For Love and Demons

The figure next to his Mother was headless. His Mother stared out at him from the photograph; he recalled her soft eyes, how loving she had been. It was an old black & white shot, taken just months after he was born. Valdis slipped from the sofa to sit on the floor.

It had taken a sharp blade, to cut a circle around the image, removing his father’s head; imagining it would affect him in death had been the best part. Recalling how weak he had been, before the towering fury of the man. Once more he heard her voice, her loud cries begging for his mercy. Then she would take a beating. For me …

Even the thick, woollen blankets, had not shielded him from her cries. He could still hear him; his Father spitting obscenities at her, through gritted teeth. Thumping and knocking came through the thin wall.

Then he would hear the act being performed, and his Mother’s whimpers at the onslaught, the man’s sexual energy being released.

After things went quiet, he would fall asleep to the sound of her rhythmic sobbing.

You heard her crying, and did nothing.

The grated tone filled him.

“No, please. I don’t need you …”

What did you say?

“I’m sorry, I just need time.”

Your time is almost done.

“No, please …”

You heard your Mother being beaten and screwed, and you did nothing.

Tears rolled down his reddened cheeks, his mouth fell open in a silent scream. He rubbed his sore eyes and struggled to take a breath, until the scream left him. Bloodshot eyes peered up from the photograph, and Valdis stared around the room; seeing only the aged sofa still sitting on a threadbare carpet.

Hunger was now at the forefront of his thoughts. He squeezed his eyes shut grabbing tufts of his hair, pulling it tight. The pain seemed to bring him back to reality, for a moment.

Slowly, he turned to stare at the large fridge-freezer.

She loved you … and you hated her for it, hated her weakness.

“No, no, I didn’t …”

You wanted to be like him …

“No, it was you …”

We only watched you.

“It couldn’t have been me.”

You forced her. You forced yourself down her throat …

“No …”

Murderer!

Valdis fell to the blood-stained floorboards, gripping the rough edge of the rug, and lay there for a long time, deep wracking sobs filled him, spittle formed from his lips.

A cockroach peered at him from beneath the fridge, scurrying away in silence.

He opened his eyes staring around the darkened room, the windows reflected the small digital lights from the fridge door back inside. A drone drifted over the space, the fridge compressor; it was all he could hear. Dragging himself back up onto the sofa, he sat staring over at the fridge door; it was still securely closed; containing the sounds coming from within.

A churning inside caused him to grimace. Wiping spidery fingers across his thin lips, Valdis at last smiled, once more in control.

An inner strength filled his very being.

He got to his feet, staring down at his blackened toes, sensing the cool, bare wood.

Taking a deep breath, he focused. Once more glancing at the fridge door, before finally he wandered across the kitchen. As he got closer, he heard it.

That muffled voice, full of scorn and bile.

With refreshed vigour and renewed inner strength he stood before the door.