CHAPTER 5

A scratching at the window woke Thel from her sleep. She looked out from under the heavy lids of her eyes and saw nothing. Something was tapping against the glass. It had stopped. She lay back and closed her eyes once again.

A tumultuous crash. Splintering wood. She sat up this time, alarmed. A figure clothed in darkness was pulling itself through the window frame, tarantula-like. Was she dreaming? She tried to scream, but her throat was stifled. The hunched figure turned to her and she saw its ghastly face, great clots of blood streaming down from its gaping mouth. Its sunken eyes stared, wild, from deep within the sockets of the leaden flesh that barely covered the skull beneath. Hot, ragged, torturous breath shot out staccato from its throat as it groped the edge of her bed.

"Bill?"

"Thel, I need—I need help, Thel. I'm sick, Thel. Can't you see how sick I am?"

The figure jerked with a spasm and spilled a mouthful of vomit onto Thel's bedsheets. In an instant, Thel got up and turned on the lights. Bill stayed standing, supported by the bed.

"God, Bill. You look horrible."

"I need—"

"No, Bill. Don't even bother. You did this to yourself and I'm not going to clean up your messes. Not anymore."

"You did this—"

Thel's voice raised, "What did you think, that coming here and breaking through the window? You could have scared Dolly and Jeffy! For God's sake, Bill, get to a police station or a doctor or something, not me. I don't want to have anything to do with you. You're worthless, Bill! Look at yourself! Look at what you've done to yourself!"

Bill tore open his shirt and stared at his wife.

"Christ. You know what I'll do, Bill? I'll call the police. You can explain to them what a worthless drunk you are; and you can explain to them how you got that blood all over yourself. Myself, I really don't want to know."

Thel started to go out of the room, but Bill caught her with a movement too fast to be expected from someone as sick as he was. The adrenaline that came with desperation and anger fueled him. He hissed into her ear, "No police! It's my blood! No police! My blood! No police!"

Thel struggled against his grip, and that only enraged him further. He threw her upon the bed, and then, to stop her from screaming, clamped his thumbs into her windpipe. Thel gagged and sputtered. He pushed in harder. He threw himself too, upon the bed, pushing down on her body with his own weight. She pushed up against him with her hips, clawing uselessly at his arms; kicking out beneath him with her feet. For several minutes they struggled with each other. Tears welled up in Thel's eyes. She looked out into a half-darkened world, disbelieving. Bill pushed harder and harder into her neck with a growing fury. He saw the capillaries break in her eyes. Thel's cheeks puffed up as her muscles spastically struggled for air. He watched as her tongue swelled through her cheeks. Her kicking slowed, then stopped. Her bloated tongue stopped licking the air. Bill smiled. He was finally a man to her. He lay for some time next to her body, gently rubbing his nose against her now unfeeling cheek.

Bill took the gun out of his jacket pocket. Now their mother was dead. He couldn't leave his children alive. He couldn't let them suffer the pain that life dealt him. His lungs beat out a hoarse laugh.

Bill stalked the halls of his house, scraping one hand against the wall; the other playfully holding the gun in front of him by the bottom of the handle. He opened the door to the nursery and stepped inside. PJ was sleeping soundly in his crib. Bill steadied himself, and aimed the gun at the sleeping infant. The report blasted his ears and instinctively he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw PJ's brains splattered against the pillow.

Bill shambled into the next room. Dolly was awake. "Daddy, I heard fireworks! Is it the fourth of July already?" Bill howled a wordless scream and doubled over. He brought up the gun in his hand and fired. Dolly's skull shattered from the force of the bullet. Her ponytail arced through the air like a spinning pinwheel, and her body slumped down, lifeless after it.

Jeffy had barely woken when his father entered the room. Bill took his son into his arms and caressed his head before placing the muzzle of the gun to the child's temple and obliterating it.

Little Billy covered his ears to protect himself from the sound of the blast. His father turned to him.

"Billy. You look so much like I did as a kid. I don't—I don't know, Billy. I'm sorry."

Bill raised the gun and slowly lowered it.

"Dad, why? Why, dad?" Billy was bawling.

"Because I'm a coward, Billy. I'm a coward." Bill placed the gun on his son's bed. "But you're not. You're not a coward. I always knew you'd be—I can't kill you."

Bill looked up at his son whose face was covered in tears. "Don't be like that. No. I got a favor to ask of you. Don't—don't make the same mistakes I did." He picked up the gun again and placed it on his son's lap. "I want you to show me—I want you to show me you're a man. Go ahead, son."

"Dad, I won't—"

"Do it! Do it or I'll kill you like I did the others! Do it! Do it! Show me you're a man! Do it!"

The final report of the gun gave way to silence. Billy sat, shocked, upon the bed. His father lay before him. Barfy began to howl piteously outside. The night went on and dawn came as Billy screamed and screamed.

THE END