I heard the noises of scattered plates breaking to pieces, followed by the rising scream of my parents, and it made me grimace. They were at it again, the same relentless argument that gutted my very inside and left me feeling like I was being torn in places no one could see. How was I supposed to have a relaxed mind with such ruckus between my parents every single night? I hissed and stretched my arm to reach for my headphones on the other side of the bed, in hopes that the music would be enough to drown out the storm outside my door, even if it could never quiet the one inside my head.
"ALISHA, do not come down! Close your doors!" my mother screamed, her voice rising above the blaring sound from my headphones. It was the kind of scream that carried a disturbing kind of pain.
I tore off my headphones and followed the sound without saying a word. So much for finishing that song.
"Mum, are you okay?" I called out as I reached for the door knob. My hand hovered for a second. She had told me not to come down. But she also knew exactly who she was talking to. I was her daughter, not some obedient golden retriever.
"Arghhh, I'm coming down right now!" I shouted as I pushed the door open. Because of course I was frightened. I had the survival instincts of a water bear and the emotional control of a caffeine-deprived squirrel.
"Mum, Dad, don't make things worse for me. How long will you guys continue this?" I said while sprinting down the stairs, my feet thudding hard against each step. I was not even trying to be quiet. I want them hear me coming. I want them to know I was over it.
"Mom? Dad!" I yelled again.
But heard nothing, except silence. Okay, this was really getting weird. Why was everywhere suddenly so quiet? Not the kind of quiet that comes after an argument fizzles out. This was the kind that makes you pause mid-step.
I was the only child, of course no siblings stomping around, no TV murmuring in the background, no soft music playing from Mom's phone while she pretended not to be mad. But still, this wasn't how their fights usually ended. They never just went quiet like that. Their arguments always had a grand finale, doors slamming, voices raised to operatic levels, someone storming out or breaking a cup of glass if they were feeling particularly overwhelmed.
I trailed my eyes on the floor, and all I could see was blood. Drops of blood. Each step I took, the blood got thicker like a trail someone had left behind on purpose. My heart dropped to my stomach so fast I thought I might throw up. What the hell was going on?
Did Mom stab Dad? Or did Dad stab Mom?
I ran to the sitting room, barely feeling my legs anymore.
There they were, brutally murdered. Their skin torn apart like something had clawed through them, it doesn't look like they were stabbed. Their blood spilled everywhere, soaking into the concrete.
The windows were wide open, who ever was involved had escaped through them.
I had always been such a bitch to my parents, and I was not even on good terms with my parents either. I kept telling myself that someday I would sew back the patches of everything that had torn us apart, that maybe there would be time to go out on a trip, sit across the table and speak like people who knew how to love one another again.
I did not try one bit.
I immediately hurled myself toward Mum, performing CPR even though her blood was cold and her skin had already lost that living warmth, because there was no way I would not try my best, no way I would let her go without fighting like hell.
"Come on, Mum, please," I whispered, pressing harder and counting under my breath. "Don't do this to me. Not like this."
I turned to my dad next, doing the same thing with my hands shaking and my voice breaking as I counted out compressions, begging him to wake up, to breathe, to just open his damn eyes and yell at me for being a reckless disobedient asshole.
"Breathe, Dad, please just breathe," I cried out, my tears falling on his face as I leaned over him. "Yell at me. Tell me I messed up. Call me stupid, call me a fool, just... don't lie here like this. Don't leave me too."
But after a long devastating moment, I realized they were gone gone, and no form of screaming or praying or chest compressions could pull them back from wherever they had gone.
I gasped when I felt someone watching me from the window, and when I turned to look, I realised my instinct was right, I saw a man standing there with green eyeballs and pale, dry lips. He was dressed in black traditional hunter's wear, although it looked different, almost like something a spy would wear. His claws were dripping with blood, and the fact that he had claws at all made it clear he was not human. He had to be the one who killed my parents, and the moment our eyes met, he gave me a smirk before vanishing with the wind. What could I do? I just let him go, but even if he were still here, what was I supposed to do?
I ran to the window and saw a golden button lying on the ground, the button that lined his fine fabric. I jumped out immediately, picked it up, and quickly recognized the design, confirming it was real gold.
My parents did tell me stories about them when I was little and described one of them as people who wore fine black fabrics with real designed gold or diamond buttons. They even immersed themselves in the world of their tales and I only felt they were just spitting out fairy tales, never knowing those things actually existed.
The only ones capable of pulling off a trick like this were either the Wolf Clan or the Vampire tribes, and wherever he went to hide, it would not be far enough.
"I will find him and shred his face to pieces," I mumbled through clenched teeth, squeezing the button tightly as tears fell to the ground.