Didi #2
I squeeze my eyes shut as he grabs me, trying to shut him out as he grunts and pulls on his cock, stroking himself over top of me.
“You’re going to hell for this,” I whisper.
He pins me with his eyes and grins. “The devil found me a long time ago, little girl.”
Pulling me up, he grabs my hips and nudges my legs open with his knee. I don’t fight it as he presses himself into my entrance, grunting at how tight I am.
My heart hammers as I reach below my bed for the knife. He plays with himself, stroking his cock up and down my slit, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as if he’s about to experience rapture.
There’s still time. My soul isn’t damned yet.
He leans over me. “I want to take my time with you.” His breath is so close it tickles me, bringing me a sense of warped security.
The gift of time.
My hand contacts the hilt of the knife, and I curl my fingers around it while shifting my body into him, arching my back and spreading my legs, inviting him in closer.
His eyes burn with desire as my body sears into him. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he whispers.
He thrusts, and I slide the blade inside his stomach and twist…just like Remy told me to. His eyes grow wide, his mouth gapes open, and he chokes on his own blood as it surges up his throat.
He grabs my neck and squeezes, trapping the air from my lungs to stop me.
I pull the knife out and stick it in again, twisting with everything I have until finally, his body goes limp and life seeps from his eyes, leaving nothing but stark emptiness.
“May your soul burn in hell,” I spit and shove him off my bed with all my might before he crushes me. His body hits the floor with a thud, and blood pours out of his wound, adding to the bloodstains on the floor of this tainted, evil place.
My muscles are weak, and my bones are brittle, and I barely have anything left of my soul, but somehow, I find my strength with pure adrenaline.
Tears sting my eyes as I twist my head and see the final shimmer of the girl standing over his body. In those final seconds, I swear she’s smiling.
It’s still the darkest part of the night as I slide out of my bed and my toes hit the circle of salt he placed around me.
Salt. How silly. Like salt would prohibit me from leaving.
I step over the threshold, wondering if I might get struck down by the Lord Himself, but nothing happens.
I grab a fresh nightdress and a few other clothes and tiptoe to the hallway, leaving bloody footprints in my wake. Glancing one last time at Father Malcolm, I peek into Mama’s room, where she is still sleeping soundly with her cup of tea on her nightstand.
I stare at her longer than I should. She’s wearing one of her lace nightdresses she still has from when she was married, her hair splayed out on the pillow. She looks restful, pretty.
Rest now, Mama. You will need it.
Her time of reckoning is upon her. The Lord shall decide if she has a place in His kingdom of light.
My hand finds my tiny cross around my neck, my other fingers still curled around the knife.
My knuckles turn white as I grasp it. I walk toward her, my heart barely beating as I glide over to her sleeping body.
My hair is falling over my face as I stand over her.
Even in her sleep, she fans herself, her hand resting over her heart.
My body is not my own, my hand moving as if possessed.
I slit her throat—painless and quick. She opens her eyes for only one second, as recognition flashes through her eyes before blood seeps out of her throat, pooling all around her. She dies instantly.
I stare at her before silently closing the door, tiptoeing outside, meandering my way to the well to wash myself with the small amount of water left in the bucket that I took out a few days ago, sucking it dry.
My scarecrow, a distant figure among the grass, dances and smiles at me, shimmering under the moon. A blessing to my dark deeds.
After cleaning myself, I exhale slowly and twist back at the house, toward Mama’s window, and weep.
In the moment of darkness and light, the sun crests the sky and casts a golden light upon me, blinding me but helping me see. I fall to my knees, and that’s when I feel Him. He pulls every essence of my soul from the empty depths of hell.
A piece of me is missing, and a new sensation is taking root, filling the space with a dark, festering presence.
Something powerful. Something real, and it gives me new strength.
Basking in the sunlight, my knife gleams, the blade impossibly sharp, and my vision clears.
I take a chunk of hair, gripping it near the root, and slice through the ends, watching the long, lovely strands fall.
I don’t stop until it’s all gone.
Gentle hands wake me as a soft breeze covers my skin.
“Come on now, Miss Diana. Time to get up.” My eyes pop open.
I’m lying on the ground by the well. My face is pressed against the scratchy grass and dirt.
The last of the daylight trickles down the sky, and Marty peers down at me with his eyebrows etched together.
I press myself up with my arms and peer up at him, catching my bearings. I must have passed out.
He reaches down and pulls me up, and I stare back at him, guilty as sin.
I wipe the dirt from my face, and we stare at each other for a long moment, each assessing whether we are friend or foe.
His bushy mustache twitches as he takes in the situation, and the monster lying before him.
If he already checked the house, then he would know what I’ve done.
“Mama’s gone,” I choke out as my words cause my emotion to bubble into my chest.
“I know, Miss Diana. I saw her…and Father Malcolm, too.”
My lip trembles, and he just stands there, sighs, and runs his hands to his temples as if he too is tired. To my surprise, he opens his arms, and I crumble into him.
He’s a good one.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” I sob, and he pats my back.
“They hurt me. Mama gave me lashes and then called Father Malcolm. He was trying to get rid of my demons, but he just…” I can’t even say it.
My eyes dart to the knife lying a few feet away, and I remember I cut all my hair off.
I pull away and reach up to feel it, and my fingers brush against the remnants, splintered, as they tumble onto my face.
“I believe you, Miss Diana,” he says. “This town makes people do bad things. I told you I’ve seen a lot of things in my time here. I warned you when you got here. Father Malcolm is one of them. He was a bad man.”
He did warn me…so did Remy, and many others. I was just too stubborn to listen or heed their warnings.
I suck in a short breath. “She’s in the bedroom. Can…can you help me hide her body? I need to bury her.”
He sighs and heads into the house, and a few minutes later, he returns with Mama’s lifeless body slumped over his shoulder. Her eyes are still open as he walks by me and throws her into the dried-up well.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the energy to dig a grave, but this old well will do just fine.
” He walks over to the bus parked on the property and pulls out a shovel from a compartment in the bottom, returning to Mama’s new grave, and stares down at her.
I find the strength to walk over to him, and he begins throwing dirt over her frail dead body.
“They are all coming for me, aren’t they?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No one’s coming for you, Diana. Not for your mama, and not for that evil bastard lying on the floor of the bedroom. But for your safety, you need to hide. If they find you, I reckon they will kill you.”
I blink softly down at Mama’s lifeless body. “Marty, I don’t have anywhere else to go. This is my home now, but I can live in the shadows if I need to. I’ve been doing it my whole life.”
I gather my thoughts as he continues shoveling. Right before he covers Mama’s face entirely, I place my hand on his arm and he stops. “I have an idea.”
He waits while I gather my hair still lying on the dead grass a few feet away.
I walk over and drop it down the well so all that’s visible from above are the white strands.
From this angle, it looks like me, and all I can do is pray that no one cares enough to dig me out.
“What about the priest?” he asks me, as if I’m the one in charge. “Do you want him in here, too?”
“No. I’ll find a way to burn him. I want him to burn in hell.” Mama can at least rest in peace, and this is the closest thing I can find to a grave, even if I need to use it for dual purposes of faking my death. “You’ve done enough for me, Marty.”
He gives me a firm nod. “Take care of yourself, Miss Diana. I’ll be watching over you.” He steps toward the rusty bus.
“Marty,” I call out, and he slows his walk to a halt. His shoulders hang as if his soul is tired, along with his mind and bruised muscles.
“What is it, Miss Diana?”
I swallow, and my eyes gloss over. “Who is going to kill me? You said they, but who are they?”
He pauses before he says, “Those boyfriends of yours, Miss Diana. It was destined the moment you walked into town.”