At the end of every October, my dad comes home to visit. He always stays for a week. During this week, my mom cries a lot. Part of me is always happy to see him at first. We live in a small town in southern Wisconsin, sometimes the weather this time of year is really nice. Sometimes it is very cold.
The problem with my dad, is the longer he stays at the house, the angrier he seems to get. It always happens this way. I always thought this is why he had to leave the first time. Before he left the first time, him and mom argued a lot. She said she couldn’t believe what he was doing, and that he was a monster. After she said that, he stormed out of the house, and I didn’t see him again until next year.
After he left the first time, the police showed up to our house two days later. I was told to stay in my room, and the police needed to talk to my mom. My door was not closed all the way, so I was peeking through the crack to hear as much as I could. I heard her tell her she didn’t know what he was capable of, when she saw him last, and they gave her a card with a phone number to call if he showed up. She put the credit card on the refrigerator, and held it up with a magnet that also had the number of a local pizza place. I saw the police a lot for the next few days, and suddenly they stopped showing up.
Over the next few months, I would occasionally ask my mom where is dad, when he would be home, and when I can see daddy again. She always told me that he won’t be coming home anymore, and that he is gone for good. She always followed that up with saying it was a good thing, and that my dad no longer knew how to be a good person. I eventually stopped asking, and accepted what she had told me.
October 24th, I saw him again. I know it was October 24th, because it is a week before Halloween. He showed up at the door, my mom answered. She nearly fainted when she saw him. I remember her saying “You are supposed to be dead!” He told her that he didn’t know what she was talking about, and walked past her. I was so extremely happy to see him. I ran to him, hugged him, and he hugged me back, and picked me up, and spun around while holding me. We sat down, I told him everything that has been going on in my life, he was surprised he hasn’t seen me so long. My mom disappeared, I heard her talking on the phone, not interested in what she was saying. We watched TV, and I sat on his lap, and eventually fell asleep. I woke up the next day, and my dad was still there. My mom looked like she didn’t sleep at all. The next day was great. My dad played out in the yard with me. I asked if he wanted to go to the park, and he just said he couldn’t leave. I asked why, and he said he wasn’t sure, he just knew. So, we played at home. On the third day, was when my dad started to occasionally be mean. I would ask him to play, or watch tv, or play video games, and he would tell me to leave him alone for a while. So, I would. When he was done with his alone time, he was his normal self. On the fourth day, he would need more alone time, and if I interrupted at all, he would scream at me.
On the fifth day, I couldn’t talk to him at all. He would yell at me any time he saw me, and started saying things that didn’t make sense. My mom stayed closer to me, she kept calling the number for the police on the refrigerator, I saw her do that more than once since dad came home. She kept telling me that she wouldn’t let anything happen to me, and he would have to go through her first. He would always say that he might, or he was thinking about it.
The sixth day, was the worst day. Whatever room in the house he was in, we couldn’t be in it. He would try to hit us if we were, or he would throw books, or lamps, or anything within reach at us. We never went into the kitchen with him, because he always had a knife. Eventually, my mom took me, and locked the both of us in my room. We laid in bed, and she told me stories. Mostly about what it was like when I was younger, and how the three of us would have fun camping, or on other vacations. I remember him pounding on the door, yelling to let us in so he can skin us alive. Which made me very scared. I ended up wetting my pants, and my mom told me it was OK, and we would clean it up later. He was banging on every door he could, I could hear him hitting the walls with what sounded like a hammer, and just screaming like a maniac. I heard someone knock on the door and ask us to keep it down, and then I heard a scream, and saw a person running outside the window of my room. Eventually I fell asleep in my mom’s arms, and she was quietly crying.
I woke up the next morning when I heard the front door slam shut. It felt so loud and hard, the whole house shook. My mom jumped up as well. She put me under the bed, and told me to not move until she tells me to. She left my room, and for what felt like ages. The quietness of our house was like nothing I have experienced before. She eventually came back in my room, and told me it was safe. As we were expecting, there were holes in the wall, dishes broken in the kitchen, and all kinds of things thrown around. Some of my stuffed animals were cut and the stuffing was pulled out. I asked my mom what had happened to daddy, and she sat me down on the couch. She told me that he was a monster. When he left the house the previous year, he hurt lots of people. He hurt people for about 4 days before he was found by the police and they shot him. He is dead, and the police didn’t believe her when she told the police. She doesn’t know why he came back, but she said she hoped he never comes back.
The following year, he came back. He comes back every year. No matter where we are, even after we moved to a new house. He always finds us, and always the same. He starts off very nice, and at the very end, he almost hurts us. Tomorrow starts the fourth day of him staying with us.
Submitted October 28, 2016 at 12:30AM by DexKnightley http://ift.tt/2dMueGr nosleep
No comments:
Post a Comment