Advisory Warning: Be aware that the latter portion of this chapter contains disturbing and potentially triggering content, including R***, Assault, Corruption and Violence, Reader discretion is strongly advised. Please take care of your mental and emotional well-being. If this material may be harmful for you, you are encouraged to skip this section or proceed with caution.
Darkness was waiting for me. Not the gentle kind that softens a room at midnight, but a depthless, cold absence—the sort that swallows up sound and thought and leaves you with the shape of your fear. It was lonely there. It knew my name.
Then the red began.
It spilled into my head the way a gallon of paint breaks its lid and goes everywhere—thick, glossy, unstoppable. Only this wasn't paint and it didn't run out. It kept coming, sheet after sheet, a tidal slosh that turned the dark into something worse. Blood trekked down invisible walls in rills and ropes, met itself, pooled, found new edges. Like salt water finding the ocean, it sought its own level and then kept rising. It touched everything. It made everything part of it.
Far away—a pinprick—something green flashed. A star. A lighthouse. A surgical diode. It flared once, a small sun in a vacuum, and then—
A scream. It was made of torn cloth and hot metal, a sound bent out of shape by panic. "MOMMMMMMMMM!"
The word tore through me as if my ribs were paper, and I didn't know whose voice it was until the wet salt on my face told me. Tears came without permission. I didn't remember choosing to cry; I didn't remember choosing to breathe. The crying was mechanical, like a valve opened somewhere. I was nothing, nowhere, and still my body—or the idea of it—remembered how to break.
Pain found me the way lightning finds the tallest thing in a field. It struck where a chest should have been and bloomed, a fist inside a fist. Then sadness, raw and bright, the kind that has teeth. Grief widened until it was the only geography: a country with no borders, just distance. I screamed into the red. It ate the sound without chewing. I screamed again until my throat became a polished wire. Again, until all I had left were thin, hitching sobs, the kind children make when they've run out of breath and still aren't done.
Time didn't pass so much as it congealed. The red climbed, the dark receded, and I understood that I was going to drown in it. Not metaphorically. Not poetically. I would drown, lungs filling with the thing that should never be in them. My legs howled in a language beyond words—static, hot pins, the bone-deep ache of machines turning flesh into bright information. My left eye burned as if a hooked fingernail had tried to lift it out, as if the world had chosen a window and decided it didn't belong. Everything hurt. Even the parts that weren't there hurt.
I sucked at the thick air and got iron. Copper pennies and battery tongues. My mouth was a coin purse. I tried to swim, but my legs were rumor only—phantoms refusing to answer the door. I forced my eyes open and the red rushed in, stinging, needling, a thousand shards of something ground into paste.
The green flared again—closer now, or bigger. It throbbed to a rhythm I almost knew, a steady pulse that braided itself around my panic. Ba-dum. Light. Ba-dum. Light. I clung to it the way a hand clings to a ledge after the rest of you has already fallen.
I weighed every breath, made bargains for each one. I promised the darkness everything. I promised myself nothing.
A voice found me—threaded through the static, not loud, not soft, but the gravity of it was undeniable. It seemed to come from behind the red, from before the dark. It smelled like warm laundry, sounded like hallways and night-lights and the way doors click shut when someone who loves you is careful not to wake you.
"…we are your family… we love you, Ben."
The blood quieted. Not gone, but listening. The dark tilted its head.
Ben. The name steadied the floor under me. The syllable fit my teeth. Something in my chest—real or imagined—lifted the way curtains lift at dawn.
I remembered a hand on my forehead, checking for fever. I remembered a kitchen light left on, a bowl of cereal going soggy, a voice saying back soon and meaning it. I remembered a laugh I'd only ever heard from inside it. The memories came like flares thrown from a life raft: brief, bright, leaving afterimages I could aim for.
The red receded a fraction, and in that inch I found will. I kicked at nothing with legs that weren't helping. I pushed against a tide that didn't care. I failed, and then I tried again, because failure felt like a thing I could still call mine. The green light kept time. Ba-dum. Light. Ba-dum. Light.
Something squeezed the phantom of my hand. Maybe it was nothing but a trick of nerves. Maybe it was everything. The pressure was as real as any pain here, and it was gentler. It said stay in a language without verbs.
"I'm here," I told the dark, and I was surprised to hear it. My voice came out rough, salted, a rope pulled through a ring too fast. The blood didn't swallow it this time. It floated, a small boat, stubborn and cheap.
The scream from before traveled back to me, unspooled and recognizable. It had been mine, but I wasn't just the scream. I was also the breath after. The breath after that.
The grief didn't fade. It learned to sit. It folded its long limbs and settled a respectful distance away, still watching me, still terrible, but no longer wearing my face. Pain remained—blunt in the legs, burning in the eye, that clenched-star ache in the chest—but I found edges around it. I could inventory it. I could hold it at arm's length and say not now, not this second.
"Ben," the voice said again, closer, warmer, not from the dark at all but from some other room right next to it. "We love you."
The green light cracked wide, spilling a softer glow, and what had been an endless night showed me seam lines, places where it might come apart if tugged. I reached—not with hands, not with anything I knew—and pulled. The dark tore like cloth. The red thinned, and in that thinning I felt the first cool thread of air that wasn't soaked in iron.
I didn't break the surface so much as it broke around me. I coughed up the ocean and tasted the world. The green resolved into more than a flash—it became numbers I didn't read, a rhythm I didn't need to. Somewhere, a door opened. Somewhere, the careful click told me someone had come back like they promised.
I didn't know where I was, but I knew what I was.
Alive.
And held—if not by arms, then by the fact of them. By the word family, which is just another way of saying surface. I clung to it until clinging felt less like fear and more like choice, and the darkness, patient as old water, drifted back to the edges where it belonged.
…
I awoke and took in my immediate surroundings; I was in a hospital. I looked down and saw I was wearing a blue gown—the kind given to hospital patients on TV. I guess some things can be true on television.
I looked around to see two girls lying across their parents' laps, about my age, and four adults, all sitting down, yet to notice I was awake, as well as one old man wearing a red, flowery button-up, his eyes closed in what I could only take as deep thought. That looked odd to me for some reason. I took in the rest of the room: a closed window with a slight bit of sun glare shooting through where the curtain didn't quite reach. I noticed the sting in my arm as I glanced over and saw I was connected to some machine. Another thing television gets right. Was I living a fake life, perhaps? I thought.
And then I looked at my other hand—still clenched so tightly I didn't even notice until sharp stabs of soreness caught me. As I began to unclench, I noticed what was in it: the compass. The one that always points north. The one my mother used to try and kill my dad, after he…
Everything started to come back to me. The memories came crashing in. The horrifying, soul-crushing memories brought me back to the present. This wasn't a TV show; this wasn't television. I realized: this was my nightmare.
I clenched the compass even harder as everything around me drowned out. The memories took me, as I played them back, over and over and over again.
I didn't even notice someone speaking to me until they were right beside me. "Hello, Ben. I'm your grandpa—Max. Your mother's father." My eye twitched as I saw his face etched with worry. They all were. Apparently this strange old man was my grandfather. The two girls were my cousins, Gwen and Beatrice. The four adults were Sandra, my aunt, Carl, my uncle, Natalie, my aunt, and Frank, my uncle, respectively.
He told me that they were my family, and that I would be living with them from now on—or more so after I got out of the hospital. He told me I wasn't alone. The second the words left his mouth, he grabbed my hand, comforting. I turned to look at him. He looked even more disturbed. Worried. Something about it reminded me of Mom…
Crack!
For some reason, I gripped his hand tight—tighter than I ever could—until it felt like my muscles were ripping.
He looked at me and sighed, a teardrop falling from his eye. And not because I popped his hand.
At the same time, all the while, I'm back—back in our home, back when it all began. The night I lost my mother.
…
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
The abrupt, violent noise crashed through my bedroom like a thunderclap, its echo shattering the tranquil embrace of my sleep. I jolted awake, my eyes struggling to pierce the dense, inky blackness that filled the room. Yet, there was something more—an ethereal purple light pulsating through the narrow cracks around my door, casting a spectral glow on the walls. I rubbed my fists against my eyelids, trying to dispel the remnants of sleep, then pushed aside my beloved covers, the ones adorned with shapes and stars that Mommy had bought me, their cool cotton whispering against my skin like a gentle breeze.
"Mom? Dad? What was that?" I called out, my voice a fragile whisper lost in the dense silence. No reply came, only the oppressive stillness of the night. I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress, the icy touch of the floor sending a shiver up my spine like a frozen tendril. Fear began to take root, its frozen tendrils snaking around me as I inched towards the door, the purple light growing more intense with each hesitant step.
I pressed my ear against the door, the wood cool and unyielding against my skin. Muffled gasps and what sounded like suppressed sobs seeped through, turning my stomach into a churning sea of dread. I grasped the doorknob, the metal slick and unsteady under my sweaty palm. With a gentle push, I cracked open the door, peeking into the hallway. The purple hue was brighter here, casting macabre shadows that danced grotesquely on the familiar walls, transforming them into a twisted, nightmarish landscape.
I tiptoed down the hall, my heart pounding in my chest like a trapped bird. I passed the family photos that Mommy cherished so dearly, their smiling faces now eerie spectators in the eerie glow, their eyes seeming to follow me with vacant stares. The birthday decorations from hours earlier fluttered softly, their cheerfulness a stark contrast to the heavy tension that hung in the air like a thick, suffocating fog. Rounding the corner into the living room, I froze, my blood turning to ice in my veins.
Dad was hunched over Mommy on the couch, her pants pulled down, his hands pinning her shoulders with brutal force. Mommy's face was a mask of agony, tears carving silent paths down her cheeks like rivers of sorrow. Dad made primal, guttural noises, his body moving in a sickening rhythm, a grotesque parody of affection. His arms and neck were corded with bulging veins, and his face... it was contorted in a grimace of perverse pleasure, a hideous caricature of the man I knew.
"It's been so long, so so long since I felt the touch of a woman," Dad said, his voice breathless and ragged, a chilling whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. "You may just be human, but you most certainly will do, cockroach." He moved faster, Mommy's tears falling like rain, her cries muffled by his brutal hand, a cruel silencer of her pain.
"Mom? Dad? What are you doing?" I whispered, taking a small, trembling step forward. They both turned to look at me. Dad's eyes held that strange purple hue, his mouth curled into a leering, predatory smile, a grimace that sent a wave of terror crashing through me. Mommy looked shocked, ashamed, and utterly terrified, her eyes wide with fear and despair.
Dad stared at me, never ceasing his vile actions. "You being awake is unexpected," he said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion, a chilling decree that sent a shiver down my spine. "But I digress... come over here, and pull your—"
Mommy exploded into action, pushing and kicking Dad off her with a surge of desperate strength. "Ben! Run! Call for help!" she screamed, her voice raw and panicked, a primal cry for survival, before Dad's fists started raining down on her like a relentless storm, each blow a brutal impact that echoed through the room like a gunshot. I froze, rooted to the spot as Mommy's screams filled the air, a symphony of horror that would haunt me forever, a chilling soundtrack of despair. Then I ran, trying to push Dad off her, but a hard slap sent me flying back, the purple hue wrapping around me like a malevolent force, holding me still, a cruel puppeteer controlling my limbs.
"Now, as punishment for that, I want you to watch," Dad said, his voice cruel and merciless as he dragged Mommy by her hair, forcing her back down. I watched in paralyzed horror as he beat her, his fists pummeling her flesh with sickening thuds, her screams a chorus of agony that filled the room like a macabre symphony.
When he was done, he dragged Mommy over to me, his breath ragged and labored, a grotesque parody of exhaustion. He pulled down my pants, looking at Mommy with a sickening, triumphant smile, a grimace of victory that sent a wave of nausea crashing through me. "Open wide, now him, don't be shy," he ordered. Mommy looked at me, her eyes filled with a profound sorrow, a bottomless well of despair. She whispered, "Sorry," before doing something that felt alien, something that made me feel a profound, nauseating wrongness, a twisted, sickening perversion of maternal love.
Tears and bruises covered Mommy's face when she finally stopped, her voice hoarse and broken, a ragged whisper that barely pierced the silence. "What now?" she asked, her voice a ragged whisper, a desperate plea for mercy. Dad shrugged, his hand raising, the purple hue growing brighter, a malevolent beacon of impending doom. "Now you both die," he said, his voice a chilling decree, a death sentence that sent a shiver down my spine.
Mommy lunged at him, a feral scream tearing from her throat as they rolled on the ground, a tangle of limbs and desperate fury, a primal battle for survival. The purple hue holding me vanished, and I launched myself at Dad, a primal scream ripping from my lungs, a battle cry that shattered the silence. We rolled and tumbled, pain exploding as we crashed into furniture, the room a blur of chaos and violence, a twisted, nightmarish dance of destruction. At one point, both Mommy and I had Dad pinned, our breaths coming in ragged gasps, our hearts pounding like drums in our chests.
"Stop! Please! Why do we need to do this?" I yelled, looking between them, my vision blurred with tears, a desperate plea for sanity. Dad sneered, grabbing a shard of glass from the broken picture frame beside him. He slashed it towards me, and Mommy threw me back, but not before it hit my left eye. Blood poured down my face, warm and sticky, a crimson curtain obscuring my vision, a grim reminder of the violence that had unfolded.
Mommy grabbed Dad's neck, trying to strangle him, but he fought back, the purple hue in his eyes flaring like a demonic inferno, a chilling display of malevolence. Suddenly, Mommy saw something on the ground—the bronze compass that had fallen out of my nightgown pocket. She grabbed it, leaping off Dad to stand in front of me. Somehow, she poked her finger through the glass, lifting the arrow pointing north. The compass grew, mechanical pieces flying from nowhere, transforming into something else, a whirring, clicking mechanism of gleaming metal, a beacon of hope in the chaos.
Dad shot his hand forward, but I screamed, throwing my hands out. A blinding green flash filled the room, a burst of pure, radiant energy, a beacon of hope that pierced the darkness. Mommy picked me up, running with me in her arms, her heart pounding against my cheek, a desperate race for survival. She pushed me under my bed, her voice urgent and desperate, a final plea for my safety. "Whatever you do, be quiet, okay? Mommy is so sorry, and know that no matter what, I love you." She kissed my temple, and then my mouth, her lips lingering for a moment, a tender goodbye, before running back out of the room, a silhouette of determination against the eerie glow, a final stand against the darkness.
I huddled under the bed, silencing my sobs, just like Mommy said, a desperate attempt to stay hidden, to stay safe. I promised myself I would listen to her, that I would be a good boy for mommy and stay silent. The last thing I remember was her scream, a man dressed in black and purple, and a loud explosion, a final, cataclysmic event that shattered the night. Then pain. And then, mercifully, nothing, a descent into the silent, peaceful embrace of oblivion.
...
I stared off into space as I remembered every detail, every last one. I looked at my grandpa, and shook my head. I couldn't talk. Not until mommy said I could.
Not until she comes back...