Warning: This is the chapter where the rating kicks in. Even though it's not too bad, it still has some pretty sick parts.

Not Quite Right with a Broken Mind

By PHfan21

I was putting the meaty breakfast onto four plates when a crash came from downstairs. 'Probably them just playing around' I thought. Then I suddenly forgot about the noise downstairs because I burnt my hand on the hot frying pan.

"Damn it!" I said softly. I wasn't allowed to cuss, so when I did I always said it quietly.

I yelled up to mom, who had gone upstairs in the middle of my cooking, that breakfast was done. Then I carried the plates to the table, setting out a napkin for each of us, and some silverware. Since my dad and bro probably didn't hear me yell to mom I decided to open up the basement door and yell at them to get their butts up here.

I wish now, that I'm reflecting back on this incident, I could say I felt something was off. I wish I could say the hairs on my neck stood up, or that my gut hurt. But I didn't feel any different than normal when I opened up that cellar door.

My dad was on his haunches, leaning over something, directly at the bottom of the stairs. I thought he was ripping up paper at first because that was the sound that was coming from down there. I guess I was sort of right. He moved off to the side, and that's when I saw.

He was eating my brother. EATING him. Like a freakin' cannibal. So far all he had eaten was his face. One of my brothers eyes were popped, yellowish ooze seeping down the side of his face. He had no bottom lip. I could see his whole row of bottom teeth, gleaming white against all the red. He also had a bite taken out of his cheek. It seems as though my father wanted to sample a little of everything. A little eye, a little lip, and a little cheek.

I couldn't move. I couldn't stop watching this gruesome ritual of father eating son. With every second passing by, I became a little more numb. Yes, I see my dad eating my brother; I have no problem about this, not anymore.

Where was mom?

I kept watching. My dad seemed to be done with the face. He next moved onto the stomach. I never knew how easy it was to open it up. All dad did was take his hands back to back, with fingers pointing down, and slammed them down into the soft meat. When his fingers were in all the way, he pulled his hands apart.

Steam rose up from the warm innards, swirling prettily until they disappeared. I'm learning so much right now. I never knew that intestines were a grayish-purple. I guess I never had reason to think about it, but now I certainly do. They're right there. Dad wasn't interested in the intestines though. He went straight for the heart. It wasn't beating. He ripped it out with a mighty tug. Blood flew from the huge arteries attached to the heart and flung everywhere. It was a few shades darker than the bright blood that had come gushed from my brother's face. This color of blood screamed of death, and of pain.

I never thought of a heart as being like an apple. But that's sure how my dad treated it. The bite he took was huge. The sound was very juicy, and then that ripping sound again.

It was then that my mom finally showed up. I didn't hear her come down the stairs. But I heard her shriek, which was right by my ear. If my mother hadn't made that awful noise, I think I could have watched my dad forever. It was mesmerizing.

In an instant his head shot up, piercing us with his gaze. Even though he just ate, he looked hungrier than ever. Hungry for us, for our blood, for our flesh. That look almost made me hungry. For what, I do not know.

My brother started to twitch, and slowly he got up. He tripped on his first step towards us though. He had stepped on an intestine. A sick ripping sound could be heard, coming from within his tummy. He didn't even flinch. When he rose again, him and my father both snarled and began running up the stairs, tripping and climbing most the way up though.

I guess when they were about halfway up my mom started yelling at me to SHUT THE FUCKING DOOR. Hmm. I've never heard my mom cuss. I contemplated that fact until a sharp pain came from my scalp. My mom ripped my hair out. What a whore.

Finally, at the last second, I slammed the door in their faces. I felt reluctant to do it though. They were so hypnotizing, and it was nice.

Banging and scratching came from the door. I think I heard a nail break off, but I couldn't tell for sure. I wanted to open the door to see if I was right. I wanted to see if the nail was either stuck in the grain of the wood on the door, or sitting on the ground. My hand reached for the knob, but was knocked away by my mom. Why is she being so difficult?

I looked at her and was perfectly ready to spit some nasty insult in her face. She was blubbering though, so I decided to leave it. She turned and went upstairs again. I sat down on the coach, reading my book. The shrieks and wails coming from the basement were like a CD. I liked listening to it. It had a nice beat to it.

POW! A sharp report came from upstairs…