Elara swung her small chubby legs under the table. For some odd reason, she had been certain they should’ve been longer, that her feet should reach the floor. She couldn’t place why, but something felt out of place. Everything was familiar, yet wrong. She didn’t really know how she got here or what happened before. All she knew was that she was hungry and it was time to eat. Still, she felt afraid, though she couldn’t figure out why.
Then she heard a familiar deep, feminine, maternal voice.
“Why do you have your shoes on at the table again? You know how much it upsets your father.”
That was it—the source of her fear. Elara couldn’t recall why this woman, who she was certain was her mother, scared her so much. Mothers were supposed to be kind, weren’t they? The woman didn’t sound angry, just scolding. And Elara knew she was right. Her father would be furious if he saw her shoes on at the table.
Rather than putting them away, Elara shook off her bright pink Crocs, watching as they bounced onto the floor. She looked up at her mother—young and beautiful, with skin as pale as a white lily, sparkling ocean-blue eyes, and perfectly curled blonde straw-colored hair. Elara glanced down for a second, then back up. Suddenly, her mother’s face looked dull, the brightness in her eyes fading.
Her skin, once glowing, had turned sickly pale, tinged with yellow under the warm lighting. Her once-shining hair became frail and unbrushed. Elara’s heart tightened with a sense of wrongness she couldn’t quite understand. Her mother’s brow furrowed as she placed her hands on her hips, the dark blue low-rise jeans revealing messily applied glittery pink nail polish—Elara’s doing—now chipped and faded. Her mother’s youthful appearance was slipping away, replaced by a woman Elara was all too familiar with, though she couldn’t place why.
“Elara, darling, where do your shoes go when they’re not on your feet?”
Elara could sense her mother’s growing impatience, and guilt settled over her like a heavy fog. It was the same guilt she always felt, though she could never quite place why. She slid off the stool, moving to retrieve her shoes. As she placed the Crocs back by the front door, where the chestnut-brown metal shoe rack stood, her mind swirled with anxious thoughts. This was why her parents fought so much. If only Elara were better, if only she listened, maybe her mother would still love her. Maybe her father wouldn’t have left. Maybe her mother wouldn’t be dead.
But her mother wasn’t dead. She had just seen her—alive, right there. Plus, Mothers always loved their children, didn’t they? That was the rule. Elara knew that. She wondered where such thoughts had come from.
She tried to hurry back to the table, but her legs felt heavier with every step, like she was pushing through quicksand. The smell of something delicious—a familiar herby scent—filled the air. It was a dish she recognized, but she couldn’t recall her mother ever making it. Did her mother even cook? Her memories felt distant, fuzzy.
As she approached the table, the dark chestnut color of the wood matched the shoe rack, contrasting sharply with the red-tinted floor. Elara’s anticipation grew—she was looking forward to the meal.
Her father was there, though she hadn’t seen him sit down. He sat at the head of the table, shirtless, his slightly rounded stomach hanging over the waistband of the faded navy blue basketball shorts he always wore when he wasn’t working. His face, rough with a stubble the same color as Elara’s brunette hair, was twisted into a scowl. They looked alike—same olive skin, same brown eyes—but his eyes… they were hard, cold, filled with contempt. The sight of him sent a shiver through her.
He scared her, far more than her mother did.
Elara tried to push away the fear and focus on the food now placed in front of her.
“Let’s say grace!” her mother said as she sat down next to her father, folding her hands and bowing her head.
“Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. And may this food purify us, allowing us to be as you intended, in your son's liking, who died to show us the truth. Amen.”
The prayer was different. It didn’t feel right. The words, familiar yet wrong, twisted uncomfortably in her mind like a song sung out of tune. But the smell of the food in front of her overwhelmed her senses, clouding her thoughts. She couldn’t focus on why the prayer felt off—her gaze dropped down to the table.
There, on her plate, sat an unfamiliar dark meat—yet she knew it. She had eaten this before, and she loved it. Nothing compared to the way its rich, savory taste danced across her tongue. She remembered how it made her feel—satisfied, almost addicted. Her mouth watered as Elara picked up her fork, ready to take a bite.
Suddenly, Elara’s breath caught as her mother’s head slumped forward, face-planting into her plate with a wet, heavy thud that echoed in her ears. A bright, ruby-red liquid spilled out, flooding the table and mixing with the food, transforming the meal into a grotesque display. The blood, thick and viscous, as dark and red as ripe cherries, crawled across the table like something alive, staining everything in its path.
Elara’s heart raced, her stomach lurching as she stared in horror. She wanted to scream, but the sound seemed trapped in her throat, suffocated by fear. Before she could react, her father’s figure grew larger, towering over her. His face twisted with rage, his eyes wild, his voice booming as it filled the room.
“Look what you’ve done! You ungrateful, pathetic bitch! You drove me away!"” he shouted, his voice reverberating with the same cruel tone she had heard so many times before.
His hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back with brutal force. The sharp sting in her scalp was instant, so vivid it left her breathless. He dragged her forward, her body reacting to the pain, and forced her to look at her mother’s lifeless form, face still buried in the plate. Blood soaked through the tablecloth, a thick, dark stain spreading like ink.
Tears welled up in her eyes, streaming down her cheeks as his words cut into her like knives.
“You did this! Are you happy now? Happy that she’s gone? Happy with your new family?” he snarled, his breath hot and foul against her skin, making her stomach churn.
His grip on her hair tightened, yanking her head closer to her mother’s body, until her nose was almost touching the blood-streaked table. The metallic scent of the blood, mixed with the smell of the dark meat, filled her nostrils, making her want to gag.
“Is this what you wanted?” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom, each word laced with hatred.
Elara sobbed, her body trembling under the weight of his fury, his face mere inches from hers, his breath suffocating her. The world around her seemed to blur, the blood spreading across the table, swallowing everything in its path.
—---------------------------------------
Elara shot up in bed, heart pounding so fast she thought it might burst from her chest. She blinked rapidly, trying to shake the vivid, terrifying images from her mind—her father’s harsh voice, her mother’s lifeless body, and the blood.
So much blood.
It had felt disturbingly real. Her skin felt clammy, her breath shallow and erratic. Slowly, her surroundings came into focus. It was just a dream. Just a dream.
She swallowed hard, attempting to steady her breathing. Her hands trembled as she wiped her damp eyes. The remnants of the nightmare clung to her like a suffocating blanket, refusing to let go.
Elara pulled her pale yellow blanket tighter around her shoulders, seeking comfort in its warmth. What was that? The vividness of the dream haunted her, and although she had never experienced dreams like this before, they had been coming more frequently this past week. She inhaled shakily, trying to ease the anxiety gnawing at her insides.
Was it the spaghetti that triggered this?
Her thoughts drifted back to the drug test—the discomfort of Phineas’ deliberate slowness, the strange, ritualistic feel to it all. Ever since that night, something had felt off. She couldn’t quite place it, but her mind had been spiraling, her anxiety festering like a growing sickness she couldn’t shake.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
She hadn’t talked to Ben about it much, mostly due to lack of seeing him since the incident. Only cried that first night he made it for her, but ever since then, her thoughts kept returning to her father. She hated thinking about him, about the way cooking had been their only real connection. The rest of her memories containing her father had been filled with anger and instability.
Elara buried her face in the blanket, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over again. She didn’t have time for this. Her mother had fallen apart after her father left, and Elara had been the one to pick up the pieces. She’d kept their lives together while trying to survive high school, while her mother’s bitterness toward her father—toward her—stewed.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.
The shrill sound of her alarm cut through her thoughts. Elara scrambled to find her phone, silencing the noise that snapped her back to reality. 2:15 PM. She groaned, realizing she had slept through her earlier alarms. No time for her usual routine now.
With a heavy sigh, she swung her legs out of bed, the weight of the dream still lingering over her. Truthfully, Elara wanted to call off, but she knew that giving in would only let her anxieties win. I can’t let it control me, she reminded herself, quickly changing into her black long-sleeve blouse and jeans, skipping makeup entirely. Normally, she liked to look nice for Ben, still eager to impress him and not wanting him to find her unattractive.
But surely, he’d prefer her makeup-free over being late to work.
—-------------------------------
Elara’s stomach growled as she finally sat down in the breakroom after what felt like a never-ending four hours. The customers had been kinder than usual, but the day still left her drained, unease lingering from her unsettling dream. She exhaled in relief, grateful for the break.
In front of her sat a small bowl of diced watermelon, pineapple, strawberries, and grapes. Ben had been sweet enough to grab it for her before her break—another thoughtful gesture among many over the past week. His kindness was comforting, but his recent distance left her feeling uneasy. He had been tied up in mysterious meetings, and despite finishing at the same time, he always rushed off for “family reasons.” Elara couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was going on.
Maybe it was because of her breakdown at dinner, or the blood test that still weighed heavily on her mind, especially given its strangeness. She thought it was an odd thing to be asked of her, but she trusted Ben and wanted to be open-minded to his and his families beliefs. The test had seemed impossible to fail, especially since she didn’t drink—too afraid of becoming like her mother, whose addiction had consumed her life. Looking back, Elara recalled how strange Phineas had been, almost deliberately slow despite her presumably obvious discomfort.
Her eyes drifted to the small note attached to the fruit: “For my lovely Elara, just a little sweetness to brighten your day.” Her lips curled into a small smile. Ben always knew how to make her feel special, and the simple gesture filled her with warmth, even if it didn’t fully ease her growing worries.
Ben had promised her that, once these manager meetings were over, he would spend more time with her. That promise helped a little, though she couldn’t help but feel a pang of curiosity about the details he kept vague.
She popped a grape into her mouth, trying to distract herself by skimming the "Employee Rights" poster on the wall.
“Elara! Did you see the lady with the cat in her cart? She had the poor thing wrapped up like a burrito in blankets! I thought it was a baby at first!” Thomas’s voice broke the quiet and pulled Elara from her swirling thoughts as he burst into the breakroom, his excitement bubbling over.
Elara jumped surprised, but smiled when she realized it was just Thomas. Thomas had been around more lately, picking up extra shifts during school break. She didn’t fully understand why he’d choose to work more with a stable home and financial support, but his company was welcome, especially with how unavailable Ben had been.
“No way! Did you get a picture? I can’t believe she has a cat that is that well-behaved,” she said, savoring a juicy bite of watermelon.
“Nah, my phone’s in my locker. Got written up the other day for ‘excessive phone usage,’ apparently some customers complained.” Thomas rolled his eyes but shrugged with a grin.
Elara frowned. Thomas was one of the hardest-working teenagers she knew, and at only 17, she felt he deserved more leniency. Whoever wrote him up could’ve given him a warning, right?
“Don’t worry! I got you guys covered,” came a voice from behind, raspy but warm, with a slight Southern twang. It was one of the deli workers—either Sasha or Samantha. Elara could never tell them apart.
The older blonde woman pulled out her phone—an iPhone 11 with a neon pink glitter case—showing off pictures of a small black cat bundled in red and navy blue blankets, just as Thomas had described, inside a grocery cart.
“Aww! That’s adorable! It makes me want to get a cat,” Elara said wistfully, briefly wondering if her landlord would approve, it was something she hadn’t even looked into upon moving to Redwood Haven.
“I used to have a brown tabby, but he ran away a few months ago. My sister says he’s in a better place,” Thomas said softly.
Before Elara could respond, Levi’s sharp voice cut through the room. “Thomas! Why do I have angry, cartless customers? We’ve gone over this! Is this the kind of customer service we aim to provide?”
Thomas’s shoulders sagged, his hopeful expression fading into frustration. “I’ll get right on it, sorry,” he muttered, grabbing his water bottle and quickly leaving the room.
Elara’s appetite vanished, her heart sinking at Levi’s harshness. She wanted to stand up for Thomas, argue that he’d only been there for a second, but Levi’s tone made her too nervous to speak.
Instead, she stared down at her fruit, trying to muster the will to finish it. Ben had gotten it for her, after all.
“And Sam! You’ve got an hour left of your shift. Why are you in the breakroom?” Levi added, his voice eerily calm but dripping with authority.
Sam, visibly irritated, stormed out, muttering something that sounded like “asshole” under her breath. Elara couldn’t catch it fully, but she silently agreed—Levi had been too harsh. Neither of them had been there long enough to deserve such a reprimand.
Elara pushed her fruit around in the bowl, her appetite gone. She tried to force herself to eat for Ben’s sake, but the tension in the room made it difficult.
Levi grabbed a soda from the gray breakroom fridge, barely sparing her a glance before leaving, irritation clear on his face.
A few moments later, Ben appeared in the doorway of the manager’s office, his presence catching her off guard. She had nearly forgotten he was in another meeting with Levi.
“Levi’s gone, right?” Ben’s tone softened, eagerness barely concealed beneath his words as his gaze settled on Elara. His eyes flickered with longing—he had been waiting for this moment, hoping for a private second with her, away from Levi’s watchful eye. He stepped into the room, leaning casually against the doorway of the manager’s office. He’d barely seen her all week, and now, standing just a few feet away, he wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them.
Elara, still feeling anxious, nodded. His presence caught her off guard—she hadn’t even realized he’d followed Levi out moments before, too wrapped up in her own thoughts.
Ben stepped closer, noticing the tension in her brow. His hands rested gently on her shoulders, his touch soft but grounding. He pressed a light kiss to her forehead, his voice low and filled with concern. “Elara, you alright?”
Elara shook her head, frowning as her thoughts whirled. Should she tell him about what happened with Thomas? Ben was her boyfriend, always so fair, so just. He’d take her side, wouldn’t he?
“Does Levi have something against Thomas?” she asked quietly, fidgeting with her cross necklace, her eyes dropping to his white sneakers.
“Kinda,” Ben replied, his expression steady but firm. He gently lifted her chin, guiding her gaze back to his. “We’ve spoken to Thomas privately a few times, but there’s more to it than I can tell you. Levi shouldn’t have handled it that way, but we’re giving Thomas another chance. Levi’s not thrilled, but I pushed for it. I honestly should’ve told you sooner, and I’m sorry. It’s just been so hectic, especially this week. But there’s more to him than you realize, and it’s best if you keep your distance.”
Ben felt a pang of guilt, though technically, it wasn’t a complete lie. The truth was more complicated.
He had been simmering with frustration all week, watching how Thomas seemed to linger around Elara, always finding reasons to be near her. The audacity of him, thinking he had any right to be that close. The way her eyes softened with concern for him now only deepened the irritation simmering inside Ben. Why was she even defending him? Elara wasn’t just some coworker—she was his.
Ben clenched his jaw at the thought. No one else should be hovering around her like that.
Still, as much as Ben despised Thomas, the boy fit perfectly into their plans for the Cena Sacra. His youth, his innocence—he was the ideal candidate, and Levi had agreed. Ben knew he wasn’t supposed to let personal feelings influence the choice—the Cena Sacra demanded emotional detachment. But the idea of removing Thomas from Elara’s life, ensuring he wouldn’t be a problem anymore, and saving Elara, made it all too tempting.
Elara’s frown deepened. “I’ve barely seen you all week, and now you’re asking me to distance myself from the only coworker I talk to. And you can’t even tell me why?”
A sharp spike of annoyance ran through Ben. Her concern for Thomas, of all people, irritated him more than he’d expected. His grip tightened ever so slightly, his expression unreadable. He needed her to trust him, and yet her doubt was creeping in.
“I did tell you, Elara. I just can’t give you the specifics until it’s been handled. You know I love you, but I can’t abuse my manager privileges. Just trust me on this one, okay? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Elara hesitated, a wave of guilt washing over her for pressing him. Ben always had her best interests at heart, didn’t he? But something still felt off about keeping her distance from Thomas. Then again, as her mother had always liked to remind her while she was alive, Elara could be rather gullible.
“Ben, is Thomas dangerous?” she asked, her voice anxious as she searched his eyes—deep hazel, flecked with blue.
Ben’s jaw tightened as he met her gaze. He hadn’t intended to push this far, but the frustration and jealousy swirling inside him drove him forward. “Yes, Elara,” he said, his tone firm but laced with concern. “I didn’t want to scare you, but trust me, Thomas isn’t as harmless as he looks. It’s best if you keep your distance. I’ll always be here to protect you, but you need to listen to me—you know I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
Elara nodded, leaning into Ben for a comforting embrace. She felt a bit frightened and wished Ben could just tell her more, but she trusted him. As her mind raced, she felt the familiar warmth of Ben’s presence calming her, though unease still lingered.
“Could you... maybe take me home?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The idea of being alone after everything unsettled her.
Ben's eyes softened, and a small smile touched his lips. “Of course,” he replied, his tone gentle but protective. “I wouldn’t want you walking home by yourself, anyway. Perhaps tomorrow I can come by for dinner?”
Elara squealed with joy, feeling an immediate sense of relief. The thought of going home with Ben rather than walking through the dark streets of Redwood-Haven alone brought her comfort she hadn’t realized she needed.
Even more, she was excited to have him over for dinner the following night—she had missed both his company and his cooking.