u/skincarebebe

I asked you to come.

You came.

We arrived.

I asked you to come.

You came.

We arrived.

“He meant no harm, Miss Catherine…” I whimpered.

“Trash,” someone muttered from the back of the classroom. Another voice joined in. “Yeah, smells like last week’s dinner.”

“Sewer rat!”

“S-e-w-”

“That’s enough. Quiet!” Miss Catherine’s voice cracked across the classroom like a whip.

She stepped closer to my desk. “Now I’m going to ask you again. Who did this to you?”

I looked down at my right arm. The bandage was supposed to help, but it had already surrendered. It sat half-wrapped and haphazard, soaked through in places I refused to look at for too long. Beneath it, raw red lines and crusted, dried ooze peeked out from my desperate attempt to salvage whatever remained of my appendage. I winced; not because of the pain, but from the way Miss Catherine was dissecting me.

The smell hit me next: a sickly sweet rot in the July heat. I desperately picked at the tattered bandage in an attempt to mask whatever remained of my humanity. A couple of flies swarmed nearby, their buzzing growing louder and louder as they decided where to land.

“Miss Catherine, um, it’s okay. Rover is a good boy. He’s just a bit old and confused, that’s all…”

The classroom walls began to flicker, bleeding into the grey concrete of my backyard.

I was kicking around a deflated football when Rover came running in those sudden bursts of energy he sometimes had.

“Hey, careful!” I reached down to pet him.

The first bite didn’t even feel real. More like pressure. Like a warning.

Then the warning became something else.

Rover’s claws dug deep into my right arm, dragging chunks of flesh out with them. The adrenaline dulled any sensation of pain, right up until the streaks of red grew larger and heavier, splattering onto the pavement. I had never seen Rover happier than when he was lapping up my blood from the ground.

I could forgive Rover, but I could never forgive my family.

“Oh, why are you such a crybaby? Just lift your arm up,” Grandma mumbled as my aunt dug through the first-aid box.

“Here, just use this,” my aunt said, tossing a small cylinder of yellowed bandage at me, stained and discolored from years of disuse.

Am I really that worthless to this family?

Miss Catherine’s concerned voice grew fainter as the taunting from the other kids grew louder and the classroom began to spin. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the only family member I knew.

Rover sniffed my leg and wagged his tail again.

“It’s okay, Rover. I just need to…hey! Rover! What are you doing?! Hey!”

Having tasted the fresh blood from my arm earlier, the old boy gave a low growl as he nudged my shirt away from my belly. The expanse of white flesh beneath caused a sudden shift in Rover’s eyes. Immediately, he sank his sharp canines right above my belly button. I have become Rover’s favourite chew toy.

As I toppled to the ground, I glanced down at my chest and saw my intestines greeting me. My face kissed the cold, grey concrete as Rover began feasting on the contents of my gut. He dragged one of the purplish pink strands toward my face, seemingly proud of his achievements. Tail still wagging, he started to lick the exposed side of my face, coating it with slobber, blood and pieces of my own body.

I tried to fight the encroaching darkness with images of happy memories. Rover and I playing catch in the backyard. Rover keeping guard over me when I walked around the rough neighbourhood. Rover wagging his tail to greet me when I’m home. He did not care if he slept outside in the winter. He did not care if my aunt gambled away the money meant for his dog food. He did not care about how loosely his skin now hung visibly above his ribcage.

The rhythmic thumping of his tail against the concrete grew impossible to ignore. I let my eyes close.

Rover… Rover…

He always came when I called.

Even now.

“Good boy, Rover.”

“Dad? Hurry, we’re losing time.”

It was finally a family day together. Mama was still dressed as glamorously as ever, wearing pearl earrings, a matching necklace, and a vintage flapper-style dress. It was an eccentric outfit for a casual drive, but she had never quite let go of her glamorous past as a cabaret dancer before she met Dad, a handsome taxi driver whose charm had won her over during her rides to work. 

Tim, the eldest, sat in the passenger seat. Jane and I sat with Mama in the back.

As we exited our neighbourhood, there was a police spot-check. An officer waved a device around our car.

"Sir, please proceed to the next check," he said.

At the next checkpoint, we failed again. The officer looked at us and said, "Go to the police station."

I leaned forward to tell my dad. "Dad... Dad, it must’ve been the pistol in the trunk. Just dump it and we can go to the police station."

He didn’t answer.

Instead of driving to the police station, he drove us to an abandoned house. He went straight upstairs, carrying his pistol and a knife. I hadn’t noticed the knife before; it was gleaming sharply under the moonlight.

Mama, Tim, and Jane cowered together in an empty bedroom. Seeking a hiding place, I crawled under the musty, cobweb-lined bed in the master bedroom. From there, I watched my dad stand in front of the mirror in the ensuite bathroom. The door was wide open. He held the knife in his left hand and the pistol in his right.

Through the small space between the bedsheet and the floor, I could see the reflection of his eyes in the mirror. They were not normal. His feelings of hatred for himself and his miserable life were evident in his dark irises. They seemed to swirl like a milky way, but in waves of red and empty darkness.

And then I saw it for the first time: the gangrene consuming his left foot. Thick, undulating folds of fat hung from his abdomen. Suddenly, the air turned foul. A stench filled the room, indescribable in words.

For the first time in my life, I saw Daddy not as my father, but as a morbidly obese, middle-aged lunatic.

He started to talk. "I killed her, ya know?"

I kept my voice steady. "Dad, it’s ok. You can tell me."

"I butchered her and scattered her in the forest nearby," he muttered.

I fumbled with my phone in my left pocket and hit the voice recorder.

"Daddy, who did you murder?"

"Well, can't tell ya... but ya know who."

At this point, I was scared. I was scared for my life, for Mama, and for my siblings. But I had to keep a steady composure to coax more details from him and keep him talking, so that he would hopefully remain calm too. This was a game of roulette that I never, ever envisioned myself playing.

After a few minutes of silence, he retorted, “Abigail, you’re a smart kid. I don't know why you'd want a loser as a father.”

"Daddy, I love you."

I didn't attempt to deny his feelings of inadequacy, nor did I try to smother him in empty words of praise. My daddy was too smart for this bullshit.

"Oh yeah? You love me..." His voice started to crack as he hovered between sobbing and talking. "I just told you I killed someone and you love me?"

Without thinking any further, I hit 999 on my phone. I prayed to the big guy upstairs that Daddy could not hear the operator's voice on the other end of the line.

"I love you, daddy. You are my father and my best friend. You taught me how to ride a bicycle and you make really tasty sandwiches."

He chuckled a little. “It was our neighbour Lucy.”

I froze. I dared not look at the reflection of his eyes in the mirror anymore. I had no doubt at this point that they had morphed into the orbits of a monster—deep, dark, and depraved of emotions.

Suddenly, thoughts of my recurring dreams flashed through my mind: a decapitated corpse being skinned. Sometimes I was the corpse, and some other times it was not so clear. The dreams were always vivid, and I always woke up covered in sweat and panting for my life.

I motioned for Mama and my siblings to slowly move down the staircase as Dad kept telling me more details of his gruesome crime. He explained how he knew Lucy was the perfect victim, since no one would bother to find a missing prostitute. Lucy was living alone and had broken off all contact with her family and friends.

Amazingly, throughout this entire ordeal, I managed to remain calm and hold a conversation with the voice in the bathroom.

"Daddy, stay with me ok? I love you."

Suddenly, the police swarmed up the stairs and arrested my father. I glued my eyes shut. All I heard was a cacophony of warbled voices.

"Hey kid, the coast is clear. You were very brave and your quick thinking saved your family."

A hand reached out into the gap between the bed and the floorboard. The officer knew that a tornado of emotions was brewing steadily in me, but I plastered on a calm face. The strange thing was, I was convinced I was calm, and I even fleetingly entertained the thought of becoming a psychologist in the future.

Downstairs, I reunited with Mama and my siblings. They were sobbing and hugging me tightly.

“We could have lost you! Oh my god, I didn't know what was gonna happen to you. He had a knife and a gun, for Christ's sake!” Mama was completely inconsolable. “Oh baby, I am just so relieved you are here with us.”

They held me close, but all I could mutter back was, “But I love daddy.”

“Dad? Hurry, we’re losing time.”

It was finally a family day together. Mama was still dressed glamorously in pearl earrings, a necklace, and a vintage, 1920s flapper-style dress. It was a bizarre, eccentric sight for a casual family drive, but she could never quite let go of her glamorous career as a cabaret dancer before she had kids—before she met Dad, a taxi driver. He was handsome, and she had fallen for his charms as he ferried her a few times to work.

Tim, Jane, and I just wore regular clothes. Tim, the eldest, sat in the passenger seat. Jane and I sat with Mama in the back.

As we exited our neighbourhood, there was a police spot-check. An officer waved a device around our car.

"Sir, please proceed to the next check," he said.

At the next checkpoint, we failed again. The officer looked at us and said, "Go to the police station."

I leaned forward to tell my dad. "Dad... Dad, it must’ve been the pistol in the trunk, buried under our stuff. Just dump the pistol and we can go to the police station."

He didn’t answer.

Instead of driving to the police station, he drove us to an abandoned house. He went straight upstairs, carrying his pistol and a knife. I hadn’t noticed the knife before; it was gleaming sharply under the moonlight.

Terrified, Mama, Tim, and Jane cowered together in an empty bedroom. Seeking a hiding place, I crawled under the musty, cobweb-lined bed in the master bedroom. From there, I watched my dad stand in front of the mirror in the ensuite bathroom. The door was wide open. He held the knife in his left hand and the pistol in his right.

Through the small space between the bedsheet and the floor, I could see the reflection of his eyes in the mirror. They were not normal. His feelings of hatred for himself and his miserable life were evident in his dark irises. They seemed to swirl like a milky way, but in waves of red and empty darkness.

And then I saw it for the first time: the gangrene consuming his left foot. I saw the undulating folds of fat covering his stomach and appendage. Suddenly, the air turned foul. A stench filled the room, indescribable in words.

For the first time in my life, I saw Daddy not as my father, but as a morbidly obese, middle-aged lunatic.

He started to talk. "I killed her, ya know?"

I kept my voice steady. "Dad, it’s ok. You can tell me."

"I butchered her and scattered her in the forest nearby," he muttered.

I fumbled with my phone in my left pocket and hit the voice recorder.

"Daddy, who did you murder?"

"Well, can't tell ya... but ya know who."

At this point, I was scared. I was scared for my life, for Mama, and for my siblings. But I had to keep a steady composure to coax more details from him and keep him talking, so that he would hopefully remain calm too. This was a game of roulette that I never, ever envisioned myself playing.

After a few minutes of silence, he retorted, “Abigail, you’re a smart kid. I don't know why you'd want a loser as a father.”

"Daddy, I love you."

I didn't attempt to deny his feelings of inadequacy, nor did I try to smother him in empty words of praise. My daddy was too smart for this bullshit.

"Oh yeah? You love me..." His voice started to crack as he hovered between sobbing and talking. "I just told you I killed someone and you love me?"

Without thinking any further, I hit 999 on my phone. I prayed to the big guy upstairs that Daddy could not hear the operator's voice on the other end of the line.

"I love you, daddy. You are my father and my best friend. You taught me how to ride a bicycle and you make really tasty sandwiches."

He chuckled a little, then said, “It was our neighbour Lucy.”

I froze. I dared not look at the reflection of his eyes in the mirror anymore. I had no doubt at this point that they had morphed into the orbits of a monster—deep, dark, and depraved of emotions.

Suddenly, thoughts of my recurring dreams flashed through my mind: a decapitated corpse being skinned. Sometimes I was the corpse, and some other times it was not so clear. The dreams were always vivid, and I always woke up covered in sweat and panting for my life.

I motioned for Mama and my siblings to slowly move down the staircase as Dad kept telling me more details of his gruesome crime. He explained how he knew Lucy was the perfect victim, since no one would bother to find a missing prostitute. Lucy was living alone and had broken off all contact with her family and friends.

Amazingly, throughout this entire ordeal, I managed to remain calm and hold a conversation with the voice in the bathroom.

"Daddy, stay with me ok? I love you."

Suddenly, the police swarmed up the stairs and arrested my father. I glued my eyes shut. All I heard was a cacophony of warbled voices.

"Hey kid, the coast is clear. You were very brave and your quick thinking saved your family."

A hand reached out into the gap between the bed and the floorboard. The officer knew that a tornado of emotions was brewing steadily in me, but I plastered on a calm face. The strange thing was, I was convinced I was calm, and I even fleetingly entertained the thought of becoming a psychologist in the future.

Downstairs, I reunited with Mama, Tim, and Jane. They were sobbing and hugging me tightly.

“We could have lost you! Oh my god, I didn't know what was gonna happen to you. He had a knife and a gun, for Christ's sake!” Mama was completely inconsolable. “Oh baby, I am just so relieved you are here with us.”

They held me close, but all I could mutter back was, “But I love daddy.”