over in his hand, feeling it in his hand. He stopped and laid the crucifix down on a nearby table. He then went to he and Meredith’s bedroom, where she had some art she had recently purchased leaning against one wall. He selected one, brought it back to the crucifix, and set the piece against the nail, allowing it to hang where the crucifix had been just moments before. Admiring his work, he complimented himself on how nicely the painting looked; it really did compliment the space nicely, as if it had always belonged there.

He turned, aiming to go back to his work, when the crucifix lying on the table caught his eye. He picked it up and casually strode to the kitchen island, where the garbage can was. He slid it open, dropped the crucifix down amongst the garbage, and slid the can back into place. He paused and remembered there was another crucifix hanging in the house, this one in dining room.

Just as before, he went to the bedroom and selected one of Meredith’s art pieces, removed the crucifix, and replaced it with the piece. Like the first, this piece suited the dining room nicely. This crucifix, too, he deposited into the garbage. He then emptied the can, carrying the bag out to the larger can outside, officially removing any trace of either crucifix. Satisfied, he returned to his office and resumed his work.

***

That evening, Meredith and Ben laid down in bed for the night, each propped against pillows, their books open. As they shut the lights off twenty minutes later, Meredith paused, and Ben turned to her clearly concerned by her brief pause.

“Hey,” he said, extending one arm to rub her shoulder. “You alright?”

It was a moment before she responded, trying to gather the courage to talk to him.

“You were sleepwalking last night,” she said at last.

“I what?” said Ben, nearly laughing. Meredith did not laugh.

“You sleepwalked right into Sam’s room last night,” she said. “You were standing over his bed and at one point, you were…caressing that statue you gave him.”

“I caressed a statue?” said Ben, now trying to keep himself from laughing for his wife’s sake. “Are you sure? What time was it?”

“I know what I saw!” said Meredith, and Ben’s face immediately went serious. “I know what I saw, and what I saw was you caressing that statue.”

“Look, honey,” said Ben, his voice warm. “If I was sleepwalking, I could’ve done any number of strange things. I could’ve walked up onto the roof, for Christ’s sake!”

“If you had…,” said Meredith, but her voice trailed off. Ben sat up and wrapped both arms around her.

“Hey,” he said smoothly. “I’m fine, and nothing is going to happen to me or you or the kids. I promise.”

He made an X over his heart and held up his right hand. At last, she finally laughed, albeit weak. She shook her head, clearing it of those intrusive thoughts.

“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Ben smiled, kissed her, rolled over, and silence lapsed between them as they waited for sleep. It was Meredith who broke the silence.

“Ben,” she said, quietly. “Do you know what happened to my crucifixes? The one at the back door and the one in the dining room?”

Ben opened his mouth to respond and froze: he had no memory of where they had gone.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Did you move them to dust?”

“I don’t think so,” said Meredith. “Those new pictures I bought at the art fair last week are in their place, and I would’ve cleared the wall before hanging them.”

“I don’t know,” said Ben. “We’ll look for them tomorrow.”

Satisfied, Meredith allowed the silence to return, and they were both soon asleep.

Saturday

Saturday was Sam’s first baseball game since Ben’s return, and Ben had been looking forward to it all week. He dropped Sam off at the field (the coach had scheduled one more practice before the game) and went home to get some work done before he and the other two went to the field.

When he got home, he found an email in his Inbox from Taylor of his next assignment: Taylor wanted a research paper on ancient Mayan culture and political life before the end of the day next Friday. Though he would’ve waited until at least Monday morning to start, he decided to get a jump start on it today.

As usual, he carried his glass of water into the office and sat down behind his laptop to conduct his research. As he scrolled through countless websites and books of his own collection, he quickly grew tired of the work, but was determined to have at least two pages of notes started before stopping for the day.

Unconsciously, he reached for his water glass and brought it to his lips. Normally, he could’ve drank water for the entire day, other beverages be damned. Today, though, it brought him no sense of thirst quenching; in fact, it completely bored him. To spice things up, he returned to the kitchen, dumped the water, dried his cup, and returned to his office, where his booze was stored. He opened his cabinet and began to rummage through the bottles until a bottle of Scotch caught his eye. He grabbed it and set it down on the desk before returning to the kitchen, where he filled his cup with some ice and retrieved a club soda from the fridge.

Upon finally returning to the office with all his supplies, he mixed his drink and took a sip. It hit the spot, whatever one that might be. He took another and smiled, looking down at the amber liquid.

“Cheers,” he said, raising the glass to no one before taking his largest sip yet. He lowered the glass, smiled, and raised the glass again, this time draining it.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” he said, laughing to himself. “Better make sure it’s still bad.”

Cheers, sip. Smile, sip again. Rinse and repeat. Before long, the room started to become fuzzy as it…slowly…became…a whirl…of color.

***

The next thing he knew, he was waking up on the couch in his office. Immediately, his head throbbed, making him wince. He looked around. His glass was on the side table next to him. He pulled himself to his feet and shuffled over to the blinds, which were currently pulled down. To his horror, when he raised them, he saw that it was evening. The game!

“Shit!” he said, and he quickly turned, making his head throb even harder. He winced again and began to walk towards the kitchen, looking for the first aid kit. He found it and brought out a bottle of Tums and Tylenol. He swallowed two of the Tylenol with a glass of water before chewing down the Tums.

It was then that he heard the door to the backyard open and Meredith’s voice.

“…two stay here,” she was saying. “I’ll be right back.”

The door closed, and he heard her footsteps coming in his direction.

“In here,” he said, and a second later, she was standing in the doorway, a frown dominating her face.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” she said. Ben opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

“You missed the game,” she said, and Ben felt a wave of shame crash over him.

“Is Sam upset?” he finally asked.

“You tell me,” she said. “He was so surprised that you weren’t there, especially since you were the one that dropped him off.”

Another wave.

“I’m so sorry, Mer,” he said, but she shook her head.

“Don’t apologize to me,” she said, and her face finally slackened and she stepped aside.

“Come on out to the deck,” she said. “We ordered a pizza, and I know Sam wants to tell you all about it.”

He nodded sheepishly, and he followed her out to the deck, where Sam and Bethany were chatting. At the sight of his father, Sam’s smile slowly gave away to a stony look.

“Hey,” he said, his voice neutral, refusing to give any sort of sign of his current mood. “You missed my game. Where were you?”

“I’m so sorry, buddy,” he said, and his heart nearly melted at the sight of Sam’s face, his blue eyes filled with disappointment.

Sam nodded and returned to talking to his sister, avoiding eye contact with Ben. The rest of the night passed uneventfully, but Sam refused to meet his father’s eyes. When Ben put the boy to bed later, Sam entered his room and immediately shut the door. Ben sighed, staring at the white door, before heading to the bedroom; hopefully, Sam would be in a better mood in the morning.

Sunday

As he had hoped, Sam was in a far better mood the following morning, even giving so far as to hug his father in greeting. They ate breakfast in high spirits, Sam providing the game’s rundown to Ben. The well of shame and embarrassment that had brewed inside him overnight finally dried up and crumbled away. So far, the only irritable part of the day was the headache aftermath of his drinking yesterday, punishment for missing the game.

After breakfast, Ben retreated to his office to actually start on his paper for Taylor. To his laptop he went, water glass in hand, and sat down behind the laptop, ready for his work. After completing his research, filling up nearly half a notebook, he decided to lie down on the couch, take a nap to ease the headache, and then eat a late lunch before returning to work.

As he lied on the couch, waiting for sleep to overcome him, his mind drifted to his conversation with Meredith the previous evening. Why had she been upset with him? So he had had a few, so what? He rarely got drunk, let alone missed one of Sam’s games. Was he not allowed to enjoy the weekend, enjoy his alcoholic purchases? The last time he’d been drunk was three years ago, at his brother’s wedding reception. He had had trouble recalling the reception itself, and that lack of memory scared him so much, he hadn’t gotten that drunk until yesterday.

“Who does she think she is?” he thought to himself.

“She thinks she’s your boss,” said a voice in his head. “She wants to control you. She doesn’t drink, so she wants everyone to suffer along with her.”

“And I have!” said Ben. “Three years of sobriety!”

“Does three years really make up for the years beforehand?” the voice replied. “Remember? Your high school and college days?”
         

The voice was right. Before he and Meredith had met, he had started drinking in high school. Tried it once at Martin Roy’s party freshman year, and down the rabbit hole he tumbled. It wasn’t until he met Meredith, halfway through his college junior year, that he finally gave it up. He cared more about her than the drink. His parents, of course, weren’t happy that he had to tack on another year to graduate, but graduate he did. He and Meredith dated for three more years before he proposed. They were married a year later.

“At the same time, though,” said the voice, “Do you remember the fun we’d had? The parties, the girls?”

“We nearly ruined everything,” said Ben. “If it wasn’t for Meredith….”

“If it wasn’t for her, you’d probably be having the time of your life!” the voice snapped.

Ben tried to respond, but sleep overcame him, and he drifted down, deep into slumber.

***

He was standing in a grey hallway, its bland walls stretching high above his head and beyond his sight. There was nothing, only him and this hallway, until, after a second, it appeared, out of thin air: an hatchet, its handle glossy, its blade sparkling, even in the absence of an immediate light source. For an unknown reason, it called to him, beckoned to him. Though he tried to resist, he found himself walking over, bending down, and picking up the hatchet. The second his skin made contact with the handle, any hesitation he had felt towards it melted away.

It was like it was made specifically for him. The handle felt like an extension of his arm, and the weight was perfect; not too heavy, not too light. He swung it through the air, the blade whistling pleasantly. He swung it again, and this time, the blade planted itself deep into the grey wall. To his horror, crimson blood began to drip down the wall, as if where the hatchet had struck was flesh rather than plaster and wood.

He closed his eyes, hoping, praying, the blood would be gone when he opened them. When he did, he found himself looking at the floor. He slowly raised his head, and he saw that the blood had indeed disappeared. Instead, though, the head of the hatchet was now planted into Meredith’s chest, directly between her breasts. Her eyes were wide with a combination of shock and terror, and, though her mouth was open, trying to scream, no sound came forth.

For a long time, Ben stood rooted to the spot, his eyes flicking back and forth between Meredith’s silent face and the hatchet implanted in her chest. He then, to his own bewilderment, began to laugh. Soft at first, but it slowly became louder and louder until it echoed off the walls. The sound crashed into his mind, rooting out every thought. With a great heave, he pulled the hatchet head free, and Meredith stood there, swaying on the spot, before crumpling to the ground, face down.

He awoke with a start, drenched in sweat as if he had just emerged from a swimming pool. He was in his office, and it looked completely normal. There was no hatchet, no grey hall, no bleeding Meredith, no dripping blood. He leaned back against the couch, attempting to catch his breath. His eyes fell on the liquor cabinet, situated directly across from him. He quickly turned away from it, but his eyes, instead, fell upon his water glass, sitting empty on his desk. Hadn’t there been water in it still before he went to sleep?

This though evaporated from his mind as he stood, snatched up the water glass, and brought it over to the liquor cabinet. He set the glass down, brought out the bottle of Scotch, and poured himself a small amount. He set the bottle down and downed the Scotch in one, smooth, gulp. He instantly felt better, and he felt his rapidly-beating heart begin to slow. He took another gulp, smaller this time, before setting the glass down in front of him.

He stood there for a moment, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling. His hand found the glass again, but, instead of refilling it, he released it and moved to put the Scotch bottle back into the cabinet. Something caught his eye, something gleaming, shining. He set the bottle down in front of him and, unable to resist, reached for the unknown object that was sparkling in his cabinet. His hand grasped something wooden, and he jumped back in horror, smacking his hand against the bottom of the shelf above, but he barely paid this any attention. His heart began to beat rapidly again.

He slowly approached the cabinet, his eyes wide with shock. He slowly reached his hand back inside the cabinet, and his hand found the wooden object again. He grasped it in his hand and began to pull, slowly taking the object out of the cabinet. When it was clear of the cabinet, he dropped it, where it landed with a dull thud.

It was the hatchet, its blade twinkling up at him. There was a knock at the door. Ben jumped, and Meredith’s voice spoke to him.

“Ben?” she asked. “Is everything alright?”

It was a moment before Ben responded, glaring at the hatchet as if it were something revolting, something evil.

“Yeah,” he said, and he swallowed. “I’m alright.”

There was the sound of the doorknob rattling, but the door didn’t move.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I thought I heard…some sort of crashing noise.”

“I’m fine,” he said, annoyance starting to bubble inside him, but he managed to keep it out of his voice.

“If you’re sure,” she said, and he heard her retreating footsteps. When they were out of earshot, Ben lunged for the hatchet and snatched it up. Just like in the dream, it was perfect, like it was forged specifically according to his measurements. It was light but still radiated a sort of power. Holding it was invigorating, and nothing else compared.

Monday

The front door swung open, and Ben emerged from it, the brown package clutched tightly in his hand. He checked his watch: 5:30 pm. Sam still had half an hour at practice, Bethany was due home from her friend June’s anytime, and Meredith was already home, distracted by her dinner preparation.

Satisfied, Ben proceeded, walking in the direction of the mailbox. He reached it, retrieved the letters and postcard from within, and replaced them with the small package. Part of him ached when he released it, but he knew it was the only way. Still smiling, he closed the mailbox door and began to walk back to the house, flicking through the mail on the way.

***

The kids were asleep, and Meredith was snoozing next to him, her breathing light. He adjusted himself, turning so that he was now facing her. She’s probably not dreaming of hatchets and murdered spouses. No matter, there was work to do.

He threw the blankets off him, got out of bed, pulled his robe over himself, and tied it around his waist. He then went to his office, where he unlocked the bottom drawer of the right side of his desk. From the drawer, he pulled out the hatchet, and that invigorating sensation rushed back to him as if he had just injected a needle full of heroin into his arm. He closed the drawer and straightened up, unable to take his eyes off the hatchet’s head. He tore them away at last, ready to carry out his god-given mission.

It was to Bethany’s room he ventured first, carefully pushing the door open so that it would not make a sound. He crossed over to the bed, where he saw his daughter, asleep on her back. Good, makes this easier.

He looked down at her for a moment, admiring her soft features. He then knelt down and brought the hatchet up, the anticipation building inside him. As though with practiced hands, he brought the hatchet’s blade to her throat and pulled it across. Crimson blood oozed out of the fresh wound, leaking down Bethany’s throat, staining the bed sheets below. Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord. One down, two to go.

He went to Sam’s room next, where the boy, much like his sister, was fast asleep. Here, Ben repeated his process: stop, admire features, slice. Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord. His fatherly duties completed, he returned to the master bedroom. He carried out his ritual a third time, admiring the blood oozing down the flesh, staining the sheets below. Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord. There remained only one last step.

He left the bedroom, laying the hatchet atop the dresser opposite their bed. He went to the garage and retrieved the gas can. He went into the kitchen and began to pour, the smell of gasoline assaulting his nostrils. He paused briefly to stash a carton of matches in the pocket of his robe. Throughout the house he went, pouring, before leaving a trail into the master bedroom.

When the room was thoroughly soaked, he set the can down and went to Bethany’s room. He crossed the room to his (forever) sleeping daughter, bent down, and scooped her up into her arms. Even in death, she weighed very little to him. Eyes beaming with pride, he carried her into the master bedroom, laying her down next to Meredith. He then went to Sam and carried him into the master bedroom as well, laying him next to Bethany as well. When Ben climbed into bed, the carton of matches now clamped in his teeth, he completed the Richards Special Sandwich, Sam and Bethany in the middle with their parents on either side.

Ben looked proudly at his family, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He took the matches in his hand, carefully lit the first match, and used it to light the remaining and the carton itself. Ben then allowed the flaming carton to fall from his hand, onto the gasoline-soaked floor just as the clock struck midnight.

Tuesday

The fire went up in seconds, the flames racing through the house via the trail Ben had set. It was several minutes before a random passerby stumbled upon the burning house and several minutes more before the fire department arrived and extracted the bodies of the Richards family.

The house itself was destroyed, its entire interior burned beyond saving. The only thing that managed to survive the fire was a small statue of Supay, wrapped in brown paper and stored in the Richards’ mailbox.