Chapter Two
There held a quality so foreboding and sinister about this April blizzard that unsettled Blake Weston. It was already unnerving to let the boy go out alone to check their livestock in this weather, at this hour, but it was their argument that caused the boy to storm off the way he did also weighed on him.
His son had confessed that he was gay, and Blake’s knee-jerk reaction of shock, disgust, and disappointment had sparked a very heated argument between father and son. He regretted everything he said and did. He just didn’t know how to handle it. Part of it was his upbringing that it was wrong, something he’d get over. The other part of it was knowing how men treat their sexual conquests and fearing that his son would one day be on the receiving end of that. Tonight, as a father, he fucked up. Whether or not he liked it, his boy was growing up. Proud and stubborn, just like him. The older Clay got, the more they butted heads.
The boy was becoming a man.
Maybe he shouldn’t have yelled, maybe he should have gone with him. Maybe he should have just swallowed his pride and apologized, even though they were arguing. He stared out past the window into the dark night from the warmth of his dining room while his wife pulled the roast out of the oven. His guilt oozed through the cracks in his bravado.
Something just didn’t feel right.
“Blake, it’s almost supper time. He needs your help,” Charlotte said, masking her worry with a harsh reprimand. She milled about the kitchen without looking at him. “Go apologize to our son. You might not agree with the way we ended up making him, but that’s who he is.”
He wanted to.
“Hm,” he grumbled, his weathered hands tightened and folded above the wooden table. “He took the rifle. He’s fine.”
Was he?
Blake’s stomach knotted as he fidgeted. What the fuck was so wrong with him that made him too ashamed to face a fourteen-year-old boy and admit that he was the asshole? It was his brother Jake all over again.
He didn’t want that for Clay, nor did he want to be like his own father, who died with the regret of never seeing his son again.
Charlotte turned and crossed her arms, a sharp scowl fixed on him. “See, you even feel bad about how you acted, you big ginger goof. Go out there and apologize to him. Don’t be stubborn, Blake Weston, or else.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Or else?”
Her narrowed gaze didn’t relent as she slid her tongue along the side of her cheek. “I won’t be doing that thing you like after bedtime, dear.”
“‘Kay.” He rose from the table fast enough to make her stifle a laugh, and then he made a beeline for the porch to swing his jacket over his broad shoulders and pull up his boots.
“You’re a good man, Blake Weston,” she sang out from the kitchen as she went back to preparing the side dishes. “Help me with the dishes tonight and I’ll do that as long as you want.”
He lingered with his hand on the doorknob, grinning as an electric, longing chill moved along his spine. “‘Kay.”
Blake stepped out onto the snow-covered wood deck, his breath hanging in the air. He reached into his pocket and drew a pack of smokes, tapping the bottom. He noticed how much snow had piled up and lit his cigarette with a red Bic lighter. The aroma of burning paper and tobacco wafted around him while he listened for the distant sounds of a snowmobile out in the pasture.
“Thank god he got that running,” Blake said aloud, flicking the ashes off the cigarette before taking one final drag from it and tossing the butt into a snowbank off the edge.
The quad or truck could have caused trouble if his son had taken them out. Using the sled to go out and check the cows in this blizzard showed Blake that Clay was a resourceful ranch hand in the making. Even if his son ended up liking dick, he welled with pride in the man his son was becoming. He needed to apologize; he needed to tell him. Part of him was just worried they now had even less in common when they already fought so much.
Blake sighed and grabbed the snow shovel to at least take one chore off the boy’s plate.
As he scraped the snow away, he was unaware of what had been stalking him all night through every reflective surface. He sensed danger but saw nothing. Yet, on a deep and primal level, he shuddered with dread. Blake turned to face the large porch window and saw his reflection in the glass. He gasped to see the malevolent cat-like eyes looking back from his visage. He stood statuesque for a moment, paralyzed and caught in the thrall of this entity as it leapt through the reflection, pouring its corrosive essence into him. Blake grunted, hissing through his teeth as his very soul burned and a cool sting washed over every nerve.
A malicious grin spread as his eyes became cat-like and malicious before reverting to his usual brown human eyes. He dropped the shovel and walked through the front door into the warmth of the house where the rest of his family awaited him, a passenger in his own body.
Mmm, that meal smells great. The inhuman and disembodied voice was strangely similar to his own.
Blake, while almost gliding with a never-before-seen grace on the outside, screamed from within–his desperate cries for help never heard by anyone but the creature who had taken hold of him.
Shhh. Shhh. No need to be so upset. I’m a Qliphoth and I need a body. You’ll probably be fine, so just relax. I’m Sebastian, but you can call me Seb.
Not in control of where his gaze may land, he saw his wife as he went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer. He put the bottle against his teeth and pried the cap off with ease to show off to his internal captive. With a sly smile, he spit the cap out onto the floor before he downed his beer in one dramatic swig. Seb then belched and ignored the confused, irritated sidelong glance from the woman as he handed her the empty brown bottle. “Thanks, babe. How about another?”
Charlotte spluttered with indignation, either lost for words or restraining her fiery temper.
She’s pretty, but not my type, if you get my meaning. Should I take her anyway? I bet you’ll still feel everything. I could take one for the team.
Blake cried out, unheard by the world his body interacted with and wished he could tell her to grab the kids and get the hell away from here, from him.
Keep fretting and I’ll just get rid of them now, Blake.
“As much as I want to ask what the hell that was just now, how’s Clay doing?”
“He got away, but I’ll get him later,” Seb replied, taking Blake’s seat at the table. “Where’s the goddamned food already?”
“Excuse me?” Charlotte asked, incredulous at how he was talking to her. “You’d better be joking for your own sake--”
Seb’s eyes shifted before her, green and cat-like, as his malice-filled stare fell on her, freezing her in place. “I wasn’t, cunt. Dinner. Now.”
Charlotte’s breath hitched in her throat as the terror inside spread.
Blake felt helpless as he saw her bite her lip while her eyes watered. She acquiesced to the abusive demands, Seb laughing in his mind the whole time. Blake wanted her to know this wasn’t him. He wanted her to understand the danger they were in. Charlotte laid out the spread of roast beef, mashed potatoes, peas, and gravy before stepping back and folding her hands dutifully–stiffening in her husband’s presence and under his watchful cat-eyed gaze.
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“You forgot my beer.”
Charlotte bristled, though she complied and brought him his drink.
I guess a meal just isn’t a meal without family, eh, Blake?
“Fetch the accidents and dish us up, woman,” he said before he downed the entire bottle and then lobbed it at her with absolute indifference.
Charlotte cried out, ducking as the empty bottle flew past and shattered against the oak cupboards. Seb laughed from his belly as she cowered away from him.
“Bryce? Eden?” She disappeared down a hallway, calling out their children’s names in a shaky voice that fought against her effort to not show him fear. Too bad he could smell it.
Let me show you something, Blake.
His hearing then became so fine-tuned that he could hear the pitter-patter of Bryce coming down the stairs from Clay’s room. Charlotte’s hushed whispers directed the children to hide until she told them to come out. The beeps as she dialled three numbers into a cordless phone followed.
9-1-1, is it? Oh, man! She thinks you’re having a breakdown over all the calves you lost this spring. She’s getting you some help, though, isn’t she thoughtful? It’s a shame for her that the power’s about to go out.
Seb snapped his fingers and the entire house fell into darkness, Charlotte’s connection to the outside world vanishing with the light. They both heard her gasp in alarm.
Also, kind of a shame you made her get rid of that old rotary phone, huh? And you couldn’t pay the cellphone bill either. Shitty. How far to town? That weather, too. They wouldn’t make it far in this snow if they ran, either. Man, you guys are fucked! Never mind things like me, you’re also a sitting duck for bad people. Don’t go thinking you could have protected them. You couldn’t. Your luck has run out. All of you.
Blake’s mind raced, and panic surged through him.
You know, I was worried I’d lose my chance to come out when your boy got away. It takes a lot of strength to linger between worlds near the mirrors and reflections. Trying again takes time. This is the night I can't miss. Walpurgis night, nothing worth telling you.
He tried to move, tried to struggle. It was in vain.
Yeah, stop trying. I’m in control and I’m also trying to have a conversation with you. Anyway, your boy, wow. I like them strong and fiery. I love to break them. He got away, and I almost missed my chance to come out. And then you came along with all of your doubts and insecurities. I could smell you from across the yard and found my way through the blinding snow. Blake, you smelled so delicious.
He tried to move once more against Seb’s restraints. Nothing, no control.
My dude, are you even listening to me at all? Ah, well. It’s your fleeting hope that makes this so delectable. I was never interested in your fucking meat and potatoes. I want your anguish. Your suffering. I want the last shred of hope to leave you.
Seb stood from the table and swept the meal away, ceramic and glass shattering all over the floor as the food landed all over the shards. He could sense the aura of fear rising to a fever pitch in this home.
Delightful.
Let’s play hide and seek first and find your boy later. He just came out, yeah? Good for him. Wonder if he’s into some incest kink. We’ll find out.
Blake cried out from within, fighting against Seb harder than he’d fought before. It was still meaningless.
Cute.
They stalked the pitch-black hallway together. He realized then that Seb knew exactly where to find Charlotte and the little ones, that this was just part of his sick game. He prayed.
Really? Trust me. Nobody will hear that.
Seb wore a sadistic smile as he could feel the mounting despair in his host while all hope for his family’s survival waned. There was nothing Blake could do. This realization was so crippling that he stopped struggling.
This was it.
This was how it would all end.
Now you’re catching on. Your whole family is going to die by your hands, wondering why you would do this to them. Oh, boy, that’s gonna be fun. Not as fun as using Clay until his will shatters, though. I like men, too. See, I already have more in common with your boy than you.
Blake wailed, much akin to the cries of a wounded animal beginning to accept its grim fate, his mind a dark prison where nobody but Seb could hear him.
Maybe I’ll raise him to be–he paused those last three words for effect–just like me.
Charlotte lunged from the shadows, a hunting knife in hand as she slashed at him. The blade whistled, and it missed its mark as he stepped back. Seb laughed heartily as his hand shot out to squeeze her wrist, taking the knife from her. The children whimpered in the bedroom she guarded. “Feisty. Now that’s how a parent protects their family, Blake. She’s a hell of a lot more formidable than you’ll ever be.”
She cowered from him, realizing this was far more than a mental break.
“Oh, you’re a smart one, darling,” Seb cackled with derision, waving the knife. “She was recently thinking about leaving you and taking the kids, you know. I think she’s figured out she’s out of your league. Man, oh, man. Dysfunctional.”
Seb stepped in close to her, still holding her by the wrist as she tugged and thrashed to free herself. “I can tell you why she might have second thoughts. Your endowment only plays a small part in it. No, not your grit or determination, either.”
Charlotte winced from his touch as the back of his knife hand traced her jawline.
He pulled his hand back and balanced the heft of the hunting knife before he struck to plunge it deep into her abdomen. She let out a sharp gasp and whimpered as he removed the blade. She staggered back and slumped to the floor, her hands holding the wound as blood coursed through her fingers and onto their bedroom carpet.
Blake screamed within and Seb smiled.
“It was the bun in the oven. Well, now I’ve set you free. Let me take care of the rest of your burdens. If you survive, you can live out all of those what-ifs dancing around in your head.”
“Mommy!” The cry came from Bryce, who rushed to her side and knelt beside her, bawling from sheer terror.
“Daddy,” he sobbed, looking up at his possessed father with watering eyes, “stop hurting Mommy! She loves you! I promise!”
“B-Bryce,” Charlotte said weakly, rising to her feet, “get behind me.”
Seb was not expecting the hidden well of strength in the desperate woman as she tackled him and knocked him back, the knife flying out of his hand as they both went down.
“Run! Take your sister and run! Find Clay! Go!” Charlotte barked, fighting with all she had to pin him. She was losing strength and fast.
Eden emerged from the closet she was hiding in and Bryce took her by the hand. The children ran past their parents, who were wrestling on the ground in the dark hallway.
“You bought them time, nothing more. Your children are all going to die,” Seb seethed as he grabbed her and tossed her into the air from his supine position, flourishing his preternatural strength. Charlotte hit the wall and fell unconscious, framed portraits falling around her as the glass shattered. Seb stood up, watching the kids run away.
“Get back here, you little shit,” he called out after Bryce, extending his hand and clutching the boy from afar with an unseen force that stopped him from taking another step forward.
The lights flickered on, banishing the darkness that had fallen on the home as soon as Seb’s rampage began. Bryce coughed and hacked as his sock feet slid over the dated, off-white linoleum. He was being choked and pulled toward Seb while Eden watched in abject horror. Though he couldn’t speak, his eyes told her to run, and she scurried away to hide in the mudroom under a pile of coats. Seb wrapped his arm around the child’s neck and lifted him from the ground, feet dangling helplessly.
A figure clad in black winter wear, armed with a hunting rifle, stormed through the kitchen and to the mouth of the hallway, the barrel of the weapon trained on Seb. The freckle-faced teenager stared him down with one of his brown eyes shut tight while he aimed. “You piece of shit! Put him down! Now! Drop him and go, or I'll fucking shoot you between the eyes!”
Oh, Blake. See your boy through my eyes. Look how fierce he is. I sense a powerful warrior spirit in there.
“Oh, Clay, what a horrible thing to say to your old man,” Seb jeered in mock horror. “Think you’ll hit me with that pea shooter, son?”
“Clay,” Bryce pleaded, his voice strangled. “Help.”
“Put him down,” Clay said flatly, not backing down or wavering. “Now.”
He’s actually about to, Blake. See his finger on the trigger? What will he do next?
Seb snapped Bryce’s neck without warning and dropped the lifeless body to the floor as Clay watched his little brother writhe in his last moments, beyond help, as the nerves fired and triggered involuntary spasms. “Guess you should have taken that shot sooner.”
Blake cried out for his dead son, who had fallen by his own hand.
Feel what Clay feels?
Clay’s tears streamed down his cheeks, his breaths becoming shallow as he tried to suck in air, sobbing. He was trembling as his mind desperately tried to make sense of why his dad had just murdered his brother and he could not speak the words.
Can you hear his mind? Delightful.
“If you want to play the hero, you gotta accept that people you love might die,” Seb lectured with a dark smile as he stepped over the small child’s body. “Time to pack it in, son. You’re out of your depth. “
A scream of rage was Clay’s reply as he lifted the barrel of the Winchester M70 Classic and pulled the trigger. The thunderous blast resounded throughout the home as the bullet bit into Seb’s forehead, instantly killing Blake.
Clay could see his father’s eyes glitter with gratitude for but a mere second before he fell into oblivion. His lifeless body fell to the floor and crumpled on top of his brother. Before Clay could even process what had happened, or what he had done, something from beyond the nearest mirror lured his gaze and everything went black.