A/N: Gruesome chapter. Beware.

Behind Those Dark Eyes Part Two: Dilemma on Christmas

I get home from school one day, and my dad finally emerges from his workplace in the basement. It feels like I haven't seen him in years. He never shares with me what he's created, until tonight, two years later from the disappearance of my best friend, on Christmas Eve, he said he'd show me. After mother went to bed though, which worries me. I don't know why it does, its just I'm a little nervous, because I never really knew my father all that well. I never get to see him, once again, due to his job. That he apparently doesn't get paid for. My mom does the work. My dad does the fun, and I get the isolation.

My dad is upstairs to get a sandwich real quick, and go right back downstairs, so he told me, with the unfamiliar voice. My favourite time of year, is tomorrow. I love Christmas. And I decide, I'm going to stay upstairs, because nobody wants me around! That's an excellent idea, Kalli! I tell myself with sarcasm. I quickly go upstairs, making no eye contact with my father, for his bright green eyes scared me due to unfamiliarity of him. Its been 10 years. I only saw him for at least 20 minutes a week. Is that good enough? No.

I open my bedroom door, the welcoming smell of paints and the vibrant drawing covered walls. I sigh, dropping my heavy backpack down on the floor with a soft bang, and I flop down on my bed, staring at the cieling. I decide after a few minutes to pull out a yearbook from a few years ago...back in the 7th grade. I flip it open to the pictures of all of the 7th graders...and I spot Michael first because his last namr is Myers. I study the picture for a while, my eyes tearing up because of the sudden loss of a friend...but then I quickly turn the page, to prevent me from shedding a tear. I catch the picture of me, the grey backround and my pitch black hair, and my pale white face- I guess everyone's looks the same in black and white.

I close the yearbook, it making a clapping sound, and I look out my open window. I sigh sadly, seeing the Myers' house...abndoned. Maybe they moved! Maybe that's why! But, he would've told me, right? Pfft...

The doorbell rings, and its up to me to get it. I quickly run downstairs, and peek out the window to see who it is first before I open the door. Its one of the police officers from the police department. I open the door, and my face remains blank. As the officer smiles, it reminds me of the fact that I can't. Its almost like a expression that could never happen to me. Smiling. Happiness. No. I shake my head, as the officer waits there patiently, looking at me. "I'm sorry sir! Here, come in!" I say, moving out of the way so he can come in. He nods, and smiles again. "Hello there ma'am. Are your parents home?" He asks, straightening his lether jacket over his uniform. I shake my head. "My father is here- but he is busy at the moment. May I take a message?" I ask, crossing my arms behind my back. "Well, I am here, stopping by everyone's houses, sending out a warning to stay inside your house this Christmas. We've had a strange series of murders...it is quite odd. We are still nvestigating it, and here, I am handing out the papers to everyone too. Have a nice day ma'am. You can call the police department if you need anything and you can ask to speak with Officer Chris," he says, pointing to himself, and I nod. He gives me a wink, and I clutch the paper in my hand, and as soon as he leaves I shut the door. Murders, huh? Around Haddonfield? No way.

I take a look at the paper, and it says there was an escapee from Smith's Grove Sanitarium just down the road...his name was...no. No! It couldn't be! Tears well up in my eyes, and for once one escapes, much like my best friend. Escape through murder, and got there by murder. I drop the paper like it has some kind of disease, and run upstairs to my room. Its already getting dark, and I don't care what time it is. What a way to ruin your Chritmas Eve. I slam shut my door, shut my window,.and shut the curtains, turn off my lights, and throw myself into my bed, pulling the covers over my head. Might as well get some rest before seeing my dad's creation right before Christmas at 11:30.

-

My father had woken me up early to show me his invention, and I agreed to it. I pull the sheets off of me, and head down into the basement. I wrap my arms tightly around myself to keep myself warm, and I walk down the hallway to the stairs. I open the door, and it creates a loud creak, along with the flash of light in my eyes from the light bulb above the stairs. I start to walk down the stairs, with each footstep, a shiver sent up my spine. I don't even know how my father works down here. The air, thick with sawdust, water droplets dripping from the pipes above with short clinks, and the dim lighting. We need more lights like the ones at the top of the stairs.

I reach the bottom of the steps, and the lights in his workplace aren't even on. He said he was down here. I decide to look around, and I walk past one of his work tables. I saw strange tools, with sharp edges. I run my fingers against the rough tabletop, saw dust dragging along with my frail fingers. I look out into the darkness.

A strange light flashes in my eyes, and I see a girl, who bears a slight resemblance to me, with parts of her cheek torn open, and one of her eyes colourless with a long scar through it, and her throat is looked as if she had been strangled. Her hair is short and tangled and bloody, and her shirt has scratch marks through it. Her arms, bloody with large gashes running along her forearms, her hands, shaking, and in her right hand, she has within her iron grip, blood-covered thin bladed pliers. A hear a creak from behind me, and I turn on instinct to see who it was.

My dad stands at the bottom of the stairs, smiling at me, dark circles rung beneath his eyes. I turn back to where I saw the girl. She wasn't there. In fact, the lights in there are on. How did the lights get on? The light switch for them aren't even relatively closer to my father, or me. I turn back to my dad, who has now walked over to the light switch to his workplace, and looked at me strangely.
"Sweetie, you okay?"
I shake my head, and reply, "Yes. I'm sorry...just a little tired."
My father nods, and signals me to come over to his long wooden table that he had built.

"What did you need me for daddy? What did you want to show me?" I ask, peering over his shoulder.
He turned around and stabbed something into my arm. Unbearable pains rush throughout me, as he cuts down further to my frail hands. He pins me up against the wall, and does the same to my other arm. I'm in too much pain and surprise to cry. My father's eyes went from soft, to pure ruthless.

"My beautiful daughter...smile,"

My father says, taking whatever he was using to cut me with to jab me in my left cheek. He tears it open, my blood spilling everywhere. Pain is all I can think about. For once, tears streak down from my eyes, and fall into my slit open cheeks, which causes it to burn uncontrollably. Laughter from the left of us escapes someone's lips. My father turns my head in the direction of the feminine laugh. My mother stands there, by the stairs. Laughing at me, and my defenselessness. My father laughs evilly along with my mother. Such cruelty. Where had this come from? They were so nice, my mother always baking those sweet, delectable homemade chocolate chip cookies, and offering them to our neighbors. My father, a high paid engineer and inventor, teacher of mine, and the structure hold of our family.

Now, they are laughing at me. They are hurting me. Abusing me. More tears pour from my eyes, and my dad takes his weapon, which looks like really sharp edged thin pliers, and jags it across my eye.

"There, there, don't cry..." He looks at me with sadistic eyes. I scream, and after that, wail in pain. Oh, the pain. He places the pliers down on the table next us, and wraps his hard and rough hands around my neck. He grips it with an iron grip, taking all the air from me. I flail my wounded arms, as both my parents laugh hysterically at me. My hands land on pliers on the table, and my eyes land on the clock.
The time says that it's Christmas. 12:00. I grip the pliers with shaking hands, and my head begins to throb with pain, and my lungs long for air. I raise the pliers above me, and my father's eyes widen as I bring them down on his head. He releases me, and gagging, I stab him repeatedly in the head, until his whole body goes completely limp, and his face torn up and bloody. I turn to my mother, and grin.

"My turn mommy," I say, and walk towards her, my eyes wide, and longing for vengeance. I have the pliers raised, and I bring them down on her chest, several times, and she mutters her last words.

"You were never the right child for us. You...you were...you were a..." She gets cut off by my final stab. She lies there, on the ground, covered in dark crimson, and the light swing. I turn to look at my father's workplace, and the lights are off again. I grip my pliers tightly. For a moment, I see myself, in my pj's, hair ruffled, and arms crossed tightly. I grin evilly.

"Merry Christmas...my parents."