Copyright © 2025 by J.L. Heath

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, please contact the author at heath6677@outlook.com.

This is a work of fiction. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by Christian Storm at Christian Storm Design

First edition July 2025

To my lighthouse, who guides me out of the darkness and into the light.

TRIGGER WARNINGS

Self harm

Death

Child death

Addiction

Substance abuse

Arson

Cult

CHAPTER ONE

Eric’s birthmark burned, sending pain up his forearm and through his shoulder. As he rummaged through the refrigerator for food for Callum’s eighth birthday party, he felt a gentle tug on his shirt. Turning around, he met a stillness that made him shiver. While scanning the open-plan kitchen, Eric could feel the vibrations of his son and daughter playing energetically upstairs. Smiling to himself, he directed his attention back to the task at hand. The party would begin soon; there was no time to waste.

Crazy to think that this time eight years ago, he and Paige were in Southside General in Macon, clasping each other’s hands as the midwife encouraged her to push, bringing their firstborn into this world.

He came across a six-pack of beer tucked at the back of the refrigerator’s shelves for Paige’s father. A sudden dryness overwhelmed his mouth, making him run his tongue along his bottom lip. It felt like sandpaper. With his lip trapped between his teeth, temptation began to⁠—

“Eric!” Paige called from the lounge into the kitchen, snapping his attention toward her voice. “Can you bring some paper towels as well, please?”

“Sure thing, babe,” he responded, but knew his voice went unheeded. He closed the refrigerator door and turned his focus to the kitchen towels that sat on the marbled countertop. A tremendous thumping of tiny feet came bustling down the stairs.

“Space Cadet Callum, ready for takeoff. Let the countdown begin!” Callum called out as he led the way down. Layla followed close behind, her mousy brown pigtails bouncing with each step. The pair had been inseparable since Layla’s birth. It had been a surprise for them all when Paige took the pregnancy test and saw those two blue lines appear. Though they’d both feared Callum would become jealous, he took to the duties of being an older brother like a duck to water.

“Wait, Cally,” Layla panted as she jumped down the last step to keep up with her brother, something her mother wasn’t particularly fond of her doing. Danger at every step, don’t you know?

“There’s no time, Lay Lay! The ship’s taking off. Run!” Callum hollered, holding up the toy spacecraft he’d received as a Christmas present the previous year. He ducked his head as low as possible to gain more speed and sprinted into the kitchen.

“Callum, be carefu—” Before Eric could finish his sentence, a pile of china plates crashed from the kitchen island onto the floor as Space Cadet Callum flew past them.

“Dammit, Cal, what have I told you about being careful?” Eric sighed as he bit his bottom lip once more, making it crack, and ran his hand through his thick chestnut hair.

“But I didn’t touch it,” Callum replied as he looked at the pile of broken plates scattered across the dark tiled floor. Layla approached the kitchen with caution, but a sudden force swiftly yanked her backward and off her feet.

“No, baby. Don’t go in there. You’ll get hurt,” Paige said as she lifted her tot off the floor and into the safety of her arms. Paige’s voice shook as she saw her son standing among shards of china. “Oh my god, Callum! Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“It wasn’t me, Mommy. I didn’t touch them,” Callum mumbled as he lowered his head, seemingly unable to meet his mother’s gaze.

“And-and-and-Cally didn’t do it, Mommy,” Layla stuttered as she pushed her face deep into Paige’s neck.

The little sister protecting the big brother.

“Okay. It’s okay. Nobody is hurt, which is all that matters. They’re just plates, Callum. It’s okay.” Paige patted her daughter on the back and bounced her gently. “Let’s just get this cleaned up before the guests arrive for my big boy’s big day.” 

Callum cast his eyes up at her, tears filling them, a look of pure innocence painted across his face. Paige flashed a smile at her teary-eyed boy. “Accidents happen, and that’s just fine.” Callum swung around and saw his father, diligently holding a broom and a trash bag.

“Come on, boy. It may be your birthday, but it doesn’t mean you get away with not cleaning up,” Eric said bluntly as he waited for his son to take the trash bag from him. He licked the blood from his bottom lip, the metallic taste sending a shudder down his spine.

“Oh, Eric. There’s no need to take that tone with him. What if he cuts his feet up?” Paige said from the kitchen doorway.

Callum looked back toward his mother and gave a gentle smile. As a father, Eric knew his son could always rely on his mother to stick up for him; no matter the situation, she had his back. But would that make him weak as he grew older? The thought alone was something Eric couldn’t stand.

“There’s no tone, babe, and he’ll be fine. Just look at what you’re doing, Cal, okay? I’m sorry, buddy.” Eric dropped his eyes to the pile of shattered plates on the floor, almost sulking. Before the boy could respond, Eric sighed. “Come on. Let’s get this done, and then we can get the food and drinks out.” He swept the smaller pieces of shattered china into the bigger pile while Callum opened the trash bag, making sure not to take a single step out of place. God forbid either of the kids got a shard of plate stuck in their foot. That would be another trip to the ER, which they couldn’t afford, even with their insurance.

“And don’t forget to check Layla’s floaties. They’re in the laundry room, hon,” Paige said. She looked toward Layla, who pulled her face out from her neck, showing her baby blue eyes in all their beauty. Both parents had been ecstatic that their baby girl bore the same eyes as her mother, a feature that Paige always claimed to adore and the thing that made Eric fall in love with her, according to his drunken ramblings one night after a house party in their late teens.

“Now, how about you and I get ready for this party, little missy?” Paige brushed her nose against Layla’s, making the pair giggle as she left the kitchen and headed for the stairs to prepare for the birthday party ahead. A chill ran through the air as father and son tidied.

Paige watched on as Callum’s birthday party was in full swing, her heart filled with joy.

“Patrick! I’ll get you for that!” Olivia yelled across the swimming pool. Patrick pulled off the perfect headshot with the water pistols Eric and Paige bought for the party. The kids giggled as they watched the distraught girl sprint around the pool to catch Patrick and, no doubt, tickle him until he couldn’t breathe. That was the way Patrick and Olivia were, and that was the way they’d always be.

“Get him, Livvy!” Callum called as he splashed in the pool with three of his closest school friends. Paige and Eric decided that hosting a pool party and having a sleepover for Callum’s eighth birthday would be something for him to remember, but they hadn’t taken into consideration the stress and anxiety that came with looking after five other children as well as their own. It was all worth it, though, to see their son playing and laughing, turning into the great young man both parents were more than sure he would become.

“Be careful, please,” Paige warned the running pair. “No running by the pool. We don’t want anyone to slip and have an accident.” She smiled as she watched Patrick slow down.

“Sorry for running, miss.”

Miss. That word took her back to her working days as a daycare worker. She’d cared for Patrick in the early years of her professional life. Even though she left her job to raise Layla, the children she once looked after continued to call her "Miss," their voices echoing the respect and affection she earned with her care.

All of Callum’s friends were good kids—well-mannered, polite, and well-spoken. Just what any parent would want in a small Southern town. Paige looked toward the pool, where her son and his friends were splashing each other, cracking jokes that only kids would understand, and talking about the amazing birthday cake that no doubt would make an appearance soon enough.

The cake.

There was no point in making the kids wait any longer. Callum had already opened all his presents, played games, and spent at least half an hour in the pool. Everyone would welcome a cake break and give Paige and Eric the five-minute reprieve they both needed before the inevitable sugar rush hit.

“I love you, Cal!” Paige called out, her heart flooding with joy at the sight of her son having fun with his friends.

“Love you, Mom,” Callum responded as a wave of water cascaded down on him from an enormous splash caused by Freddy.

“Freddy! I’ll get you for that.” He giggled and most likely went in search of a water pistol to retaliate with. The war was on.

Eric and Layla played in the kiddy pool together toward the east side of the backyard.

“Look, Daddy, you’re all wet!” Layla laughed hysterically as she poured the plastic sunshine watering can over Eric’s head.

“Are you giving me another shower? You know I had one this morning already.” Eric twisted his head slightly and raised his eyebrows, making Layla fall deeper into a fit of hysterics. The sight of her gap-toothed smile filled Eric’s vision with pure childhood innocence. Though his body was with her, his mind was elsewhere, daydreaming about years gone by.

“Da-Da-Daddy?” Layla stuttered as she awaited a response from her father. Nothing. “Da-Da-Daddy?” she repeated. Once again, no response from Eric. He sat in the pool, looking past his daughter as she got to her feet, placed her small, tender hands on either side of his face, and pushed his cheeks in.

“What?” Eric said sharply as the touch of tiny hands snapped his mind back to reality. Layla took a startled step back, tears instantly filling her wide eyes, and her bottom lip trembled. Guilt cut through Eric like a knife. Yes, the party was stressful; yes, there was a lot of noise and playing going on; and yes, his mind had been wandering…but that didn’t excuse the way he’d spoken to his only daughter. Paige would inevitably get on to him in the morning, once all the guests had left, about how he had spoken to Callum earlier. He didn’t want another round of shots fired at him because he’d been short with their daughter as well.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He held out his arms, hoping Layla would walk into them and give him a forgiving embrace.

She stood solemnly, staring back at her father, her gaze reminding him of a lost puppy. Eric noticed a hint of fear in her expression. Layla was resistant to giving him a cuddle, a behavior she’d never shown before.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Eric asked, panic setting in. Layla shook her head in response and folded her arms across her torso, tucking her chin tight into her chest.

You’ve gone too far this time.

That voice Eric had become so accustomed to over the years sounded in his mind. A voice he wished he could silence. But how do you silence a subconscious? He didn’t know. As Eric stared at his disconcerted daughter, cheering and splashing drew his attention toward the swimming pool.

Paige had just called out for cake, and the kids all rushed to get out of the pool and prepare their lungs and stomachs for the singsong and sweet treat that lay ahead.

“Do you wanna sing Happy Birthday to Callum?” Eric asked. Layla looked toward the crowd of kids, back to her father, and then to the swimming pool. She shook her head.

“No? Are you sure?” Eric asked as he raised an eyebrow in confusion. It wasn’t like Layla not to want to eat cake or sing, especially when Callum was involved. The guilt buried itself deeper into the pit of his stomach.

Layla nodded and looked toward the swimming pool once again before turning back to Eric.

“Do you want to go into the big pool with Daddy?” Much to his relief, Layla unfolded her arms and nodded frantically. Forgiveness. Thank the heavens. As the kids vacated the swimming pool, Eric picked up his daughter and hoisted her onto his shoulders, almost stumbling as he did so.

“You’re getting to be a big girl. I can only just put you on my shoulders now,” Eric said and made his way toward the pool while the small crowd of children gathered around the table, eagerly taking their seats and awaiting the birthday cake to be brought out by Paige—a cake that Callum had been boasting about for weeks now. 

“It’s Cally’s birth-birth-birthday, Daddy,” Layla said, clapping her hands as Eric took her off his shoulders and placed her in the deep end of the inground pool.

“It sure is, sweetie.”

“The end is now, Daddy.” And with those words, Layla brought her hands down hard into the pool and bounced up and down on the spot, her head barely keeping above water. Thank God for floaties. But what a strange remark for a child to make. She’d never spoken like that before.

Eric looked at his daughter as she bobbed in the pool in a world of her own. He questioned whether to ask her about what she meant by that last remark, but she was only four, after all. Kids always said crazy stuff that came out of nowhere. Hell, Callum had gone through a stage of saying that a man was following Eric around in the evenings, but thankfully, that phase had gone as soon as it had come. An odd remark here and a strange sentence there. All standard kid stuff.

The table grew quiet as everyone, except for father and daughter, stopped talking and laughing. Paige would emerge from the back door at any moment with what they’d all been waiting for. The pièce de resistance: a handmade lemon cake shaped like a rocket ship, filled with vanilla buttercream and lemon curd, with a background of edible stars and an exquisite take on the solar system. Exactly what Callum had asked for.

“Are we going to sing Happy Birthday, Da-Da-Daddy?” Question after question from the apple of his eye. Eric took a deep breath, entered the swimming pool slowly, and said, “Yes, baby, we will sing Happy Birthday. You need to sing extra loud though so everyone can hear you.” Excited, Layla stuck her tongue between her few teeth and shot her father a smile, enhancing her already stunning features.

“Is everyone ready?” Paige’s voice sounded out from the back door.

There was a harmonic response of “Yes!” from the hungry youngsters outside. As Paige stepped out from the house holding the oversized cake—you only turn eight once, so why not go all out—she began to sing. The party joined in as loud as they could, a harmony of youthful voices carrying through the wind.

Eric leaned over the edge of the pool as the euphony rang through the air. Layla patted him on the back as the crowd’s voices grew louder and louder.

“Are you ready to sing, baby?” he asked, but Layla did not respond. “Sweetie?”

And as Eric spoke that last word, the sound of a roaring splash rang through his ears. He turned his body around to see the cause of the noise when his heart fell into the pit of his stomach. Layla was gone. Eric frantically looked around the pool to see where his daughter could have been. Not even five seconds before, she’d been right beside him, so how could she have just disappeared?

She’s drowning. The floaties aren’t working.

Panic took over and coursed through his veins. He looked down and saw the body of his four-year-old lying at the bottom of the pool, motionless. As the crowd sang Happy Birthday to Callum, Eric shoved his hand below the surface and tried to pull his daughter up above the water, but she wouldn’t budge. He screamed out for help, but fear rendered his voice weak, not that anyone would have heard him anyway over the loud singing that was going on. Without a second thought, Eric dove under the water to save his little girl.

He placed both hands under her small arms and pulled with every ounce of his strength, but it felt like trying to pull a boulder out of quicksand. Layla hit a growth spurt, there was no doubt about that, but there was no way she should have been this heavy. Bubbles floated to the surface of the pool as Eric struggled to pull Layla up. Her pallid face stared up at him, eyes wide with fear and turning glossy as her body convulsed.

This couldn’t be it; this couldn’t happen to his daughter. She hadn’t had a life at all yet. Feeling himself becoming weaker and weaker with each pull, Eric quickly brought his head above the water and screamed one final time for help. This time, his cries were heard by all.

“Eric?” Paige called out as she cut into the birthday cake. The crowd turned to the distraught father in the swimming pool pleading for someone to help him save the little girl who had brought their family so much love and joy.

“She’s seizing! I can’t get her out. Someone fucking help!” he cried out and dove back under the water once again. Paige and Callum sprinted toward the pool as fast as they could, followed by Freddy, Patrick, and Olivia. Thomas and Eloise remained rooted to the table, their mouths agape at the unfolding scene. Hot tears ran down Paige’s cheeks as she made her way across the backyard. 

“No, Callum. You stay here!”

The boy halted in his tracks, and in the blink of an eye, both of his parents were in the water, trying to save his little sister. After what seemed like an eternity of struggle, Eric and Paige finally brought Layla up from out of the water as she continued to convulse. The grass was soon damp with vomit as she writhed on the ground, eyes rolling back into her head. Her skin had gone pale, and her lips boasted a sickening blue hue. 

“Layla! Layla, no!” Paige screamed as she shook her baby girl, desperately trying to get a response from her. Callum stood back with his friends as they watched a frantic mother trying her best to bring her daughter back to life. As the horrifying realization dawned on everyone, the children’s screams pierced the air as they fled toward the house.

“Someone call a fucking ambulance!” Paige hollered at the top of her lungs, not once taking her eyes off Layla. Eric sprinted to the house to grab a cell phone. As he entered the back door into the kitchen, he saw Eloise had already called 911 from the landline and was screaming for an ambulance. 

Eric swiftly took the phone from her and blurted his address, begging them to be as quick as possible. Before the operator could make any sense of the call, a chill ran through Eric’s body. His head spun, and his body grew heavy as fear overwhelmed him. The next thing he knew, his world had turned black.

CHAPTER TWO

Two weeks passed, and still the stench of death and guilt wouldn’t leave him. Eric stood in the bathroom for the fourth time that day as the clock read 11:25 am. He’d woken in a cold sweat at 08:50 am, shivering from the recurring nightmare that plagued his mind.

In the dream, he and Layla would be swimming in the sea together on a family vacation down in Panama City Beach. They’d laugh together as the Florida sun bore down on them, casting its glare across the clear water, making it shimmer and sparkle. But that never lasted long.

Black clouds would engulf the sun in the blink of an eye, and a thunderstorm would soon follow. Eric would try his best to reach his daughter and swim her to safety as the waves grew violent and voracious. But no matter how hard he swam, he wouldn’t reach her, his strength depleting with every stroke. He’d scream her name, hoping that she could gain the strength to swim toward him, but his words would do nothing other than cause his daughter further distress.

The calls of her shrieking for her daddy would grow louder and louder as the rumbles of thunder in the heavens sounded around them. As a bolt of fork lightning struck the water, Layla would disappear from sight as the harsh mistress of the sea swallowed her.

This was always the point where Eric woke in a tangle of cold sheets, gasping for breath as his heart tried to pound out of his chest. He deserved it, anyway. What man would deserve even a moment’s peace after letting his daughter drown right in front of him? Paige would be sound asleep next to him, her whimpers barely audible as she no doubt dreamed of their late daughter as well.

That morning, unable to look at the woman he had let down in the most significant way possible, Eric headed straight for the shower. A new morning routine that he wished had not become a part of his life.

Standing in front of the mirror, Eric stared back at his reflection. A shadow of the man he once was. His hair had noticeably thinned in the past fortnight, no doubt because of the number of times he’d run his hands through it. His honey brown eyes were bloodshot with deep bags, making him look like he would fit in at a morgue. A thick layer of stubble had grown on his chin and around his cheeks.

He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, hoping to hide from the real world behind sealed eyelids. But each time he shut them, the image of Layla lying lifeless at the bottom of the pool would strike him. Snapping his eyes open, Eric caught sight of himself once more. Something had changed. For a split second, he was sure his reflection was smirking back at him. Eric placed his hands on the countertop and leaned forward, hyperfocused on the stranger staring back at him. There was nothing out of the ordinary. His reflection mimicked his movements exactly, just as a mirror should.

“Get yourself together, man,” he muttered to himself. Talking about things out loud was something Paige had suggested to him several years prior.

“Speak about your problems and let them out into the universe, then it can begin helping you solve them,” she’d said countless times. But to Eric, that was only kids’ nonsense that never worked. So why was he speaking to himself now? Desperate times? The start of a mental decline? His mind raced wildly.

His entire life, he’d felt a sense of wrongness about himself. A sense of longing. He believed nothing he ever did would be good enough or would end up being tarnished, no matter how hard he tried. As he stepped back from the mirror, a shadow flashed in his peripheral vision. He turned around sharply. Nothing there.

With his breathing becoming shallow, Eric tore off his clothes and threw them into a pile on the floor. He stood naked, feeling the thick film of chlorine coating his skin.

Must be clean. Must be clean.

That voice he could never silence grew louder and louder as he felt himself falling short of breath. Since Layla’s death, it was as if a coating of filth were covering him from head to toe, along with the potent smell of chlorine, almost suffocating him. His daughter’s blood was on his hands. With his bottom lip trembling, Eric snapped his teeth down upon it, took in a deep breath, and clenched his jaw. The pain was immense. 

All deserved. It’s all deserved.

It was because of him that they had lost their daughter. Because of him, they were all so empty, so vacant, with a sense of coldness running through the house.

“But I tried so hard. So fucking hard to save her.” He ran unsteady hands through his hair and examined his bloodshot eyes, which filled with hot tears.

He slammed his fists down onto the countertop. In his hand, he clutched a clump of hair, freshly pulled from his head. More pain to add to the now-bleeding bottom lip. Good. Punishment was good. Eric made his way to the shower and turned it on, cranking up the heat to the highest temperature. Steam cascaded out of the bathtub as boiling water struck cool porcelain.

Taking a step in, he recoiled from the blistering heat and squirmed into the corner of the tub, sniveling. With the image of his daughter in his mind, Eric gulped and stepped underneath the scalding downpour. The boiling water rained down on him, and he squatted, placed his hands over his head, and wept. The pressure of the shower disguised the sounds of his cries. As his skin turned red, the smell of chlorine assaulted him even harder. Eric rose slowly in the bathtub and squeezed his nose, his scalp stinging from taking the brunt of the water. That smell needed to go, but how? 

Without warning, a searing pain shot through his right forearm, leaving him momentarily paralyzed. His birthmark, replicating a combination of the Pisces and Taurus star signs, was bright red and throbbed violently. Eric rubbed his arm and stepped out of the water. His pain tolerance was high, there was no doubt about that, but that burn was too much to handle. As he squeezed his forearm, trying to isolate the pain with tears rolling down his cheeks, he thought of Callum and how his one and only son would now hate him for the rest of his days. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Cal. I didn’t mean to…” Breaking down in the shower, the room filled with steam, and the smell of chlorine was replaced with liquor.

Callum sat on his bed, examining through watery eyes the Lego spacecraft his parents had bought him for his birthday. The box was still wrapped in plastic. It didn’t feel right to open and build it without Layla. Nothing felt right without Layla. An emptiness had overtaken his world, and nothing would ever fill it. Tomorrow, his baby sister would be laid to rest, whatever that meant. All he knew was that they had to get up early in the morning and head to the church to speak about Layla’s brief life in this mortal realm.

Callum slid off his bed with the box and placed it neatly in the corner of his room with shaking hands. Perhaps one day he’d be able to open it and build the shuttle. But this wasn’t the day for that. He had been so excited about building the model with Layla, teaching her about the wonders of Legos and how to build things. Now it was too late. He’d never be able to teach her how to build Legos, ride a bike, or swim properly without the aid of floaties. So many things he wouldn’t be able to do now that his little sister had been taken away from him too soon.

He turned his attention to the digital clock that hung on the wall. Only 11:35 am. The passage of time in his reality felt fluid and unpredictable, distorting his perception of minutes and hours. Sleep didn’t come easily either, and when he did eventually drift off, Layla dominated his dreams.

Callum looked around his room, pondering what to do to make the minutes tick by. A tear ran down his left cheek as he stared at his desk, covered in colored pencils that Layla had left there after doing one of her many drawings of flowers. The boy made his way to the desk and rummaged through the stack of papers and drawings that lay upon it. He came across the last drawing his little sister had ever done. A drawing, in fact, that she created in front of Callum as they sat in his room the morning of his birthday, waiting for their parents to wake up so he could open his presents.

It was a single rose surrounded by hearts. It had been colored with a deep crimson, now reminiscent of blood, rather than love. The color stole Callum’s breath as a quick flash of Layla lying there, not moving, with her blue lips and blood pooling around her, appeared in his mind. Was she actually bleeding when they retrieved her body from the water? Or was his imagination beginning to run away with itself? Maybe his sense of reality was just as warped as his sense of time.

Who cared anyway? All he knew was that his sister was gone, and it was because of him. If he hadn’t gotten everyone to sing Happy Birthday to him, if he hadn’t asked for that stupid party, if he had seen that his dad was struggling in the pool, then Layla would still be here. His beautiful, innocent baby sister would still be by his side and filling his world with the same love and warmth she always had. They would still be together in his room, building Legos, drawing, or laughing.

As guilt clawed its way in, Callum pulled out his chair from the desk and slumped into his seat with Layla’s rose drawing still in hand. He wiped the tears from his eyes, gently kissed the drawing, and placed it neatly out of his way so he could still work and admire it.

A thought struck him like a flash of lightning. What if he could write Layla a letter and send it to heaven? That’s where his mom had told him she’d gone. She’s up in the clouds now, in heaven with God. Surely, he could write a letter and get either of his parents to mail it for him. All it would need was a stamp. Just because Layla was dead, it didn’t mean he couldn’t contact her somehow. Right?

As the thought occurred, the AC kicked in, startling him. He scrambled through his drawers for a pencil and took it to the piece of paper in front of him. While he was deep in thought, a breeze from the vents flowed through the room, rustling the papers on his desk and causing them to fall to the floor. With strained and bloodshot eyes, Callum let out a sigh and put the pencil down. As he rose from the desk, he looked out the window at the hot summer day. The sound of children laughing and playing in the neighborhood rang through his ears.

“It’s just not fair,” he whispered and wiped his eyes. As he cast his gaze up to the blue sky, a shooting star zoomed past so quickly he could barely keep up with it. He stood with his mouth agape. Surely shooting stars shouldn’t appear during the day. He had never seen such a phenomenon before, and there was only one way to explain it.

“I miss you, too, Lay Lay.” The music box on the windowsill played its whimsical tune by itself, sending goosebumps through his body. While the music played, the sound of his mother’s cries echoed throughout the walls.

The kitchen lay barren and vacant as Paige stood staring out the window into the backyard. The swimming pool that had cut her only daughter’s life short mocked her as a mixture of sun and tears blurred her vision. Two weeks. For two weeks, she’d gone without sleep. Not that she wasn’t used to that, what with having raised two toddlers. But this was different. The weight of guilt and emotional turmoil was heavy on her shoulders. If she could have curled up in a ball and taken her own life, she would have. But she wasn’t the only one suffering.

There was Callum. Her sweet, sweet Callum, who, at such a tender age, had had to witness something that no child ever should. Paige untied her greasy hair from its messy bun and ran her cold, trembling hands through it, wishing it was Layla’s beautiful locks instead of her own. Lunch needed to be prepared for the family—not that they were eating much of anything, anyway. But Paige couldn’t let herself slip into the depression she struggled so hard to keep at bay.

Tomorrow would be the day they lay their daughter to rest. The day to say their last goodbyes. She had briefed Callum the night before, explaining that it was a way of guaranteeing Layla’s spirit went up to heaven and that she could spend eternity in the Lord’s presence. The conversation had taken over an hour to get through between the bouts of sobs and tears. Paige had promised Callum that his little sister was always with him, always watching over him and taking care of him.

But what if she was wrong? What if she was spoon-feeding him lies about the death of his sister? What if there was no afterlife? No heaven. No hell. Just darkness. Nothing more and nothing less. The thought made her sick to her stomach.

Paige leaned forward to prepare a quick lunch for Callum. Eric could wait—the bastard. With the sun beaming in through the window, the AC cut in and startled her. The warm summer days would never be the same as they once were, and that thought was enough to send her over the edge. She walked to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, took a seat, and placed her head down. The headache she bore showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. Behind her eyelids, she could see Eric frantically trying to pull their daughter out of the water and to safety.

She shouldn’t have been in there in the first place. Paige’s mind screamed out to her. It was true. Eric should have kept her in the kiddie pool, where she’d told them to stay. But, of course, he’d gone against her wishes. Just like he always did. She raised her head, rubbed both eyes vigorously, and took her own advice, which usually fell upon ignorant ears. 

“A problem shared with the universe is a problem solved. They shouldn’t have been in that pool. I should have checked on them. I should have made sure they were okay before I went to get that fucking cake.” She gazed out of the window once more, where she thought she glimpsed a shooting star. “God, please bring my baby back,” she whispered.

Directing her gaze from the window, Paige looked around the kitchen for a moment, taking in her surroundings. Then she focused on the refrigerator.

“He’ll go down that road again. I know he will. God, please don’t let him. Grant me the strength once more to pull this family out of the shit. Please.” Her voice trembled as fresh tears appeared in her once bright blue eyes. “Please don’t let history repeat itself. I can’t go through this again. Not without my baby as well.” She placed her hands together with closed eyes and prayed under her breath.

“Amen.”

With her prayer said and her troubles out into the universe, Paige stood from the table, and the sound of a child’s voice echoed through her mind. Not just any child’s voice. It was Layla. She was singing the Lord’s Prayer, clear as a bell. Excitement gripped Paige for a moment. Maybe the past two weeks had been a dream. Maybe she’d just snapped out of it and her little girl was indeed still alive and in the house with her, waiting patiently for lunch to be served.

Paige swung around to face the corridor from which the sound of singing came. Nothing. It was just an empty hall decorated with family pictures and a small table by the front door—the table Layla always used to knock into when she and Callum ran around the house pretending to be astronauts.

With silent tears cascading down her cheeks, Paige hastily made her way to the kitchen drawers and pulled out a carving knife. Instinct took over, and before she could contemplate what she was doing, she took the knife to her wrist and pulled it slowly across her skin. A thin veil of blood coated the blade as she did so.

Life just wasn’t worth living without her little girl by her side. Because of her father’s actions, Layla had been unjustly torn away from her mother before her time was up. No parent should outlive their child. It was just wrong.

Intrusive thoughts found their way into Paige’s mind as the warmth of her blood covered her wrist. It was his fault. If he weren’t so irresponsible, then you’d still have your baby girl. You should have listened when you had the chance. You should have seized the opportunity when it was offered to you on a plate. But you stayed behind, you stupid bit⁠—

The thought of Callum snapped her back to reality before the thought could finish.

“What am I doing?” Paige gasped and dropped the knife to the floor. Blood spilled from her wrist, the sound like a faucet dripping in a sink. She fell to her knees and burst into a flood of tears. Her cries were loud enough to be heard throughout the whole house.

CHAPTER THREE

Raindrops scattered through the air and sent a chill through Eric, as a child, taken far too soon from this world, was lowered into the ground to be claimed by the earth. So went the cycle of nature. The bearers lowered the small oak coffin as the bereaved family stood in the rain and watched. Even though only a handful of people attended Layla’s funeral, their cries resonated throughout the cemetery. Eric tried to pull Paige in close by putting his arm around her, but she shrugged him off and blew her nose into a crumpled tissue.

She thinks I did it on purpose.

Eric licked his lips and placed his arm by his side, holding a poised posture. He looked across to Callum, who was standing between Paige and her mother, Joyce. Since the day Eric and Joyce met, there had always been a tension between the two. It felt as if just a single glance from her could kill. From day one, Joyce had made her feelings about Eric very clear to Paige, even going so far as to declare them right in front of him. The woman had no shame. She couldn’t give two shits about anyone other than herself. She was selfish. Self-centered. Manipulative.

Just like you.

Paige’s father, David, was equally reprehensible, but he at least had the courtesy to pretend he liked Eric. Again, it had been clear from the get-go that Eric would never get the approval of Paige’s family, and that was just fine. He didn’t need it to love their daughter. Given everything he’d subjected her to, it was hardly surprising that they held him in contempt. And now this. They both blamed him for the death of their granddaughter, as did Paige.

Though he’d frequently tried to explain to them both that he did everything in his power to save Layla, he knew his voice fell upon ignorant ears. No matter what he said, no matter how much he pleaded, his words meant nothing. Nothing would bring Layla back, so what was the point of trying to defend himself? To make himself feel better? To give himself an excuse for being unable to pull her out of the water? His knees trembled as the image of his lifeless daughter struck him once again.

“Here,” Paige said as she handed Eric a white rose, snapping him back to reality. Eric looked down at the flower. It was so pure. So innocent. So beautiful. Just like Layla. Taking it from her trembling hands, he turned to his wife, yearning for even a brief exchange of gazes. Ever since they had woken that morning, Paige had barely uttered more than two words to him and adamantly avoided making eye contact. Just another sign that she blamed him.

With a gentle gesture, she shifted her focus toward Callum and tenderly placed a rose in his hand. As the boy glanced up at his mother, his eyes showed no emotion. They were lifeless. His son's once gleaming, honey-brown eyes now resembled those which Eric stared at in the mirror far too frequently. If only he’d stayed with Layla. If only he’d been stronger. Then they wouldn’t be here in the Georgia rain—which had suddenly become a downpour—laying their daughter to rest.

He took a step forward and looked down at where Layla’s coffin rested. As he placed a delicate kiss on the rose, his eyes filled with tears, and with a heavy heart, he dropped it down into the deep hole. The sensation of a thousand needles pierced through the back of his skull. He knew they were all watching him. All judging him. He could feel it.

As he stepped back and allowed Paige to come forward, Eric noticed a crow landing on a tattered headstone just a few feet away from them. The bird looked at him with sharp eyes, almost human-like. Eric stared back at the creature as Paige wept and said her last goodbye to their daughter under her breath.

Why didn’t he speak when he threw the rose in? Why didn’t he say his final goodbye? He picked at the bed of his nails, pondering all the whys and what-ifs. But there was something about that crow. Something that unnerved him. As he diverted his attention to the funeral service, the bird cawed and took flight.

The birthmark on his arm pulsed, sending an agonizing jolt coursing through his entire being, and he couldn’t help but release a small whimper. His in-laws turned to look at him, disgust written across their faces.

“Sorry,” Eric whispered through clenched teeth, his grip on his right forearm tightening as the pain slowly subsided. David merely shook his head, the silence speaking volumes between them.

Startled by the crow’s raucous caw, Callum bravely took a step forward, clutching the delicate rose tightly. It looked just like the final drawing Layla had done, but in a different color.

“Not too close, baby,” his mother spoke from behind him. With a gentle tilt of his head, Callum gazed down at the wooden box that now housed his baby sister. How could she be comfortable in such a confined space? He didn’t know. But there were still countless wonders in this world that remained unknown to him. That’s what growing up was all about. And growing up was something he knew he would have to do alone now.

His cheek was wet with tears and rain as he recalled the joyful memories of playing rocket ships with Layla. Their laughter echoed in his mind. 

“We could have gone to space. We could have been the best astronauts ever.” His lip quivered as he spoke. He turned to face his parents, reluctant to throw the flower in. Throwing it meant Layla was really gone, and that was a thought he couldn’t stand.

Paige stepped forward and placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. Drop it in and say a prayer. The universe and God are listening.” The thin, reedy sound of her voice, brittle as a winter leaf, broke his heart.

Together, mother and son looked down into the grave. Both pairs of eyes welled up with tears, which dripped onto the coffin, marking it with their shared grief. Paige rubbed Callum’s shoulder as he lifted his hand.

But something stopped him. An unknown feeling rose within him in a flash. The need to hold his arm out and tilt his head to the side against his shoulder overwhelmed him—repeatedly. He tried to fight against it. It was no use. With wide eyes, Callum’s chest pounded as though his heart wanted to break free from his rib cage. His breaths became deep and vigorous. The boy stood by his sister’s grave, seeming to be stuck in a loop and unable to move his arm or control his head movements. 

“Callum?” Paige asked. “Callum, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

He couldn’t respond. Just answer. Just answer. What’s happening? Am I dying? His thoughts ran wild as panic clawed its way in. The sound of sodden footsteps approached from behind them.

“Cal?” It was his dad. With the utterance of his name from his dad’s lips, Callum shook off whatever had taken hold of him, allowing him to control his head and arm once again. He breathed in deeply through his nose and cast his eyes around the cemetery and back to Layla’s coffin. Without uttering a single word about what had happened, he released the rose, letting it fall onto the casket, and quietly whispered, “Bye bye, Lay Lay.” 

“Cal, what’s going on?” Eric asked. Callum looked up at his father. A haggard old man stared back at him with worry in his eyes. 

“I don’t know.” His voice shook. “I don’t know.” As the rain intensified, a deafening crash of thunder echoed through the air.

“Are you okay, Callum?” David asked.

Before the boy had a chance to reply, he crumbled under the weight of his emotions, burying his face in his hands as tears streamed down his cheeks. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” His voice was muffled by his hands as he tried to comprehend what had just happened to him. 

“Grief affects people in many surprising ways,” the minister said as he watched the family in their hour of need. “The Lord will look after your sister, Callum. You have my word. She is at peace.” He placed his hand on Callum’s shoulder, and warmth ran through the boy’s body. With his head still buried deep into his hands, Callum felt a pressure under his armpits as he was lifted from the ground. 

“Come on, buddy. It’s time to go,” Eric said as he carried his son away from the gravesite, allowing the gravediggers to begin the final stage of the funeral. Layla would be stuck in that box underground forever now. Until their paths crossed again, like his mother said they would, this was goodbye.

Resting his cheek on his father’s shoulder, Callum caught a faint remark from his grandmother directed at him. He couldn’t hear it clearly, but he could sense his dad’s tension as she uttered her last word. Whatever she said, he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

CHAPTER FOUR

Eric stood by the kitchen window. The torrential rain and thunder that plagued his daughter’s funeral had subsided, being replaced by the warm, glowing Southern sun. As the humidity rose outside, the window fogged, making it difficult for him to see Callum standing in the backyard. He rapped his fingers on the countertop; the noise seemed to be eerily loud, as if it was 2 am rather than 4 pm.

Upon their departure from the cemetery, he’d swiftly exchanged goodbyes with his in-laws as they embarked on their separate journeys home. The weight of their blame for Layla’s death pressed heavily on him, as if it were an invisible burden he carried.

He ran his hand through his hair, gripping it as he reached the crown. The sound of footsteps approached from behind. It was Paige. She looked melancholily beautiful in her black, long-sleeved, wrapped dress. Eric gave a weak smile, hoping for some kind of response from his wife. Nothing. She didn’t even look up, merely keeping her head down and bypassing him to go to the refrigerator. Eric held out an arm to pull her back, but she shrugged him off. 

“Don’t.” Her voice, a mere echo of its former glory, carried a haunting sense of loss. 

“Babe—”

“Just don’t. I don’t want to talk.” She clenched her fist as she opened the refrigerator door. “I’m going to make Callum a sandwich for dinner. If you want some, I’ll leave the stuff out for you.” She pulled out a jar of jelly. Callum didn’t even like that stuff.

“I’m not hungry.” He licked his cracked lips. “I’m sorry.” Eric almost begged for forgiveness.

Who was he kidding? He was begging for forgiveness.

“Not today.” Paige snapped back, her eyes casting themselves onto him. They had become sunken and dark. Her once porcelain-like skin now appeared dry and cracked, resembling parched earth. Crows’ feet had appeared at the edges of her eyes, and she’d bitten her lips incessantly as well as her fingernails. Eric bit down on his own bottom lip and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Another telltale sign you’re drinking again. Please don’t put us through this again, Eric. Not now.” Paige’s voice cracked as she broke down into yet another set of tears.

Never had he seen his wife this upset. She was so strong. So fearless. But what did he expect? Their daughter was gone, and nothing could ease their pain. At least, not yet. He could fix this. He didn’t know how, but he could. Eric stood silently for a moment, examining Paige as she put the jar of jelly back into the refrigerator and pulled out a block of cheese.

He cast his mind back to his past. Nothing had ever seemed to go right for him. Since his birth, it seemed that he was destined for a cursed existence. Abandoned by his parents, he had spent his childhood in multiple orphanages, never being taken into a caring and loving home, apart from one. Early exposure to weed and alcohol had tainted his journey through adolescence, inevitably pushing him toward the darker realm of substance abuse.

Being brought up in such a system had corrupted the boy. From stealing to selling drugs, Eric had done it all. Friendships had come and gone, leaving him without a single long-lasting person in his life. It was as though the teenage version of himself couldn’t maintain a healthy relationship with anyone. He was as good as a piece of chopped liver in their minds; he was sure of it. The only good thing in his life had been Paige. God knew where he'd be if it wasn’t for her. Nevertheless, he was currently losing her, and the cause behind it was undeniably valid.

He licked his lips and said, “I’ll never go back to the way I was. How could you think I would? And I haven’t been drinking,” Paige wiped her eyes and took a seat at the kitchen table. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose.

“Where’s Callum?” she asked, returning the tissue to her pocket. 

“Answer me. Please.”

“What’s the point? All it’s going to do is lead to an argument. I’m too tired. I just want to feed Callum and go to bed.” As she looked up, her husband towered above her, casting a shadow over her petite frame, a sight all too familiar to them both. “I think it’s best if you sleep on the couch tonight.” 

“And what exactly is that going to solve? Nothing,” Eric raised his voice. “For fuck’s sake, Paige, why do you think this of me? It’s not just you who’s lost a daughter. I have, too, dammit!” His anger got the better of him as spittle flew from his mouth.

“That’s just typical of you, Eric.” She stood up and locked eyes with him, her voice filled with frustration. For the first time, she held her gaze with him since that fateful day. “Always me, me, me. Why do you never think of anyone but yourself? You’ll never change—never! My parents were right about you!” Paige screamed in Eric’s face.

He knew her parents would eventually get to her. They’d finally turn her against him, and she’d abandon him just like everybody else in his life had.

Before he could muster a response, the cupboard door slammed shut, though he didn’t remember it being opened. With wide eyes, they both stood in silence.

Callum stood by the pool, staring into the abyss that had taken his sister’s life. Under the sun’s warm gaze, the water sparkled with a mirror-like reflection. They had been home from the funeral for over an hour, and his parents had maintained complete silence since they had walked in the door. It was too heavy for him; he had to escape it.

How could they be blaming each other when it was clearly because of him and his party that Layla was gone? He’d never understood the way adults’ minds worked. They all seemed so confusing and backward to him. Life was simple if you approached it in the right manner. Perhaps he was wise for his years, as his grandfather had always said. But if he was so wise, why didn’t he know what happened to him when he’d tried to lay the flower on Layla’s coffin? That feeling of being out of control was something that had startled him and his family.

On the car ride home, both his mother and father had questioned him about what had happened. No matter how many times he tried to convince them otherwise, they never seemed satisfied with his answer of not knowing. Perhaps there should have been a reason he reacted like that. The minister had said that grief affects people in surprising ways, but what was grief? All these questions and all so quick. How would he ever keep up with being a grown-up?

Callum rubbed his hands against the outsides of his legs. His black pants were soft beneath his fingertips. He sighed and looked up at the clear blue skies. The changes in the weather never ceased to amaze him. As the vibrant blue skies filled his vision, a crow’s caw floated through the gentle breeze.

Could it have been the same crow that appeared at the funeral? Surely not. All crows sounded the same, anyway. With the relentless sun scorching his delicate skin, Callum squeezed his eyes shut and silently pleaded for his sister’s return. The comforting sound of trees rustling provided him solace and a fleeting sense of tranquility in this chaotic world he now inhabited.

The thought of him and Layla playing sprang into his mind once again. It wasn’t even safe behind his eyelids anymore. Before Layla’s death, Callum had always found his sanctuary to be his mind. He would gently shut his eyes, allowing his thoughts to roam freely as he sought the beauty that the world offered. And it had always worked. Until now. The weight of death, turmoil, and sadness consumed his mind entirely.

He tilted his head down toward the pool once more and opened his eyes slowly. What he saw next would make him question everything he’d ever known. 

There, in the exact spot where Layla’s body had been pulled out, was a cluster of bubbles, as if someone was gasping for breath below the surface. Callum stood with his mouth agape. He rubbed his eyes vigorously with both hands. Was this what grief did to a person?

With his vision cleared, he expected the pool to remain as it had been. However, the bubbles continued to grow larger. 

“Hello?” He wasn’t sure why he spoke. Hell, if there was a response, he would have panicked even more and sprinted to the house's safety. But there was only silence. Callum looked around the backyard, seeing if he could find the source of these mysterious bubbles. 

Empty. No one was there but him.

From the kitchen, he could hear his parents arguing. The uncontrollable urge to tip his head to the side repeatedly took hold of him once again. He bounced his head off his right shoulder a few times, unable to stop himself. With all his willpower, he tried to control his body, but it was no use. Some unseen force was making him do this. His mouth opened in a silent scream as he tried to call out for his parents. 

Callum took several steps toward the pool as his heart raced and his mind whirred. Below the surface of the water was Layla. She was alive! The bubbles distorted her face, but Callum knew his little sister had come back from heaven to be with her family once more. His left hand waved in front of his face. Perhaps his body was going into autopilot mode after all the crying and lack of sleep. It would only be right for him to wave to his little sister, welcoming her home. He suddenly stopped twitching and was left feeling exhausted and sore.

“Layla?” he said. Hope filled him from the bottom up, and he smiled. Then the body of his little sister burst out of the water, revealing a set of sharp, jagged teeth. She lacked eyes, her skin so blue and paper-thin that it was almost transparent. Callum fell backward and landed hard on his head. The sound that Layla made pierced through his mind. It was a screech so loud and high-pitched he was sure his eardrums would instantly implode. On the floor, gasping for breath, he covered his ears and screamed for help, his head in excruciating pain. 

Both of his parents came running out. The moment his mother touched him, Callum’s body convulsed, and his eyes darted back and forth in a terrified frenzy. 

“Callum? Callum!” Paige screamed. But he couldn’t hear her over the constant shriek of his little sister in his mind. With his mother holding him and his father standing back, staring, Callum allowed himself to get lost in whatever was happening to him. Tiredness washed over him, and he fell into a world of slumber.

CHAPTER FIVE

The smell of bacon and croissants filled the kitchen as Paige cooked breakfast. Eric sat at the table, his head buried in the local newspaper. No articles grabbed his interest. The paper served as a barrier, preventing him from seeing his wife. He knew if he even glanced at her, she would turn her back on him and give him the cold shoulder.

Their relationship had been through enough trials and tribulations as it was, but this might well spell the end for them. Although, not if he could help it. As the sound of bacon sizzling filled the room, he shifted his attention to Callum, who sat across from him. The boy had his head down on the table. Even his own son wouldn’t look at him. 

Eric ran his tongue over his lips before returning the newspaper to its previous position, giving the illusion of being engrossed in the text. Work had been on his mind. They had been sympathetic toward him and allowed him time off with full pay, but that wouldn’t last forever, and the bills wouldn’t disappear just because his daughter was dead. Though plenty of other handy men could cover his duties, it didn’t mean he could have an excessive amount of time off.

He inhaled deeply. The smell of breakfast cooking made him feel nauseous. Since Layla’s death, he’d barely eaten. And it showed. He was losing weight at a rapid pace. At this rate, he’d end up as nothing but skin and bone by the time the year was out—if he made it that long. 

“Mom?” Callum’s voice was so muffled, Eric could barely make it out. His heart dropped into his stomach. Of course, Callum would choose to speak to his mother over him. He would have done the same thing if he were in his shoes. 

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I go up to my room, please? I’m not hungry.” 

Paige turned from the stove and wiped her eyes. Eric lowered the newspaper slightly. Callum’s head was still down, and Paige didn’t seem aware that her husband was even in the room. 

“You need to eat, baby.”

“But I don’t want to.” The boy raised his head, showing eyes so sunken and red, Eric thought he may as well be the one with the troubled past. His boy had only just turned eight, but his face looked like that of a forty-year-old who had seen and experienced things no one should. His eyes spoke a thousand words. Callum was clearly struggling to cope with the loss of his baby sister, and he wasn’t the only one. The family had become distant from each other. Well, Eric and Paige had.

Callum seemed stuck in the middle, becoming a shadow of his former self day by day. And now there was the issue of these twitches. Eric stared at his boy, and his heart ached. He licked his lips once more and quickly darted his gaze back toward the paper as Paige approached the table. She whispered something in Callum’s ear which Eric didn’t catch. 

The secrets are starting again, he thought. Déjà vu washed over him like a tidal wave. They had been here before. Secrets being kept from one another. It had almost destroyed their relationship once. He knew that if history were to repeat itself, he and Paige wouldn’t survive it. Not again. He bounced his leg up and down and ran his hand through his hair, sniffing hard. A cold drink would have settled his nerves, as it always had. The feeling of a cool, refreshing beer was something that had never left him. He could still taste its bitterness, though he hadn’t had one since Callum entered the world.

But that could change tonight. He could go to the liquor store once Callum had settled down in bed with Paige. The pair had been spending the nights together in the couple’s bed, while Eric slept on the sofa.

The previous night, he’d attempted to speak to Paige once again, but the conversation had led down a road to nowhere. She was reluctant to speak to him about their situation—something he thought would never happen, given how strongly she felt about getting emotions out in the open. Their son wasn’t the same boy he once was, which was understandable. The sudden eye movements, freezing on the spot, and the unknown cause were worrisome.

As he leaned back in his chair, the kitchen filled with a thick smoke. Breakfast was burning. Paige turned back to the stove and switched it off. Before she could open a window, the smoke alarms sounded, screeching throughout the house. Eric hastily got up from the table and fanned the newspaper in front of it. The noise continued to grow louder.

“Fan harder!” Paige yelled. She approached with a dish towel and shook it vigorously, almost knocking Eric to the floor. The sound stopped in an instant, and silence hung in the air. 

“Where did Callum go?” she asked. Finally, she spoke to him without that disgusted undertone. Instead, worry replaced it.

“He must have gone up to his room.”

“I’m gonna go check on him.” Paige stepped past Eric, twisting her shoulder as she did so. He dropped the newspaper to the floor and pulled her back by the wrist. 

“Eric,” Paige said sternly. “There’s something wrong with him. Let me go.”

“I just want to talk, babe. I need to know you’re okay as well. I love you.” Pleading with his wife, Eric chewed on his bottom lip as tears filled his eyes. He already had the guilt of losing his daughter; he couldn’t lose his beloved as well. Paige looked back at him, mirroring the emotions he felt so harshly. A moment of silence followed.

“Five minutes, and then I’m going to check on him,” she said, pulling out a chair from the table.

A shiver trickled down Eric’s spine at the sound of it scraping against the floor. He offered a gentle smile at his wife as she took a seat opposite him.

The couple sat together and discussed everything that had happened in the past few weeks. As they spoke, a fiery sensation took over Eric’s right forearm. He bit down on his lip, trying to stop himself from crying out. The burn felt worse than ever. He glanced down at his birthmark. The whole thing seemed to be getting darker. With more pressing matters at hand, he cast his gaze back to Paige, who didn’t seem to have noticed his diverted attention.

Unbeknownst to Eric, the newspaper he’d thrown to the floor turned its pages slowly. The ink, which was once a jet-black, took on a crimson hue.

Callum stood at the top of the stairs, listening to his parents’ conversation. They were finally talking. That was good. At least they would clear the air between them and come to the realization that it wasn’t their fault the family of four was now a family of three. He made his way to his bedroom and closed the door slowly behind him, not wanting to disturb the important discussion downstairs.

The room was cold, something the boy wasn’t used to. The family had run the AC through the summer, but this cold was different. It cut through to his bones. Callum collapsed onto his bed. Staring at his bedroom ceiling, worry began to take hold of him. What if he was never able to retake control of his body after one of these moments? What if he was never able to tell his parents he loved them? Callum rubbed his forefingers against his thumbs as questions flooded his mind.

The previous day had been the worst, and since waking up the next morning, the need to twitch his shoulder had grown more and more fierce. He hoped he could keep his parents from noticing. So far, so good. They hadn’t commented or questioned him about it like they had in the car. Of course, they were worried, as the entire family was experiencing heightened emotions. The new development of uncontrollable movement only added to their concerns.

As Callum lay in bed, staring at the white ceiling, the need to twitch his head and roll his eyes overwhelmed him. He took in a deep breath and gulped.

Don’t fight it. Just let it be. It’ll be over in a flash.

In the freedom of his bedroom and his own company, he allowed the sensation to take over. The violent twitches were so intense that they caused his bed to shake, and he hoped his parents wouldn’t hear it. They felt like an itch to him—an itch that needed to be scratched no matter what. The more he fought against them, the stronger they became. As Callum rolled his eyes and bounced his head toward his shoulder, the smell of chlorine struck, making him gag. 

Please stop. Please stop.

Why was he suddenly unable to control what he did? What caused these random and now more frequent bouts of twitches?

As quickly as the sensation had taken over, it disappeared, leaving him exhausted once more. At least this time, he was lying on his bed instead of on the verge of collapsing into a heap. As he tried to catch his breath, something in his peripheral vision grabbed his attention. His head turned, and his eyes locked onto the far corner of the bedroom. 

Sitting there, soaked from head to toe, was Layla. Callum’s eyes widened at the sight of his baby sister, his neck and back tensing instantly. Layla sat there with her head lowered and strands of wet hair dangling over her face. Once more, he found himself petrified.

“La-Layla?”

No response. He could feel the pulse of his heart in his ears. Once again, the boy spoke his sister’s name; this time, she raised her head slowly. What faced him was the thing of nightmares he’d hoped wasn’t real, stealing his breath. It was Layla again. There was no doubt about that. She boasted those horrendous, sharp teeth, and the smile that twisted her face was sickening. A squeak escaped Callum as he attempted to scream, but fear had rendered each part of him paralyzed. The need to twitch took over once more, and as Layla got to her feet, the boy convulsed on his bed. 

The girl approached him sluggishly, still bearing that sinister grin. If she had eyes, then there was no doubt they would be glaring straight into Callum’s soul. Her sodden footsteps were like a haunting metronome. Wide-eyed, the boy could do nothing but watch. As he looked on, he noticed her attire. The day Layla died, she’d worn her favorite blue bathing suit with thick orange floaties. Now, she flaunted a white robe, torn in several places and tattered at the edges. She ran her hands through her sodden hair and pulled it back, revealing a swollen and lacerated face.

This wasn’t his sister. This was a thing of pure evil. Callum had never suffered from vivid hallucinations before. Even his imaginary friends weren’t this realistic when he was younger and without a sibling yet. Mere feet from his bed, she came to a sudden halt and turned her head to the door. Callum tried desperately to close his eyes, but they failed him. His spine tingled with coldness, causing him to turn his head in the direction Layla was looking.

For a moment, there was nothing there. Callum’s bedroom door was firmly shut, just as he’d left it—though now he wished he hadn’t. At least then there would be a better chance of one of his parents hearing him. While he was compelled to fix his gaze on the door, a low, rumbling voice echoed in his left ear. Goosebumps ran down his spine. It was a voice he’d never heard before. The tone was sinister—demonic, almost. It sounded like two voices were speaking as one. 

“She’s mine. And when the moon turns red, you’re next.”

Callum gulped as the voice faded. Summoning all his strength, he turned his head on his own accord to face the little girl who seemed to haunt him. She was gone. The convulsions immediately ceased, leaving him in a state of shock.

His cheeks and ears were hot, but he felt a coldness deep inside his core. He sat up in bed, rolling his eyes constantly as he did so. Examining the room, all appeared to be normal—apart from his door, which was now ajar. Callum slowly regained his breath, his heart still pounding like a jackhammer.

Does the moon turn red? His mind raced.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The face of his nightmares appeared just inches away. A scream pierced through him, sending a shooting pain through his temples. As the boy covered his ears, the sensation of drowning overwhelmed him.

“This is what it’s like, Cally,” Layla growled. Callum clutched his throat; he was struggling to breathe. There was something wrong with him. There was definitely something very wrong with him. Seeing his little sister like that wasn’t normal. She was dead. Dead and buried.

And that deep, sinister voice. Who was that?

Callum twisted and threw himself back onto the bed as darkness skewed his vision. Relief washed over him as his head hit the pillow. His body shook from the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he tried to catch his breath. Tears filled his eyes, which he flicked back and forth, hoping that no more sinister surprises would be in store.

Callum had so many questions, but he wouldn’t tell his parents about what had happened. They were already under enough stress as it was. With deep, haggard breaths, his mother’s words of advice rang through his ears.

“Please, universe. Please, God,” he whispered. “Please, help me.” Callum closed his eyes and tapped his right foot on the frame of the bed, his hands clutched tightly together. This was something he had to face alone.

CHAPTER SIX

“I just can’t believe she’s really gone,” Paige sobbed. They had spent over an hour talking about their daughter and how they both felt at the loss of a child. 

“I know. I should have saved her.” Eric squeezed his wife’s hand, tracing his thumb across it in an effort to console her as they sat across from each other at the table. 

“You did everything you could, baby. We both did.”

“I know. But it’s because of me she’s gone, and I know you all blame me. I blame myself for fuck’s sake, Paige. What I’d give to bring our little girl back. I’d give my life to bring her back into your arms.” Eric pulled Paige’s hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. It had been weeks since she’d allowed him to touch her, and he knew Callum was picking up on the tension between them. 

Callum.

“I’d do the same,” Paige replied. “God, I’d do the same.” She removed her hand from Eric’s and wiped her eyes, erasing the tears that constantly plagued her. She stood from the table and gave Eric a tender kiss on the cheek.

Relief washed over him. She was beginning to forgive him, and so soon. A tear ran down his cheek at the realization that his wife wouldn’t abandon him. Even after all he’d done, she was still by his side. Would Callum be as well?

“I haven’t heard Cal in a while, babe. Maybe we should see if he’s okay.”

“Shit. I’m up, so I can check him,” Paige said as she hastily made her way out of the kitchen. 

“I’ll be right there.” He watched his wife leave the room and turned his attention to the refrigerator. Standing, he approached it with gentle steps. The smell of chlorine suddenly permeated the air. Eric stopped in his tracks and looked around. Empty. The air felt heavy, making it difficult to breathe. His shoulders sagged under the weight of guilt, his stomach tied in a knot.

Though he and Paige had spoken about the events that had transpired, nothing could settle the guilt that flowed through him—nothing, apart from the one thing he had always relied on. He opened the refrigerator door, the smell of chlorine evaporating instantly, and temptation reared its head.

Paige made her way up the stairs, the recent conversation still playing over in her mind. As she reached the top, she heard the refrigerator door open. 

I knew he was lying.

She felt betrayal coursing through her veins, like a poison spreading through her body. How could her husband have the nerve to sit there and lie to her face like that? Addiction was a twisted being to deal with—one that had become a part of her life. She paused for a moment and closed her eyes, seeking solitude in the darkness.

When Callum was born, Eric had promised that he would stop drinking. But he hadn’t. He’d carried on behind Paige’s back, and she knew it. Ignorance would only go so far. For two years of their marriage, Eric wouldn’t return home straight after work. There was always an excuse as to why he’d stayed out late, usually to make extra money by doing overtime, yet they continued to struggle.

One night, Paige had confronted him about his drinking. The smell of mint chewing gum would constantly caress his breath, and he would smother himself in cologne. Despite her best attempts to banish the recollection of that night, the memory of the intense argument lingered raw and unchanged. Things had been said that would go to both of their graves.

She opened her eyes when she heard Eric coming up the stairs. The fear of smelling alcohol on his breath was real. So very real. But now wasn’t the time to deal with that; she had no definitive proof that her husband had slipped back into his old ways.

Without acknowledging his presence behind her, she made her way to Callum’s room, where the door was ajar. What she saw was more terrifying than even her husband’s potential relapse.

She stretched out her hand behind her, silently signaling Eric to approach cautiously. She could feel his warm breath on the nape of her neck. Both husband and wife peered through the gap in the door and saw their son squatting in the middle of his room, darting his eyes back and forth between his bed and the corner.

Silent tears rolled down Paige’s cheeks as her heart shattered. Not only was her daughter gone, but now her son was clearly going through some kind of mental trauma that he couldn’t explain and probably didn’t understand himself. Every fiber of her being wanted to burst through the door and hold him, protecting him from whatever tormented him. So many questions ran through her mind. So many questions she wanted to ask him. But they had both tried that in the car and got nowhere other than upsetting Callum further. She clenched her fists, digging her nails deep into her palm, and turned to face Eric. The smell of alcohol was absent. 

Guilt crept into her mind, speaking in Eric’s voice. How could you think that of me? 

Before she could speak, Eric pushed past her and entered Callum’s room. 

“What’s going on, buddy?” he asked. Callum turned to look up at his father as Paige watched helplessly from the doorway. How could he have the audacity to just barge past her like that? After what they’d just spoken about. After agreeing that they would work together to get through this emotional turmoil. She ground her teeth as Callum answered. 

“Nothing.”

“What are you looking at?” Eric didn’t stop with the questions. Seeing the panic in her son’s eyes, Paige stepped into his room, walked past Eric, and dropped to Callum’s level. 

“It’s okay, baby,” she said as she pulled him in close. “You can tell us.” Silence followed momentarily as Paige’s chest became warm with his tears.

Callum’s voice was barely audible, muffled by the fabric of Paige’s shirt as he admitted, “I can’t help it. But I’m okay, Mommy.” 

Mommy.

He hadn’t called her Mommy for the past year. He’d been determined to be a big kid as soon as he’d reached seven and believed that was the time all boys should start growing up. His adherence to his friends’ beliefs had always amazed Paige.

As mother and son sobbed, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” said Eric. He turned on his heel and left the room. 

Selfish bastard.

“We’re gonna make it all better, baby. I know you miss Layla.” Paige rubbed her son’s back in an attempt to comfort him and kissed his cheek. It felt hot against her lips.

“Can I go to sleep, please, Mommy? I’m tired.” Callum pulled away from her embrace and wiped his eyes clean from the tears that had accumulated. Paige stared back into her son’s eyes, seeing how vacant they had become. 

“Of course you can, baby. Would you like me to tuck you in?” she asked.

“Okay, then.” With those words, Callum made his way toward his bed and pulled the covers back. Paige tucked her son in to sleep, checking his forehead with the back of her hand to feel if he had a temperature. It felt cool.

“If you need me, call for me. You haven’t slept by yourself in a while, and this is a big step,” she whispered in his ear and gave him one last kiss. “I love you, Callum.”

“I love you.” Callum’s tired eyes closed as the boy entered a realm of dreams.

“It’s your parents,” Eric called from downstairs.

Great, that was just what she needed.

Paige left the room and pulled the door closed. She wouldn’t have her boy disturbed by the inevitable argument that was about to take place between her husband and parents. As she walked downstairs, she could feel dampness underfoot. She paused for a moment, wondering what could have caused the stairs to be wet, when she was quickly pulled back to reality from the sound of Eric’s voice.

“Why don’t you just fuck off, Joyce!” Eric said sternly as his in-laws stood at the front door. 

“It’s your fault, you bastard! You know it is. Take some responsibility for once in your life. It’s because of you that we lost our granddaughter. You monster!” Joyce hollered back and launched herself toward Eric, clawing at his face. David held his wife as Eric took a step backward. 

“Mom! What’s going on?” Paige’s voice sounded from behind him.

“We told you! We told you not to marry him. We told you to leave him, and now look at what he’s done! My Layla. My poor, sweet Layla.” Tears streamed down Joyce’s face as she crumpled into her husband’s arms.

“You need to leave,” Eric said, struggling to hold back tears of frustration and anger. He knew he was to blame for his daughter’s death, and he sure as hell didn’t need this old whore to remind him of the fact. 

“Don’t you dare talk to my wife like that,” David warned sharply. “You’re lucky we didn’t call the police on you.” He looked at Paige, who stood in silence with her mouth wide open. “I’m sorry, honey, but you can’t be with a monster like this. No one can.”

“Is that why you came here? Just to give me more shit I don’t need? To hate on me even more than you already do?” Eric’s voice quivered with fury as anger coursed through him. He clenched his fist and ground his teeth, waiting for a response. 

“Stop, now. All of you.” Paige approached her parents. “Take her home, Dad.” 

Joyce lifted her face from her husband’s chest, revealing a layer of eyeliner spilling down her cheeks. “Why don’t you ever listen to us?” 

“Mom, this isn’t going to help anything. Please keep your voice down. Callum’s asleep upstairs.”

“I want to see my grandson—” Joyce demanded. 

“You can’t,” Eric cut in. 

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do!” 

“Please, for the love of fuck, will everyone please stop. Just stop!” Eric could hear the frustration in Paige’s voice. “We need to book him an appointment at the doctor’s office.” 

“What’s wrong with my boy?” David asked. “Is it what happened at the funeral?”

“Yes. But he doesn’t know what’s going on. I think it’s something triggered by stress, and all of you screaming and hollering at each other isn’t going to help his situation.” Paige glared at her father. That look was one that Eric had seen very few times. It was a look that spoke a thousand words between daughter and father.

David took in a deep breath. “You’re right. We need to do what’s best for Callum. Let’s go home, honey. This isn’t helping anyone.”

“I will not leave my daughter and grandson with that!” Joyce refused to calm down or rationalize. Typical of her, not thinking of anybody but herself.

Selfish bitch, Eric’s mind screamed as he bit his tongue.

“I’ll call you when we have booked an appointment, Mom. Now, please go. I love you both.” With those words, Paige closed the door on her parents. Before Eric had a chance to speak, she made her way back upstairs and into their bedroom, closing the door behind her.

As he stood at the foot of the staircase, Eric could hear his wife weeping. Once again, he found his life crumbling, like a fragile house of cards. As his wife cried and his child slept, Eric heard a car door shut and an engine kick into gear. At least her parents had gone. That was one less thing to worry about. But now came the worry of a doctor’s appointment and the following bill. Drenched in a cold sweat, he slowly made his way back into the kitchen.

CHAPTER SEVEN

They sat in the car, waiting for the receptionist to call them into the doctor’s office. Paige had always hated the idea of sitting in a waiting room infested with germs. Why go somewhere when you were already sick just to be exposed to even more infection and disease? She looked at Callum in the rearview mirror as he stared out the window. She could see his eyes rolling into the back of his head and noticed his left shoulder twitching. Whatever was going on with him was getting worse by the day, and he was clearly trying to hide it. 

“You okay back there, Cal?” she asked with a forced smile.

“Yeah.” His voice sounded distant. It was obvious that his mind was elsewhere. Of course it was. He had lost a little sister, and not only that, but he’d also witnessed his parents trying to pull her from the water and resuscitate her. Just like hers, his mind must have been endlessly replaying that scene. She picked at her nail bed as she eagerly waited for her cell phone to ring, confirming that Doctor Nobles was ready to see them.

Doctor Nobles had been the family physician for the past twelve years. He was old school, which resonated well with Paige. His gentle green eyes had always comforted her, and his tone was soft, no matter the prognosis. Doctor Nobles had been there for the family through thick and thin, including their darkest times. When Paige was bleeding during her pregnancy with Callum, she’d paid him a visit after spending the previous night in the ER. Nobles had offered her a shoulder to cry on and a person to speak with, a safe space, which she wouldn’t forget for the rest of her life. He was a doctor who genuinely cared for his patients, which was rare to find these days. His demeanor with both Callum and Layla had been nothing short of perfect. Both of her children adored him, especially as he always had a secret stash of suckers hidden away in his drawer. 

Paige’s mind wandered, her eyes mirroring Callum’s. She should have made an appointment with him as soon as the funeral was over. She should have known that her son would go through some type of mental distress. Of course he would. Anyone would, particularly an eight-year-old boy. And for it to happen on his birthday…that would have cut anyone’s mind and heart to pieces.

Once again, Paige found herself at the merciless hands of guilt. What kind of mother would allow her son to suffer in silence? Callum would obviously need counseling, yet she’d just left him to get on with it by himself, and look where they were now. Her baby boy was suffering from more frequent twitch attacks and becoming more and more dissociated with reality as each day passed.

And where was Eric during all this? The man who had caused all this grief. She immediately stopped her thoughts and turned to face her husband in the driver’s seat. Eric sat with his eyes closed and head resting against the headrest. 

Selfish bastard. How can he sleep during a time like this?

Paige bit her nail, and the taste of blood caressed her tongue. Blood dripped from her nail bed as she glanced down, and just then, her cell phone rang.

Callum sat on the treatment table while Doctor Nobles spoke to his parents. The full-body examination had taken no more than five minutes, and he’d slipped the boy a sucker.

“So, many conditions can cause a sudden onset of tics. Have either of you heard of a condition called Tourette’s syndrome at all?” Doctor Nobles asked as he took notes on his computer. Both Paige and Eric stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Isn’t that constant swearing?” Eric asked.

Doctor Nobles chuckled, turned his attention from the screen, and faced Eric. He leaned back in his chair, pushed his half-moon glasses up his nose, and interlocked his fingers.

“That’s what the general population believes, Mr. Thomas,” he said. “But coprolalia only affects between ten percent of those diagnosed with Tourette’s syndrome, otherwise known as TS. Callum is at an age where it is very common to develop tics, especially after going through a traumatic event like he has.”

Callum was only half-listening, captivated by the sucker. The cherry flavor reminded him of Layla. It was her favorite.

“Now, ma’am, I’m no expert on TS, and I will never claim to be. Medicines and treatments for the condition have come a long way, especially since my day, and are constantly developing. If you would like, I can refer him to a neurologist down at Southside Hospital. But I must warn you, the waiting list is long—and I must emphasize the word long. We are seeing a soaring number of children developing TS in recent years, and the system is struggling to cope with the numbers.”

Callum glanced up toward his parents, seeing worry wash over their faces.

“That being said,” Doctor Nobles continued, “it doesn’t mean that this bright young man can’t and won’t get the help he needs.” He turned to Callum and gave the boy a wink. Callum forced a smile. 

“We’ll do it,” Paige said without wasting a breath. The cost of seeing a Tourette’s specialist would no doubt be a burden on their bank account, even with their insurance. Even Callum knew seeing a doctor cost a lot of money, and all this talk of a specialist surely meant that they would cost even more than Doctor Nobles. 

“Okay, I’ll put the request through, and you should hear from them shortly. I would hope.” Doctor Nobles turned his attention back to the computer screen and typed away on the keyboard. The clitter clatter of the keys was obnoxiously loud.

“How much will it cost, Doc?” Eric asked. 

“Hard to say, Mr. Thomas. I wouldn’t want to be held accountable for giving you the wrong information. It’s something you can discuss with the clinic once they contact you. But as I’m sure you’re aware, it will all depend on what treatment plan they feel would be best suited for Callum if they diagnose him with TS. Please do bear in mind this isn’t an official diagnosis. It’s just an avenue we can explore to help your son.”

While the doctor conversed with his parents, Callum was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to urinate. In a split second, he felt a surge of panic, as if he were about to lose control of his bladder. 

“Doctor, sir?” he asked. “Can I use the bathroom, please?” 

Doctor Nobles smiled. “Such good manners. You have both done incredibly well raising a polite young man. Of course you can, Callum. It’s just down the hall on the left. You’ll see the sign.”

Callum jumped down from the table and handed his sucker to Paige. 

“I’ll keep it safe, baby,” she said. “You be quick now.”

As Callum left the room and closed the door behind him, he heard Doctor Nobles ask his parents how they had been coping since losing Layla. Not wanting to intrude on their discussion, and with his bladder screaming, he swiftly made his way down the hall. 

The bathroom smelled like pee and poop. Surely in a doctor’s office such as this, the facilities should be clean and not smell as they did. Callum relieved himself and flushed the toilet, holding his breath as much as possible. He left the stall and examined the bathroom.

The white walls reflected the sunlight that beamed through the window, causing a sharp pain in his eyes. The boy washed his hands at the sink and rubbed his eyes, attempting to soothe the stinging sensation.

Was this how Layla felt before she died? He couldn’t imagine the panic that ran through her as she tried to gasp for air. Was it as painful as the sensation had been for him in his bedroom? He hoped not. Just the previous year, a wasp had stung her, and she cried for what seemed like hours. She’d always struggled to deal with any kind of pain. Though Callum and his mother had tried to comfort her, no words or Band Aids would soothe the girl. She only calmed down once she had been settled into her bed and read her favorite bedtime story.

“He’s a very hungry caterpillar, C-C-Cally,” a voice echoed off the bathroom walls as Callum froze on the spot. His heart palpitated in his chest, his breaths becoming deep and panicked.

Not again. Please, not again.

“Don’t be scared, Cally. It’s only me.” There was no doubt in his mind that the voice belonged to Layla, but no one was there. He was alone in the bathroom. 

“I know you’re not there,” he said out loud, hoping that speaking his thoughts would put his mind at ease. A deep chuckle sounded from behind him, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. Callum swung around to face the bathroom stalls. Still empty. Still alone. A mist ascended from behind the stall where he’d just urinated. The smell of chlorine quickly followed. 

“I want to p-p-play rocket ships, Cally. Won’t you play rocket ships with me?” the voice asked. Callum stood in silence as he stared at the door, waiting for it to swing open and reveal the hideous being that was his dead sister. 

“It’s TS, that’s what you are. Just TS,” he said. An icy shiver ran down his spine. “Doctor Nobles is going to make you go away.”

“Why do you want me to go away, Cally?” The image of Layla crying struck him in an instant. What if it was Layla? What if he was upsetting his little sister? The mist grew thicker as the sound of a clock ticking rang through his ears. 

“Won’t you play with me, Cally? P-p-please?”

“Layla?”

“Yes. It’s me. Please get me out of here. I can’t reach the lock. I’m scared, Cally. H-h-help me.” The sound of sobbing filled the room, emanating from behind the closed door. Those sobs were instantly recognizable. Callum flicked his eyes back and forth between the stall door and the window, and his vision blurred. With his heart pounding, he took a hesitant step forward, his palms sweaty. With shaking hands, he pushed the door open. It was unlocked, so why couldn’t she let herself out?

Empty, with no mist. Callum found the bathroom stall just the way he’d left it. He sighed in relief. Taking in a deep breath, he tried to regulate his heart rate, just like his mother had taught him.

Should he have told Doctor Nobles about the visions he was having? Should he have been completely honest with him? He only told the doctor about the overwhelming urge to move his head, shoulder, and eyes. Not once had he mentioned seeing his dead sister. Perhaps if he did, then Doctor Nobles would have come up with a different possible diagnosis. But if he’d disclosed the truth, then his parents would have been distraught, and he had already caused them enough of that.

With the thought of his parents waiting for him and the sound of the clock mounted on the bathroom wall getting louder, he turned around, intending to return to the doctor’s office and fall into his mother’s embrace.

As he passed the mirror, he caught sight of Layla’s piercing gaze once again. She wore that sinister, toothy grin and cocked her head to the side like a confused dog. A dripping sound sounded throughout the bathroom as water fell from her damp hair. It wasn’t the clock he could hear. It was the water.

“This isn’t real,” he gasped to himself.

“This is real, Cally. There’s no escaping.” As Layla spoke, the mist returned and surrounded him. Callum could see it in the mirror’s reflection. As the weight of the mist took over his body, a crack appeared in the mirror, and a shadowy figure emerged from the stall behind him. 

It placed its hands around his neck and squeezed his windpipe. Gasping for breath and trying to fight against the shadow, Callum could see his face turning red as a bead of sweat formed on his brow. 

That deep voice that had chuckled moments ago spoke in his ear. “Your time’s coming, boy.”

Callum could feel the thing’s breath against his skin. The smell of rot and blood assaulted his senses as the bathroom faded into darkness.

The figure whispered in his ear once again. “Agõnia.”

Callum dropped to the floor in a heap as Layla vanished. On his hands and knees, he gasped for breath and held his chest. As the room became brighter, the bathroom door opened, and an elderly man looked down at the boy. 

“Are you okay, son?” he asked. “You don’t want to be on the floor in here. Full of dirty germs and disease, it is. Yuck.” The man smiled, seeming unconcerned at the boy gasping for breath. Callum got to his feet and dashed past the stranger in a panicked frenzy. He had to get back to the safety of Doctor Noble’s office and his mother’s embrace.

CHAPTER EIGHT

At home, Eric sat on the sofa. As he clenched his right forearm, the searing pain surged through him like never before. The birthmark, which seemed to be growing slightly darker every day, had niggled at him all throughout his life. But not like this. Since Callum’s birthday party, the thing had constantly given off a minute burn, but he’d been able to handle it.

This pain, though, which seemed to ignite with no warning, was becoming unbearable. Should he have mentioned it to Doctor Nobles? No. They weren’t there for him; they were there for Callum, and what kind of father would he be if he took any attention away from his boy, who clearly needed medical help? He already robbed him of his little sister, and now guilt consumed him, ripping at his conscience more and more as each day passed.

He could hear Paige in the kitchen drawers, rummaging through cutlery as she prepared instant noodles for Callum’s lunch. Eric turned on the TV to drown out his thoughts and distract himself from the burning in his arm. In his younger years, he would have turned to drink to calm his nerves and quiet the voice in his head. But he was different now. He’d grown in ways he’d never thought he could.

Or had he? Eric pondered when he’d met Paige. He had fallen head over heels for her the first time he laid eyes on her. She had changed his life for the better. Or had she made it worse? Thoughts of a life without family coursed through Eric’s mind, and how much easier things would have been. No extra costs to worry about. No extra people to worry about. He wouldn’t be going through the grief he was now if he never met Paige and started a family with her. Neither of them had planned to have kids, and the shock of Paige getting pregnant not once but twice had turned his entire world upside down.

Being a family man had never suited Eric, and he knew it, though he tried his best to fit the role. Paige’s family had never taken to him, and he struggled to bond with his firstborn. Not having a father figure of his own, Eric had constantly battled with the reality of parenting. His wife had taken to it like a duck to water. She was so natural with both kids; a truly wonderful and perfect mother.

As the TV played the local news, Eric bit his lip and a bead of sweat formed on his brow. A shadow in the corner caught his eye. He turned his attention toward it, expecting to see Callum. Nobody there. He licked the blood from his cracked lip and looked back toward the TV. What had once been the local news station had now changed to a sitcom. Strange. He hadn’t changed the channel, and the remote was right beside him.

As he watched a group of teens trying to make their way through college, a voice sounded in his left ear. He felt an icy frigid breath as the cocktail of chlorine and liquor saturated his sense of smell.

Remember when you used to watch these shows with a beer in hand? Remember those good old times? Go on. She’ll never know. She’s a dumb bitch. Don’t let her dictate what you can and can’t do. You’re a fully grown man.

The voice was deep, nothing like his own. Frozen to the sofa, he darted his eyes around the room. Of course, it was empty. Was he also suffering from some kind of mental illness? After all, it was because of him that his daughter was dead. Callum was suffering from a sudden bout of Tourette’s syndrome because of the trauma of what he’d witnessed on that day. So why wouldn’t he suffer from the same type of thing? Several years before, Doctor Nobles had said to Eric that alcohol and substance abuse could do a lot of unseen damage to the brain. Was he now beginning to suffer the consequences of his lifestyle choices when he was younger?

As canned laughter sounded from the TV, Callum entered the room. His shoulders appeared heavy, and his eyes were bloodshot. The boy had been crying with his mother in the kitchen. There was no doubt about that. A flash of resentment ran through Eric as he looked at his son.

You don’t need to be dealing with this. The voice sounded once more, accompanied by the smell of beer. Go on. Just one. Just one will calm those nerves of yo⁠—

“Dad?” Callum interrupted his train of thought.

Little shit.

“Yeah?” Eric replied absentmindedly. 

“I’m sorry.” Callum approached his father and sat next to him on the sofa.

“Why are you sorry?”

“For everything. It’s my fault.” Callum’s bottom lip trembled as he spoke. Eric placed his hand on the boy’s head and ruffled his thick hair, trying to hold back tears.

“Nothing is your fault, Cal. You’ve done nothing wrong. I promise.” Eric wrapped his arm around his son and pulled him in close, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

As father and son watched TV, the need to drink grew stronger and stronger, along with the burning sensation on his arm. Eric clenched his fists, digging nails into his palms as he fought to suppress the scream building in his throat. Callum tensed up beside him. Surely the boy didn’t remember what Eric’s temper had been like when he was an infant.

What that deep voice had said now played through his mind. It was right. A drink would settle everything. Booze would fix everything. It always had. Who was he kidding? He could sneak one in once Paige and Callum went to bed that evening. They’d never know. No one would ever know.

Without some type of reprieve, his life would fall apart around him even more than it already had. And then what? What else would there be to do? Eric licked his parched lips, tongue like sandpaper, as his mind dove deep into his troubled past.

Paige stood by the kitchen sink, washing the bowl and fork that Callum had used for his lunch. He’d only eaten a handful of noodles. Her stomach growled for sustenance, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat, not after the appointment with Doctor Nobles. Because of her husband, her son had a neurological disorder she knew nothing about. 

Isn’t that constant swearing?

Could her husband have been any more ignorant if he tried? The hot water from the faucet burned her hands as she ran the scouring pad over the bowl. Though the couple had spoken about Layla’s death, deep down, Paige still blamed Eric for what happened. Yes, she had tried to help pull her daughter from the water, but it was Eric who had let her go under. He was supposed to be the strong one. Not her. And now she blamed him for the trauma that he caused their son.

Her parents were right. No one deserved to be with a monster like that. Thoughts raced through her mind as she considered the reality of leaving Eric and walking away with Callum. She could always stay with her parents. But after the fiasco between them and Eric a few days prior, and her telling them to leave, how would they respond to her wanting to move in with them? 

Their relationship had always been strong until she met Eric. If she could turn the clock back, she would have never gone to the bar that night and instead just stayed at home reading, like her mother wanted her to. But then she would never have become a mother herself.

Or would she? Paige knew she was a catch and always had been. She was beautiful, intelligent, caring, and compassionate. All the qualities every man looked for in a woman. She could have led a life where she married a man who didn’t have a substance use disorder. Who wasn’t an alcoholic. Who wasn’t violent toward her.

Eric had gotten sober, and she was proud of him for that. But now he was heading toward a relapse, and she knew it. Knowing him for so long, she could see the telltale signs and when they had begun. There was no doubt in her mind that he would soon be back on booze or, even worse, drugs.

And then what? Was she supposed to repeat the entire process? And would it be more difficult now that everyone’s emotions were intensified? That wasn’t the life she wanted for herself or her baby boy. Seeing his tics broke her heart each time. Was he in pain? Was he constantly tired? It was clear that Callum was suppressing his tics, if that’s what they were, and holding in the way he felt. Tears blurred Paige’s vision as she looked up at the kitchen window and placed the bowl on the dish rack. The swimming pool shimmered under the intense sunlight, momentarily blinding her. 

“What if he blames himself?” she said out loud without realizing. The tears she fought to suppress streamed down her face, leaving a warm, salty trail in their wake. She turned the faucet off and wiped her eyes. When her vision cleared, she took a step back and gasped.

Layla was standing on the steps of the swimming pool. She was facing out into the backyard, her hair tied up in those cute pigtails that Paige adored, but her floaties were gone. Deprived of air, Paige fought to take in shallow, desperate breaths.

There was no way her little girl could have been in that pool. Five days had passed since they’d laid her to rest. Paige stared, her eyes wide with disbelief as she struggled to make sense of what lay before her. It must have been a figment of her imagination, a product of the stress she’d been experiencing.

Trying to keep a family together was one thing, but having a dead child, a relapsing husband, and another child going through mental trauma was more than anyone could cope with. With an audible gulp, Paige closed her eyes and pictured the day she’d brought her daughter into this world. Layla’s birth had been a traumatic one for all involved, but that little bundle of joy was worth all the pain of an intense labor. 

“Open your eyes,” a deep voice sounded from behind Paige. She spun round, expecting to find Eric standing there, but the kitchen was empty. She could hear the canned laughter from the TV and the faint sound of her husband and son talking. Perhaps it wasn’t just Callum going through a drastic change in his mental state. Perhaps something was happening to her as well.

Doctor Nobles had asked her and Eric if they felt they would benefit from any type of counseling. Both had refused, claiming they would be fine and could pull through it. The truth of the matter was, Paige wasn’t coping. Not at all, though she couldn’t bring herself to admit it out loud. There was no way they could afford to see a specialist for Callum and a counselor for themselves.

Despite Eric’s claim to be there for her, she knew she would have to endure her suffering in solitude and silence. Words and actions were two very different things. Eric was good at making promises but couldn’t deliver on them. Ever. Paige bit down hard on her lip and turned back around to face the window, expecting the figure of Layla to have vanished.

As she turned, her eyes fell upon the girl in the corner by the cupboards. She was sitting there, drenched and shivering, her head buried in her knees. 

Paige’s heart sank into her stomach at the sight of her daughter. This wasn’t her imagination. This was real. Time seemed to freeze as she gaped at the girl in the corner. The dead girl. She took a step forward and extended her hand. 

“L-Layla?” she gasped. As the girl raised her head, a potent scent of chlorine and decay filled the air, causing Paige’s breath to catch in her throat. 

Her eyes. Where are her beautiful eyes?

Struggling to vocalize her fear, she felt a chill as hands closed around her throat, silencing her completely. 

“Agõnia is coming. Agõnia is here,” the deep voice sounded once again. The sense of icy breath caressed Paige’s ear.

Her eyes bulged in their sockets as she fought for breath. Layla rose slowly and approached her mother. Revealing a set of razor-sharp teeth, she hissed, her smile stretching from ear to ear. With each step the child took, the sound of gushing water ran through Paige’s ears. Extending her index finger, Layla softly touched Paige’s stomach, creating a gentle connection.

Pain ripped through her like a tidal wave. Paige dropped to her knees with a thud and clamped her arms around her stomach, still gasping for air. She wasn’t sure which was worse, not being able to breathe or the stabbing pain that flooded her midsection. The air grew thick as a dense mist began to flow from the cupboards.

While the world around her grew hazy, Paige’s thoughts were consumed by Callum and the idea of leaving him behind with his monstrous father. With one last effort, Paige let out a piercing scream that would have woken the dead from the grave. Eric and Callum rushed in to find her on the floor, clutching her stomach and weeping. The sensation of being strangled had left her, with no sign of any physical torture having happened. No marks. Nothing. But the pain in her stomach was as fierce as ever. Worse than any contractions she experienced during her pregnancies.

Eric attempted to console her, but Paige was unable to speak. Only the sound of agonizing groans escaped her mouth. The haunting image of her lifeless baby girl, the gruesome holes in her head, and those sharp teeth tormented her thoughts relentlessly.

She needed to get out. She needed to leave with her son to protect them both. Paige pushed Eric away and grasped her son. 

“I love you,” she whispered in his ear. 

“Are you okay, Mommy?” Callum asked. Paige squeezed the boy tighter and told him she was fine. Eric stepped out of the room, leaving mother and son in an emotional wreck together. She could feel the boy’s shoulder twitching in her embrace. 

As they hugged, the music box on Callum’s windowsill played its haunting melody.

CHAPTER NINE

Eric sat in the car with the window rolled down. The air outside felt like a sauna, with a scorching temperature of ninety-four degrees and a stifling humidity level of ninety-two percent. Between his legs was a can of beer. He drew his finger around the rim of the can, stopping each time he passed the ring pull. With sweat dripping down his face, he licked his lips and quivered at the salty taste that hit his mouth.

It was becoming obvious that his son wasn’t the only one who was suffering mentally. It was also his wife.

The trees outside were still and unsettling. If it were the dead of night, the scenery would have made the perfect set for a horror movie. A girl and a guy sitting in a car together, making out, then suddenly, bam. Murdered in cold blood before they could even get to third base. The sound of cicadas whipped through the air—a sound that had always brought Eric comfort and a sense of grounding. But now, they were piercing, like sharp needles poking into his skin and stabbing at his ear drums. Everything in his life was changing—and for the worse.

Eric examined each mirror in the car, making sure there were no prying eyes. He’d left his wife and son on the kitchen floor, gone to his bedroom, grabbed the can of beer he’d stashed inside a box of his clothes under the bed, and made his way into the oven of a car.

He’d be able to see if either Paige or Callum came looking for him, but he doubted they would. They were both beginning to despise him, and he couldn’t blame them. He picked at the ring pull of the can, and the sharp sound caused his eye to twitch. 

“Just one drink. What’s the worst that could happen?” he said to himself.

The worst that could happen would be to lose his family and his home and end up back on the streets he’d first come from. Down and out and not a pot to piss in. The birthmark on his forearm burned intensely. He pressed the can against it, hoping to cool it off, but the thing was already lukewarm.

When Doctor Nobles had offered counseling, Eric had refused immediately. The cost would have put the family on course to bankruptcy. A medical bill unpaid here, a utility bill unpaid there—that’s how it started. Then, hitting an overdraft and being charged per sale for the luxury. The cycle was a vicious one, and vicious cycles were something Eric had become accustomed to. Would talking about the troubles in his mind and his past help him? No, of course it wouldn’t. All it would do was add another layer of stress and let someone else know about the woes of his life.

With a grimace, Eric gritted his teeth, feeling the burning in his arm intensify as it traveled up to his shoulder and radiated across his back. He crushed the can in his hand, and warm liquid dripped down his wrist. The smell of beer consumed him. He inhaled deeply, becoming lost in the aromatic beauty of the scent. It seemed to ease the burning. Eric quickly started up the engine, rolled the window up, and killed it.

The heat became unbearable in an instant as he perspired from every pore, but it was worth it. He’d trapped the smell in the car and was getting high off the fumes. As the sun beat down on him in the tin box, Eric closed his eyes, laid his seat back, and felt a warm sensation fill his crotch. He glanced down at the beer can spilling onto his jeans. It felt good. With a smile, he tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply and slowly. The sound of the cicadas had ceased when he rolled up the window. The only thing he had left was the deafening silence, filled only by his thoughts. 

“What can I do?” he murmured. “What can I do to make everything better? What can I do to make them forgive me? Should I go back to the way it was before? Leave them behind and let them both live the life they deserve? Paige could do so much better than me. She deserves so much more than what I can give her. What have I done? God help me, please. Please, help me, I beg of you.”

Suddenly, a coldness ran through his core. His feet were numb, as if encased in blocks of ice. His shoulders slumped back in the seat as pressure rose in his chest, almost pinning him down. He tried to open his eyes, but they were sewn shut. The can of beer fell from his hand.

Eric let out a groan. His throat became tight, almost suffocating. He placed his hands on either side of himself and pushed hard. As he sat up and opened his eyes, Eric saw a thick mist cascading through the trees. He rubbed his eyes. The heat must have been making him hallucinate. Once again, he examined his surroundings. The mist had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. As sweat engulfed his body, Eric noticed the beer can was empty at his feet. The entire thing had leaked out onto his crotch, adding to the dampness from his sweat. 

“Damnit,” he spat. What a waste of good alcohol, and there was no way he could have a drink now. Not unless he took off his jeans and sucked at the crotch. He needed to find a place to dispose of the evidence, but where? It had to be somewhere where Paige wouldn’t find it. Though he hadn’t taken a sip, she wouldn’t believe what had actually happened, and now the car reeked of alcohol. He’d have to take the car through a car wash and get the thing detailed. More money wasted. Eric placed the empty can in the center console and searched his pockets. His wallet was in the house. 

“Fuck,” he said as he thumped his hands down onto the steering wheel. He was left with no choice. He’d have to go into the house, try to sneak past Paige and Callum, change his jeans, grab his wallet, and head out again.

Eric tapped his foot incessantly as he tried to think of a plan of action. The potential consequences that had been running through his mind if he’d taken a drink were now becoming a tangible reality, despite his abstaining. And what was that mist? Perhaps he was at the beginning stages of cataracts? A sign that the stress of life was finally impacting his physical health?

There was no time left for him to think. He needed to get out of the car before the heat made him pass out. That would have looked even worse than the situation he already found himself in. He opened the car door, stepped out, and looked up at the house. The scent of stale beer emanated from him as he walked toward the front door, prepared for the argument to end all arguments if he was caught.

CHAPTER TEN

Callum lay in his parents’ bed with Paige. He could feel the warmth of her breath against the nape of his neck. They were slow and deep. The rhythm and coziness would have sent him to sleep under any other circumstances, but his mind wouldn’t allow sleep to come his way.

The way his mother had curled up on the kitchen floor was a sight that would poison his thoughts and torture his dreams, along with the image of Layla. But Layla was the one who kept coming back to haunt him when he was awake. He considered telling his parents that he was seeing his little sister, clear as day, with features so gruesome he couldn’t possibly begin to explain them.

The urge to twitch his shoulder and roll his eyes became unbearable once more. Something had to give. Without wanting to wake up Paige, Callum gave in to temptation and rolled his eyes relentlessly, causing a dull pain to form in the back of his left eye. With each day that passed, the urge to tic grew stronger and stronger. At this rate, by the time the boy was ten, he would surely be blind in one eye from the constant movement and suffering from prolonged and severe migraines.

He squirmed in bed as a sharp pain shot through his temple. He took in a deep breath, held it momentarily, and exhaled. Another coping method that his mother had tried to teach him in the past several weeks. All these coping methods, all these inevitable doctor’s appointments he was sure to have would take their toll on him. Sleep was already difficult, and now, with the added stress of TS to deal with, how would he cope? It was an unimaginable weight for an eight-year-old to carry on their shoulders.

Callum focused on the corner of the bedroom and tried to steady his eyes. The pain became immense. Though he tried his best to hold it in, he couldn’t help but let out a groan. Paige stirred next to him and rolled over. The last thing Callum wanted to do was wake up his mother before she was ready. She was already going through enough trauma, and he’d be damned if he added to it. But he already had. He’d been unable to hold in the tics, keep his mouth shut about missing his baby sister, and hold it all together.

As he closed his eyes, the sound of a car engine kicked in from outside. As quickly as it had come to life, the sound died off. His father must have been out there, trying to process the image that greeted them when they both entered the kitchen.

Callum’s father had never been one to deal with things there and then, and Callum had learned that from early on. He recalled a conversation he’d overheard between his parents just after Layla was born. His mother had said that his father struggled to handle the real world unless he was drunk. Callum didn’t know the meaning of that last word, but from her tone, he was sure it couldn’t be good. She was always so patient, loving, and caring, and now she needed help.

But what was he to do? Callum had only just turned eight; he wasn’t ready for the big, wide world and all that came with it. He needed his father to be there, not just for him, but for his mother. But how could he be when he was going through the same thing? And he’d been unable to cope with feelings before Layla’s demise, anyway. He was the one who couldn’t save Layla, so what did that feel like? Callum couldn’t even imagine. 

His body grew heavy with the thought of his family not being able to recover from Layla’s death. The urge to tic intensified, causing his shoulder to cramp and ache. With the sun beaming in through the window and coating his face with its delicate warmth, Callum silently prayed for sleep to take over. As he nestled into the pillow, a sound came from the direction of the door. It was Layla’s voice. 

“Cally. Cally, I have something to show you. Come and see.” The haunting tone sent shivers down his spine. His stomach tightened into a knot. Callum screwed his eyes tightly and covered his ears with the pillow, hoping to block out the sound of his dead sister. 

“You’re not real. You’re not real,” he whispered, being cautious not to wake Paige and send her into another frenzied panic. 

“I-I-I am real, Cally. Don’t you hear me? I know you do.” The voice wavered. It sounded as though she were grinning from ear to ear. “Come into your room, Cally. I have something to show you. It’s Agõnia. Agõnia is here. Don’t you want to see how pretty it is?” As it spoke, the voice deepened into a demonic sound, and Callum snapped his eyes open. 

“It’s just TS. It’s just TS. Doctor Nobles said so. You’re not here, Lay Lay. You’re in heaven with the angels.” A cold sweat slicked his skin as he pressed his mouth to the pillow, the frantic beat of his heart a drum against his ribs.

“Doctor Nobles doesn’t know shit, boy, and angels aren’t real. Now, come to your room. Now.” That booming voice lingered in the air. The impact of that last word was like a tornado, intensifying the boy’s headache to an unbearable level. Callum’s left leg twitched uncontrollably. He would undoubtedly wake his mother if he stayed in bed much longer.

Without a second thought, he threw the pillow to the floor and stood. He looked back at his mother, whose breathing was still slow and deep. He hadn’t woken her. Thank God. He took in a deep breath and slowly made his way to the door. As he put his trembling hand on the handle, there was a banging from downstairs.

He froze on the spot, his world spinning. Could this voice—whatever it was—control stuff in the real world? Was it the shadow person? Or was it Layla? Each time he’d seen them, they hadn’t controlled anything physical, which had given him some reassurance that this was all in his head. But if they were downstairs and moving things around, that would be conclusive proof that this was all real.

He didn’t know which ultimatum was more petrifying: that something sinister was tormenting him inside his mind, or that something was very much haunting him. He had seen a few movies about haunted houses with his father without his mother’s knowledge. But those were just movies.

It didn’t happen in the real world, did it?

And what was Agõnia? He’d never heard that word before, nor did he have any idea what it meant. With a firm grip on the door handle, Callum’s knuckles turned ghostly white as he braced himself to open it and face his worst nightmare.

It’s time to be brave.

The door squeaked as he pushed it open. The landing was empty. His eyes darted around nervously, the cramp in his shoulders growing with each second that passed. Still nothing. Until Layla’s voice sounded once more. 

“In your room, Cally. Come to your room. Don’t worry about that noise. It’s only Daddy. Only Daddy coming home to clean the mess he made.” But what mess? His father had been in the car for a while, unless he’d silently opened and closed the door. What type of mess could you make in such a small space? Unless he’d wet himself, that was always a possibility.

Grief affects people in many surprising ways, that’s what the minister had said. Callum gingerly walked across the landing. His eyes continued to dart back and forth for any sign of Layla or the shadow person. He entered his room and saw a picture on his desk. His neck and shoulders seized up. That hadn’t been there when he went downstairs for breakfast. He paused for a moment, gaining the courage to keep walking and see what the picture was. From a distance, it looked like the family photograph that had been sitting on the chest of drawers in the living room ever since his grandparents had given it to his mother as a Christmas present a few years ago. Callum squinted, trying to determine whether it was the picture he was thinking of. It was. But something was different about it.

Before he could bring himself to take another step forward, a force propelled him from behind and slammed the bedroom door shut. Callum fell to his knees, only just catching himself in time as he landed. He looked up and all around the room to see who or what had pushed him. The picture fell from the desk and landed face-up. He furrowed his brow as he examined it, finally realizing what didn’t quite fit.

Inside the silver picture frame, Layla moved back and forth between their parents, looking up at them as she did so. Callum stared wide-eyed at the image before him, and his throat tightened. How was it possible that a picture could move? The surrounding air grew heavy, weighing down on him and making him shake as he tried to hold up his body weight.

The front door slammed downstairs. He jolted and fell to the floor face-first. Out of nowhere, a firm hand gripped his hair and tugged him up. A sharp pain shot through his scalp; whoever was pulling was much more powerful than his father, and Eric was the strongest person Callum knew. 

“Let me go! Let me go!” he screamed, no longer concerned about waking his mother. He was in dire need of help, and quickly. “Mommy! Daddy! Help me, please! Help!” he squealed, tears filling his eyes.

He looked at the wall and saw a shadow strewn across it. The figure was slender and almost delicate, making it hard to believe it had the strength to lift the boy off the floor effortlessly with one hand. If Callum could have seen its face, its features would undoubtedly be even more horrific than Layla’s. He kicked his legs frantically, trying to break its grip, but it was useless. As he kicked, he felt the air rush out of his lungs, leaving him breathless. 

“Agõnia, Cally. It’s coming. You should never have been here. Your father should never have been here. Layla was the start, now you’re—” The voice abruptly stopped as the bedroom door swung open.

“Callum? What’s going on, baby? Why are you on the floor?” Paige rushed to her son, who was face down next to the family picture. The sound of Callum’s cries had woken her from her deep slumber. She pulled him up from the floor and looked into his tear-filled eyes. He was rolling them erratically, and the color had drained from his face.

“Did you sleepwalk, baby?” she asked. 

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m sorry, Mommy.” Callum looked down at the picture as he spoke, avoiding eye contact. Paige embraced her son and held him tight. 

“It’s okay, baby. Did you pick the picture up?” she asked. Callum remained silent for a few moments. He was undoubtedly trying to piece together what had happened, just as she was. Paige had sleepwalked when she was around his age and vividly recalled the terror and disorientation of waking up in an unfamiliar place.

“I guess so,” he said finally. Of course he had. Even in his sleep, Callum was missing his little sister just as she was. Paige took in a deep breath and tried to compose her thoughts. Her neck and shoulders felt tight, as if they were pieces of an elastic band being pulled to their full capacity. 

“How about we watch some TV? Take your mind off things. What do you say?” She had to keep her son’s mind distracted as much as she did her own. The memory of Layla sitting in the kitchen corner remained vivid, every detail etched in her mind. 

“Okay,” Callum replied and wiped his nose.

“That’s my boy. Let’s have some Mommy-Callum time.” With those words, Paige took Callum by the hand and guided him downstairs. Eric was nowhere to be seen. She would deal with him that night. Sit down with him and have a full discussion about why their marriage would no longer work. She’d tried her best to glue the broken pieces back together, not just for herself, but for her son. There was only so much she could take, and now she found herself at a breaking point.

Callum would go with her and live with her parents while she got herself together. He would be safe there, and her son’s safety was her main priority. 

They both settled down on the sofa, cuddling each other. Paige inhaled the coconut scent of Callum’s shampoo. As the TV played his favorite movie, they soon fell asleep together once more. In Paige’s troubled dreams, her late daughter appeared with hauntingly absent eyes and a pale, lifeless complexion, surrounded by menacing shadows, thick mist, and a slender figure that loomed in the darkness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Eric drove home as the sun dipped over the horizon, casting a red hue over the small town where he’d spent most of his life. The sunset always mesmerized him, settling his soul and keeping hope alive. Somehow he managed to successfully sneak into the house, threw his jeans into the washer, and swapped them for a pair of folded sweats from the laundry room without being detected. Before making his swift exit, he put the washer on, ensuring Paige wouldn’t open the thing and find the smell of beer staining the crotch of his jeans and tainting the machine.

Over the years Eric learned how to conceal any signs of his addiction—experience and being caught a handful of times taught him to be extra vigilant. If Paige were to find those jeans and smelled the unmistakable scent of beer, it would be game over with no going back.

The detailer had cleaned the car and filled it with a fresh pine scent, replacing the stench of stale beer. Good. There was hope, after all. Eric had already lost his daughter because of his negligence. He wouldn’t lose any more of his family. They were all he had.

Nothing in the world would bring Layla back, and nothing would ever fill the hole she’d left behind. At least, not all the way—but maybe something could partially fill it. The family needed something to take their minds off their grief. A distraction for them all to share, something for them all to love together and bring them closer once more.

The thought of Callum growing up the way Eric had made his stomach churn. What if Paige really did leave him? What would become of his son then? Every boy needed a father figure in his life, someone who could teach him about the world and how to become a man. That was something Eric had lacked, and he knew deep down that was the biggest reason he’d turned to alcohol and drugs in his youth. But Paige had saved him from that. She had shown him the love he’d never known, giving him the warmth and care he yearned for.

Eric gripped the steering wheel tightly as he pictured Callum in his teen years, strung out on whatever drug was popular at the time, sleeping in the gutter and going from one place to the next, just dying to get his next hit. That was no life for his son. It was no life for anyone.

A car horn blared and snapped Eric back into reality. He spun the steering wheel, narrowly missing the speeding Chevy. Becoming lost in his own mind had caused him to swerve into the other lane with oncoming traffic. He looked in the rearview mirror and watched the car drive off, doing at least twenty over the speed limit.

“Fucking idiot,” Eric cussed at himself. What kind of end would a head-on collision have been? One that would’ve been his fault, too, no less. He took in a deep breath, the smell of pine wafting through his nose.

He continued to make his way back home down the winding country road when his bladder screamed at him. There was no way he was going to hold it in for the next twenty minutes it’d take to get home. He’d have to pull over and relieve himself.

Just ahead was a rest stop, the perfect spot. There were no eyes to see him take care of business, and hopefully, no cops would drive by. That was the last thing he needed. He pulled into the small space, put the car into park, and killed the engine. Exiting the car, he inhaled deeply again, savoring the invigorating scent of the cool evening air. Evenings like this were the perfect settings for a cool beer out on the porch. Eric walked around the side of the car, away from the road, and had just barely pulled his pants down when the stream of urine unleashed into the grass.

Close call, he thought.

Taking in his surroundings, Eric scanned the area for any signs of life. A car drove by, and rock music blared from inside. Music was one of the first things he and Paige had bonded over when they first met. Their love for all things rock and pop punk had been a way for the couple to bond and share stories. Both had been to plenty of shows, and their third date had consisted of watching local bands play at The Haunt.

Of course, liquor had played a part in it, and it was the first night the couple had been intimate with each other around the side of the venue. How romantic.

Paige deserved so much better than that. She deserved so much better than him. As Eric pulled his pants back up, the sound of barking came from across the field where he faced. With a curious gaze, he glanced upward, attempting to pinpoint the source of the sound. A family of three was walking their dog. How had he missed them before? The distant figure resembled a Rottweiler, its bark echoing with a menacing tone. Yet it was off the leash, sprinting in circles around the delighted young boy who threw a tennis ball with laughter. The dog ran with great speed, and before the ball landed, it jumped up and caught it in its mouth. 

A dog.

Suddenly, everything clicked in his mind, like a light bulb turning on. That was the answer to everything. A dog would be perfect for him and his family to distract themselves, bond, and share their love. Eric couldn’t help but smile at the idea.

Callum had always loved dogs. He’d even asked for one when he was five, but because of a new baby and the lack of time and sleep, there was no way Eric and Paige would have been able to look after a dog and their children. But now it was different. Now, Callum was older and the only child.

Only child. Those two words cut through Eric’s heart.

Of course, it would be another cost to the family, but if it meant saving them, it would be worth it. And there was always the option to adopt a stray to save the cost of purchasing one.

Eric watched the family as they continued to walk. Although he had a strong inclination to run over and kiss all of them, he fought against it. Laughter flowed through the breeze that ran through his hair. That could be him, Paige, and Callum.

There wasn’t much time. The sun was setting, and all the dog shelters would soon be closed.

“Fuck it.” He slammed his fist down onto the steering wheel, unable to hold in his frustration. There was no option. He’d have to wait until the following day, get up early, and return with the new family pooch before Callum and Paige woke up.

He ran his hand through his hair, pulling out several strands. With a twist of the key, the engine came alive, its roar drowning out the sounds of the world as the radio blared.

Strange, he thought. I didn’t have that on when I parked.

The local news played, announcing that for just the small price of $79.99, you could be the next owner of the best brand of sneakers. The commercial quickly turned into a piercing static noise. He scrunched his face as the noise blasted through the car; it was like someone had turned the volume up to full. Before he could drive, he turned the dial, but the static only grew louder.

Eric’s ears were ringing as he cut the engine off, but the noise continued to torture him. Eric swung the door open and dropped himself out of the car, rolling onto the ground and coating himself in dirt. Lying on the ground in the fetal position, he heard a voice mixed in with the static. 

“Agõnia is coming. Agõnia is here.”

Agõnia? What is Agõnia?

It was an unfamiliar word, but it was crystal clear among the white noise. Eric got to his knees, and the sound ceased. Breathless, he looked around, seeing if anyone had seen the madman rolling out of his car while covering his ears. Luckily for him, there was no one there to see the embarrassment he’d caused himself.

Breathing in deeply, he listened for the sound of laughter from the family and their dog. Silence filled the air. He got to his feet and looked across the field. The space where they’d once walked was empty, as if they had never been there at all. But where could they have possibly gone? There were no cars other than his own, and the field stretched out for what looked like at least twenty-five acres.

“Hello?” he called out, then waited for a response, but there was none. “They were right there. I saw them.”

Eric used his hand as a visor to shade his eyes and scanned the field slowly, squinting. There was no way the family could have just disappeared like that. Another car horn beeped, and he jumped. There was no more time to waste. He had to get home before Paige began to think he was out relapsing.

Alcohol was the reason for so many things that had gone wrong in his life, but as Eric got back into the car, he thanked the booze for saving his family. If it wasn’t for the beer spilling into his lap, he would never have left the house to get the car cleaned. He would never have come up with the idea of getting a dog. His life would have never been the same again.

A roar sounded from the engine as it kicked back into life once more. Eric braced himself for the assault of white noise, but the radio was blissfully silent. The road was empty as he looked in the side-view mirror. He pulled back onto the asphalt and made his way home, but not before he made a pit stop at the liquor store. He was one can of beer short, and the thought of wasted alcohol cut him up like a blade.

Callum and Paige sat opposite each other at the dinner table. Pasta linguini was on the menu for the night—one of Callum’s favorite meals. The radio played the same mundane pop music it did every day. Callum had never been much of a fan of pop. He shared his parents’ love of rock.

He twisted the pasta around the fork and took a small mouthful. His appetite was non-existent, as was Paige’s. Eating without Layla was something that he just couldn’t adapt to. Sitting around the table with an empty chair every evening was a permanent reminder of the hole left in their heart.

“Is it good, baby?” Paige asked, fiddling with her own food. She’d barely taken two bites.

Callum could see that his mother’s mind was elsewhere. She hadn’t been the same since Layla’s death. Of course, she hadn’t. But the past few days, something else had changed in her. Her entire demeanor had shifted, and he knew there was trouble between her and his father.

Tommy, one of Callum’s school friends, came from a broken home. His parents had gotten divorced because his dad cheated. It didn’t seem all bad for Tommy. He got two batches of birthday presents, two separate houses to stay in, two Thanksgiving dinners, and two Christmases to celebrate. But what was that worth if he didn’t have a complete and loving family?

Callum didn’t want his life to go down that route. The thought of his parents splitting up tore at him. He felt a surge of queasiness as he finally swallowed the pasta that had been sitting in his mouth for what felt like an eternity.

“It’s great, Mommy.” Paige looked up at him. Callum dropped his eyes back down to the plate instantly.

He’d always felt that his eyes were a giveaway to how he was truly feeling, and he knew his mother would see straight through his lies. Yes, the linguini was tasty; his mother had always been a fantastic cook. But the hollowness inside of him just wouldn’t let him enjoy his food. Suddenly, a loud clap of thunder echoed from outside, signaling an impending storm. 

“I hope Dad gets back soon,” Callum said as he placed his fork down onto the plate. The sound of silver hitting china made him flinch. There was a moment of silence, and he noticed Paige had stopped playing with her food. He could hear the change in the rhythm of her breathing. 

“So do I,” she responded in a monotone voice. “Callum, you know me and your daddy love you very much…”

This was it. This was the conversation that he had been dreading. It was bad enough he’d lost his sister, and now the reality of losing one or both of his parents was becoming very real. Blocking out the sound of her voice, Callum looked at what had been Layla’s seat.

There, on the chair, sat the nightmarish image of his little sister, grinning from ear to ear, her teeth looking sharper than ever and her skin even more pallid. Her hair was in pigtails, just as it had been the day she died. Callum instantly dropped his gaze back down to the plate of food.

Instead, he concentrated on his meal, trying to ignore the image that was presented to him as he tried to focus on regulating his breathing. How frequently would these visits be? It was very clear that he was the only one seeing her. Paige was still talking, unconcerned by anything.

At least it confirmed that it was all in his head. It must have been part of the TS that Doctor Nobles spoke of.

Callum brought a forkful of pasta up to his mouth and froze. It was as if someone had grabbed ahold of him and physically stopped him from putting the fork into his mouth. His left shoulder started twitching, and his mouth gaped.

“Callum? Callum!” Paige’s voice quivered as she got up from the table and knelt beside her son. The pain that coursed through Callum’s body was unrelenting. He shifted his eyes toward his mother, trying to speak, but it was useless. His throat had closed, rendering him speechless. With his mother’s hand on his shoulder, Callum slowly looked toward where Layla was.

Blood spilled from the corners of her mouth as the small girl giggled hysterically.

“It’s almost time, Cally,” the girl said, but her mouth didn’t move. She just held that menacing grin as her voice crooned in his mind. “Agõnia is here. Agõnia is here! Watch the moon, C-C-Cally. Watch the moon and you’ll see. We’ll be together again. We’ll reach the moon and be astronauts. Just wait, Cally.” 

“Just wait.” That deep voice screeched through his mind, making Callum squeeze his eyes shut. At least he ‘d control over them.

Paige shook the boy as he became more unresponsive to her pleas. She got up from beside him and headed for the telephone. 

“Yes, 911. I need an ambulance. Now!” she screamed into the phone. There was a flash of lighting, and the lights suddenly went out, shrouding the house in darkness. The approaching storm must have taken out a power line.

Callum’s shoulders felt as though they were about to snap. He tried to regain control of his body. The sound of giggling filled the air, gradually intensifying in volume. As Paige shrieked, Callum broke free of whatever had a hold over him. In an instant, he propelled himself upright from his chair and charged toward the anguished cries of his mother. With his arms wrapped around her waist, he squeezed her tight, hot tears cascading down his cheeks. 

“Are you okay, baby? Please tell me you’re okay,” Paige cried. 

“I’m okay, Mommy. No ambulances, please.” Callum was hauled up by his armpits and pulled into a loving embrace. Sheet lightning filled the evening sky with an eerie glow, and the sound of rain pouring announced the storm’s arrival.

“What happened, Cal?” Paige whispered.

“I just couldn’t help it, Mommy. I got stuck.” His voice cracked as he nestled his head into his mother’s neck, his heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” Paige whispered as she ran her hand through her son’s hair. Another crash of thunder sounded, and another sheet of lightning illuminated the sky. As it did, the power to the house returned, casting a warm, yellowish glow on both of them.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Eric exited the liquor store with a crate of four beers under his arm. Purchasing just a single can to replace the one he crushed didn’t feel right. Of course, he could have bought the one and been on his merry way. It would have also been easier to hide from his wife and son, but he’d come up with a genius idea that may well save the fate of his family. Surely, that deserved a reward of some kind. Just one drink to celebrate wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Paige hadn’t allowed him to keep any alcohol in the house since the day he became sober, and who could blame her? The only reason there was beer in the house in the first place was because Eric was able to sneak it in while Paige was busy cleaning, and the six-pack had been purchased for David for Callum’s birthday party, which they never showed up to.

Rain cascaded down, drenching everything in its path as Eric’s gaze shifted toward the car. It was only a hundred-meter dash, but he knew he was in for a soaking. Lightning illuminated the sky, and a crash of thunder followed. The storm was right above him. He hoped that Callum and Paige weren’t too frightened by the roaring thunder and blinding flashes of lightning that accompanied the unexpected storm.

He took the keys from his pocket, unlocked the car, and clutched the beers under his right arm. Pain shot through his forearm as the ice-cold cans made contact with his birthmark. Grimacing, Eric dashed toward the Honda, taking a battering from the harsh rain.

Inside the car, he wiped his brow, flicking rain droplets from his fingertips. He placed the beers in the passenger’s footwell. The window fogged with condensation almost immediately, so he turned on the engine and cranked the AC to the highest setting. Cold air filled the car, causing goosebumps to form on his arms. It didn’t help the searing burn, though, which only intensified. With his forearm in a firm grip, Eric hoped that the pressure would once again relieve the pain.

He glanced down at his birthmark; it seemed more vibrant than ever. Was it some type of skin cancer that had gone undetected all these years? That would be just his luck. He’d get his family life back on track, and then doctors would diagnose him with melanoma and give him six months to live. But that wouldn’t be all bad. At least then, he and his daughter would be reunited.

With the windshield becoming clear of condensation, Eric placed his foot on the brake pedal and put the car into drive. Before he released the parking brake, he glanced to his right and couldn’t believe his luck. An old craftsman's house was just along the way, with a handwritten sign outside of it. From a distance and through the torrential downpour, Eric could barely make out the words: Dog for adoption.

What were the chances? Perhaps this was the start of his luck changing. Perhaps this was the start of what could be another shot at a happy life with his family. Without hesitation, he released the handbrake, slammed his foot on the gas, and drove the short distance to the house. He killed the engine and gaped at the residence. The rush of adrenaline caused his knuckles to turn white as he clung tightly to the wheel, his grip unyielding.

The house looked well-maintained but clearly had a lot of history to it. Whoever the owner was took a lot of pride in their property. The front yard was immaculate, and the front porch boasted a white rocking chair. No doubt, the owner must have been of the older generation.

Eric rubbed his eyes and stared at the sign, making sure that it wasn’t a trick of the eye or his imagination. Indeed, the sign said a dog was up for adoption just behind the pale-green door. How did he not see the place when he pulled up outside the liquor store? He would have had to drive straight past it. And what could possibly be wrong with the dog that the owner wanted to put it up for adoption? Perhaps they were too old to handle a live young pup. Perhaps they were planning on moving away and couldn’t take the dog with them.

But none of that mattered. All that mattered was that there was a chance to save his family presented to him right before his eyes, and it was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. Once again, the thought that alcohol may well have saved his family crossed his mind. 

With a deep breath in and a glimmer of hope, Eric got out of the car and rushed toward the house. The sound of thunder grew louder, matching the pounding of the desperate man’s heart as he headed toward what he prayed would be his salvation.

The storm hit its climax as Paige settled Callum into bed for the night. The boy had protested that he wanted to stay up and wait for his father to get home, but after the display he showed during dinner, Paige knew he was exhausted. She could see it in his eyes. Being stuck like that and unable to move petrified her. It was as if time itself had paused, leaving the world around her in a state of frozen stillness.

She sat on the sofa; the television was showing the latest news bulletins that she couldn’t care less about. The screen cast an ethereal glow on her face in an otherwise dark room. A dark room and a set of scented candles were how she often decompressed. It was as if the light from the wick offered a sense of hope, a light at the end of the tunnel. With her eyes closed, she inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of vanilla and jasmine. With full control of her breathing, she tried to empty her mind of all that had happened; she knew if she were to fall into a pit of despair and depression, she wouldn’t be the only one suffering. Callum would as well. 

“Everything will be okay. The universe will make sure of it.” She exhaled as she spoke, attempting to purge any negativity from her mind and body. “Callum and I will be fine. We will have a safe space to be in.” Fresh tears streamed down her cheek, leaving a warm trail in their wake. 

“M-M-Mommy. M-M-Mommy.” A voice sounded from the darkness. It was Layla. Paige slowly opened her eyes and saw her daughter on the television screen. With a bundle of papers in her hand, she excitedly shuffled through them as she sat in the news anchor’s chair, her grin spreading across her face. A sudden prickling sensation crawled along Paige’s neck.

The room was momentarily lit up by a flash of lightning, and Paige’s heart skipped a beat as the eerie feeling of being watched overcame her. As it did, the word Agõnia flashed on the screen behind Layla.

Paige closed her eyes. Panic surged through her veins, causing her breaths to come in ragged bursts and her heart to pound against her chest like a jackhammer. Goosebumps covered her arms and crawled across her back as ice-cold breath ran down the nape of her neck. The air seemed to vibrate as a man’s voice reverberated in her left ear.

“It’s coming. Not yet. But soon.” As he spoke, the air became saturated with the putrid odor of decay and the sharp tang of chlorine. Paige curled into a ball, hands pressed firmly against her ears, desperately trying to block out the demonic voice.

She was rocking back and forth when the telephone rang. Just as quickly as the ice-cold feeling had taken over, it vanished, along with her daughter.

Everything went back to normal in the blink of an eye. Or at least what she thought was normal. Having witnessed disturbing visions, seeing her son deteriorate, and with her husband likely on the verge of a relapse, she lost all sense of what normalcy meant. In a hurry, Paige rushed to the light switch and flicked it on, instantly illuminating the living room. She was alone. Of course, she was. The ringing telephone sound was as sharp as a knife, relentlessly piercing the air. 

“Hello?” Paige said as she picked the phone up off the hook. It was rare to get a call on the landline, with everybody boasting the latest cell phones.

“Paige, it’s Dad. How are you, sweetheart?” The sound of her father’s voice brought her instant relief. She slumped her shoulders, squatted down, and burst into tears. 

“Dad. Dad, I can’t take this anymore,” she sobbed. “I keep seeing Layla everywhere, and it’s killing me. Callum’s getting worse and worse with whatever is going on with him. Suppose it’s not Tourette’s, Dad? What if it’s something more serious? What if it’s a tumor? Or a hemorrhage? What am I supposed to do then? How am I supposed to fix that?” Paige spoke without taking a breath. With each word she said, it felt as if a weight was gradually lifting from her shoulders. 

“Slow down, honey. I can’t understand you,” David said. The line crackled with static, making it difficult for Paige to decipher his words.

Ignoring what her father had said, Paige continued to pour her heart out down the phone. She explained she believed Eric was back on the booze and that she wanted her and Callum to go to her parents' to stay for a bit while she got herself together. Her father listened intently and agreed that both she and Callum could stay there for as long as they needed.

Joyce wasn’t part of the conversation, but David reassured Paige that she would have no issues with their daughter and grandson staying with them. At least then they would both be safe. 

“We did try to warn you about him, honey. Do you understand now why your mother got so frustrated?” David asked, his voice still barely audible through the static. 

“What, Dad? I can’t hear you. The line’s really bad.” 

David sighed. “Don’t worry, Paige. Come here whenever you want. You know the door is always open to you and Callum. We can book an appointment for you at the doctor’s office. Don’t worry about the money. Your mom can figure that out. Just stay safe, plea⁠—”

A deafening crash of thunder and a simultaneous bolt of lightning abruptly silenced David’s voice. The line went dead as the house lost power again. 

“Fuck,” Paige said. Surrounded in still darkness once more, Paige dropped the phone and ran to Callum’s room.

Wasting no time, she quickly grabbed her sleeping son and carried him to her room, where she carefully laid him down in her bed for the night. There was no way she would spend any time by herself in this kind of darkness.

Power outages always had a haunting quality to them. Being isolated from the outside world felt like claustrophobia to her. As Callum lay sound asleep, Paige embraced him tightly, cherishing the softness of his small body against her own. With closed eyes, she counted the seconds, waiting for Eric’s return, a bittersweet moment marking the end of her relationship as she prepared to step out the door forever.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The sound of Eric’s firm knocks reverberated through the air, blending with the ominous rumble of the storm overhead. Out of nowhere, a powerful bolt of forked lightning crashed behind him, creating a dazzling display of light and sound. The last time there was a storm this strong, it had caused a blackout on his street for three days.

If it continued, Eric was sure he would return home to darkness. But that would be fine. The surprise of a dog in the stillness would distract them and help them forget about the lack of power.

Eric stood still, his heart racing, as another deafening clap of thunder boomed overhead. He tapped his foot impatiently and patted his right hand against his thigh. As if on cue, the searing sensation in his forearm made its presence known once again, leaving him grimacing in agony.

There was no going back to the doctor’s office to get it checked. The money they had would have to go to Callum for whatever treatments the medical professionals deemed suitable for him and his condition. With his lip firmly gripped between his teeth, Eric listened to the approaching footsteps on the other side of the door. Whoever was behind the door must have been of considerable weight, if he could hear their footsteps over the sound of the pouring rain.

Finally, the lock clicked on the other side—but not just one. Eric counted six locks being unlocked. The owner of the property was clearly security conscious. As the door inched open, it emitted a grating squeak that made him wince. A chain prevented the thing from opening any wider, and an eye appeared above it. 

“Can I help ya, sir?” the voice sounded from the other side of the door. The blue eye scanned Eric from head to toe. Judging from his raspy voice and the deep wrinkles etched on his face, Eric estimated the guy was in his late seventies. 

“I saw your sign, sir, and was wondering if the dog is still available,” Eric responded, taking a step forward in anticipation.

The old man chuckled and shut the door, reopening it a moment later without the chain. The air around Eric suddenly became heavy with a sickly sweet scent, and the acrid stench of stale smoke instantly made his eyes well up. 

Standing before him was the classic archetype of an old man you’d expect to see hollering at kids to keep away from his yard and throwing their footballs as far as possible. Standing at a good 5’9”, he was slim, with long, thinning white hair resembling pure snow and a thick, hefty beard. The lines on his face were deep and etched, giving his skin a haggard look, as if he had endured years of chimney sweeping. He gave a toothy grin that showcased a few discolored teeth, as he held a pipe in his hand, its pungent odor wafting through the air. Eric’s stomach churned, and he fought to suppress the rising bile in his throat. 

“Come in, sir, and we can discuss the dog,” the man said, stepping back to let Eric in.

Eric paused for a moment, wondering whether he could stand being inside the home. If it smelled like this on the outside, how bad would it be inside? Eric, burdened by the thought of his wife and son deserting him and haunted by the image of his deceased daughter, gathered his strength and went inside the house. The old man closed the door behind him and locked it.

Eric navigated through the poorly lit and musty hallway, floorboards creaking with each step. Several old black-and-white photographs adorned the walls, each capturing a unique moment in time. He paid little attention to them, the stench of the place preoccupying him.

With each hobble, the old man led him further into the house until they reached an antiquated kitchen. The place had a sparse appearance, with nothing but a round table and two chairs, lending an air of simplicity. There were no fancy appliances—just a group of worn, dark oak cupboards he suspected were completely empty. The elderly gentleman pulled out one of the Windsor chairs, a grating sound filling the room as it scraped against the floor, sending a shiver down Eric’s spine and making his teeth itch. 

“Take a seat, sir.” As he spoke, the peculiar man sat down and looked up at Eric. He placed the pipe in his mouth, the ember glowing brightly as he took several puffs to maintain the flame. Looking down at the old man, Eric couldn’t help but wonder what he was smoking.

His eyes caught Eric’s attention immediately. One was a baby blue, as clear and serene as the summer skies above, while the other was an emerald green, gleaming with a vibrant luster. Something wasn’t right about those eyes, but Eric couldn’t put his finger on it. Having two different colored eyes was already peculiar, but the sheen in the green one gave it an eerie, almost otherworldly quality. 

“It’s a glass eye, if ya must know,” the fella said as he pondered on Eric. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to stare or offend,” Eric cut in immediately as he sat. The chair was cold against his back. 

“No offense taken at all. The name’s Cliffton, and you might be?” Cliffton’s hand stretched across the table, his singular eye fixed unwaveringly on Eric’s, as he offered a firm handshake.

“Eric, sir. Eric Thomas. Pleasure to meet you.” Eric leaned across the table and shook Cliffton’s hand. Despite his bony hands, Cliffton’s handshake was surprisingly firm and vigorous. “What happened to your eye? Lose it in the war?”

Eric’s mouth was three seconds ahead of his brain, and regret washed over him instantly. What kind of idiot questioned an old man about his lack of an eye when they had just met? He was here to adopt a dog from him and had to make a good first impression. Without delay, Eric returned to his seat and averted his eyes from Cliffton. 

“It’s okay. Don’t feel ashamed for asking, Eric. I lost it many, many moons ago. I’ve seen a lot of things in my time. Excuse the pun,” Cliffton said. At least the guy had a sense of humor. Eric smiled and lifted his head. 

“Sorry, I just⁠—”

“You’re excited at the prospect of owning a new dog. I understand. There’s no shame in that.” Cliffton took in a deep breath from his pipe and blew out a hefty amount of smoke, making Eric cough. “Now, tell me, Eric. Why do you want this dog?” Cliffton interlocked his fingers and leaned forward on the table, his features somewhat distorted by the smoke.

If he’d been fifty years younger, Eric would have felt threatened. Maybe he had a military background, which could explain the absence of his eye. He certainly had that authoritative persona about him, yet he was so calming, therapeutic almost. Eric wondered if Cliffton had any children or even a spouse. Judging by the way he kept his home, he doubted he had.

“To save my family, sir. My son…the doctor believes he may have something called Tourette’s syndrome. I think a dog will help him control his tics,” Eric said, picking at his fingernails. It almost felt like a job interview, trying to persuade the old man that he was worthy of taking on whatever dog, or even dogs, he had.

With furrowed brows, Cliffton chewed on his pipe, deep in contemplation. The ember evaporated. Cliffton reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches. With a swift movement of the wrist, he took out a solitary match and ignited it, holding it against the chamber. He returned the box to his pocket.

“That’s not all, though. Is it, Eric? There are other reasons you want the dog. I can see it in your eyes.”

How could he tell that? The older generation boasted some of the strangest people Eric had ever met. However, there was something unique about Cliffton, but what was it? There was no point in lying to him. Eric knew that the old boy would see right through him; he’d made that much clear. His tongue darted out to moisten his parched lips, and he swallowed audibly. 

“My marriage needs saving.” Four words that Eric never thought would leave his mouth. Yet here he was, sitting before a complete stranger, telling him about his life and strained relationship.

With each puff of his pipe, Cliffton’s unwavering stare intensified. It was as if the old guy could speak with his eyes. He cocked an eyebrow, a motion that told Eric he knew that there was more to this story than he was letting on.

“My daughter died not long ago. It was my fault. I should have been able to save her. But I couldn’t. I failed as a father and a husband. My whole life has been one huge curse, and I can’t let it continue like this. A dog could bring us together again. I need this, sir. I beg of you.” Eric’s voice trembled with raw emotion as tears filled his eyes.

He couldn’t even speak to Paige with this level of emotion, so why was he able to do it so freely with a stranger? Perhaps therapy would have benefited him in expressing his troubles and alleviating the burden. But it was too late for that now.

“Wait here.” Cliffton stood and left the room, leaving Eric alone with his thoughts.

With a shaky hand, Eric wiped his tears away, his sobs muffled as he buried his head in his hands. In the darkness, the image of Layla’s lifeless body flashed before him. He gasped and lifted his head. Standing there, in the kitchen’s doorway, was Cliffton and a dog. Time was a peculiar thing. Eric was sure he’d had his head down for only a few seconds.

“This is Bert. He’s a purebred Australian shepherd. He’s only three, so still a young pup, and will suit your family well, I think,” Cliffton said, patting Bert on his rear end. “Go on, boy, say hello.”

The shepherd bounded toward Eric, springing up on its hind legs and showering his face with affectionate licks to remove the salty tears. Eric chuckled as he ruffled Bert’s neck. His fur was incredibly soft, like stroking a plush velvet fabric. The dog was young, that much was clear. His fur was a thick mosaic of black, brown, and white. One ear flopped down while the other stood tall like a vigilant soldier—a charming detail that would instantly capture Callum and Paige’s hearts.

When Eric met the dog’s gaze, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the mismatched colors. One brown, one blue. What were the chances that both the owner and the dog would have different colored eyes?

“Both of his are real. Don’t worry.” Cliffton chuckled as he took a seat once more. “He is house-trained and can be let off the leash when going out for walks. He needs plenty of exercise and is great with kids. I’m sure Callum will love him.”

Eric turned toward the old man, brow furrowed. Had he mentioned his son’s name?

Before Eric could ask how he knew that, Bert jumped onto his lap as another enthusiastic round of licks overwhelmed him. Both the new and old owner giggled.

“He’s an affectionate one, if you couldn’t tell. I’m sure you know, Eric, that Australian shepherds are one of the most intelligent breeds out there. So, make sure you treat him as such.” Cliffton clapped twice, and Bert obediently leaped off Eric’s lap and settled beside him. 

“You be a good boy for ya new family now. Ya hear me?” With gentle pets, Cliffton lovingly caressed Bert’s head, clearly savoring the rhythmic panting and the excited wagging of his tail. “He eats twice a day and isn’t fussy. Just give him some meat and he’ll be happy as a pig in shit. There’s a dog bed by the front door. Feel free to take it with you. He’s been sleeping on that thing since he was a pup, and I would appreciate it if he had some memory of me.”

“Why are you getting rid of him?” Eric asked, wiping Bert’s slobber off his face. “And how much are you expecting for him?” 

“I’m an old man. I’ve been around for far too long now, and I feel my time is soon. How fair would it be for me to die, wither away, and leave this beautiful boy behind?” Cliffton bent down to cuddle Bert one last time. “He deserves a loving home. A home where he can be loved and fulfill his duty as man’s best friend. He has served me well, and I’ll never forget him. As for money, you keep that for yourself. Go out and buy this boy some good steak. He’ll love that.” Another roar of thunder sounded and made the floorboards rumble underfoot. “This storm is only going to get worse before it gets better. You’d best be on your way, Eric.”

With Bert faithfully by his side, Cliffton stood up and made his way out of the kitchen. Eric sat there, stunned. What a sad story. A lonely old man who had to give up his best friend because he feared leaving him behind in this world. In a way, it was beautifully morbid, but Eric was thankful that Cliffton had decided to put the dog up for adoption. The old man’s fear of death may well have saved Eric and his family from their own.

Eric got up and followed Cliffton’s path, thinking about how ecstatic Callum would be when he saw his new best friend bounding through the door. Cliffton and Bert stood by the entrance, awaiting Eric’s arrival.

“Take care, Eric. And good luck with your marriage.” With a quick exchange of the leash, Cliffton turned the rusty key in the lock and swung the door open, its hinges protesting with a creak. At once, the cacophony of rain against the pavement returned. Just before the door opened, Eric thought he glimpsed some kind of symbol on the back of it. The symbol looked vaguely familiar, but Cliffton opened the door so swiftly that his eyes couldn’t make out exactly what it was.

With leash and dog bed in hand, Eric left the smoke-filled house and headed for his new life. He turned to say one last thank-you, but was confronted by the unyielding door that had served as the threshold to what he hoped was a life-changing experience.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Callum lay awake in his parents’ bed, the sheets tangled around him as he tried to shake off the lingering fear from his nightmare. The only source of light in the room was the moon, its eerie glow seeping through the closed curtains. An onset of tics attacked him as he cast his mind back to Layla’s funeral. Since that day, he’d faced a never-ending barrage of them, with no relief in sight. The constant tension weighed his shoulders down, making them ache with a persistent, throbbing pressure.

He closed his eyes tight and took a deep breath in. Nothing Callum did would subdue the onslaught of his neurological condition. Hoping a change in position would calm the tics, he quickly shifted onto his front. It didn’t work. Nothing worked. With frustration boiling inside him, Callum buried his face deep into the pillow, muffling his screams as he bit down on it, hard. The pain was relentless, pulsating through his shoulders, neck, and eyes. 

Agõnia. Agõnia, Layla’s voice chuckled through his mind. It was bad enough that he had to deal with the sudden onset of TS, but having the image and voice of his dead sister taunt him daily and nightly was sending the boy into a paranoid frenzy. 

“Shh. Please, just shh,” he pleaded into the pillow, desperate for the torment to cease. What was Agõnia? The word was unfamiliar, yet it had mercilessly taken hold of his thoughts, taunting him relentlessly. He would ask his parents what it meant in the morning. 

After what felt like hours of lying on his front, the tics finally subsided. As his shoulders relaxed, Callum released his bite. He dragged his face down the pillow and got up to his knees, feeling sweat dripping down his forehead. One of his parents would face a damp pillow when they came to rest their head to sleep.

In the still darkness, Callum looked to the window where the thin curtain hung, bowed his head, and clasped his hands together. While the boy prayed silently, unsure if the being he sought even existed, the sound of barking pierced the air from outside. It was a familiar sound, the tiny Yorkie from two doors down had barked ceaselessly night in and night out, disturbing the family’s sleep pattern for three years at least. The thing had been a regular topic of conversation in the mornings. Eric had always said he would speak to the owner when he encountered her, but she only seemed to come out at night.

Callum smiled at the memory of him and Layla begging their parents to buy them a small dog, a request that was swiftly declined.

With the relentless barking outside, Callum got out of bed, made his way to the curtains, and pulled them open, peering out into the darkness the power cut had brought. The entire street was out, and there was no telling when the power would be back on. It could be hours, days, or even weeks. Who knew?

Callum watched a slim woman, illuminated by moonlight, walk with her yapping dog. As she walked, her hips swayed in a peculiar, exaggerated manner. It was a walk that Callum and Layla had both found amusing when they watched her saunter down the road with a leash in hand. But now, it brought him nothing.

He looked up at the sky. The stars adorned the blank canvas of the night, their twinkling lights amplified by the full moon. Tears filled Callum’s eyes as he wondered if his baby sister was one of those shining beacons of light, looking down on him and trying to protect him. Of course she wasn’t. She was a haunting image that was plaguing him. Hopelessness filled him as his shoulders slumped and his head dropped. With a wipe of his eyes, Callum turned to make his way back to bed, but the sound of the front door opening snatched his attention.

His father had returned home. Callum tiptoed to the bedroom door, trying his best not to let his parents know he was still awake. Clearly, his mother had lifted him from his bed and placed him into hers, but he wondered where she had disappeared to. He didn’t want her to know that he was wandering her bedroom, unable to sleep because of the disturbing thoughts that corrupted his mind. That would just add even more to their worries.

With his hand poised to open the door, a powerful gust of wind rushed in from outside, propelling him toward the thing and causing him to collide with it. The sound would no doubt grab his parents’ attention. Callum hurried back into bed and wrapped himself back up in the covers.

If his parents came upstairs, then they would find their sleeping son. He closed his eyes tight and rolled over to face the wall. Awaiting the imminent arrival of either his mother or father—probably his mother—Callum whispered, “Amen.” As the boy lay still in bed, the curtains drew themselves closed, blocking out the light from the assortment of stars and the moon. 

Desperate for a glass of water, Paige headed down the stairs. Callum had remained dead to the world when she took him into her own bed, wrapped them both up, and held him close. In the darkness, the house seemed to magnify every sound, creating an eerie symphony of creaks and whispers, and with the power cut came an extra stillness.

Her footsteps reverberated through the air as she descended the stairs with all the grace of a drunken elephant. She winced at each creak underfoot. At the last step, she looked over at the front door, expecting Eric to walk through it at any moment. She stood, staring. Waiting. Forever waiting.

A mist flowed from the gap beneath the door, and the lock disengaged. The mysterious fog hung in the air, accompanied by a scent of chlorine. That smell was haunting her, just like the image of her deceased daughter. As the mist drifted into her home, it emitted an eerie glow, illuminating the hallway in an ethereal manner. Paige took a step back and fell onto the stairs. Pain shot through her spine and neck as she landed with a hefty thud. She hoped the sound didn’t wake Callum.

With rapid shallow breaths, Paige bit down on her tongue to keep herself from screaming out in pain. If she screamed, she would wake Callum. The boy had already seen her in a panicked state once. He didn’t need to see it again.

Paige closed her eyes and clasped her hands together in silent prayer. There was no logical explanation for a random mist seeping in through her door. It was clearly all a trick of the mind. 

“M-M-Mommy. God won’t save you,” Layla’s voice echoed through her mind. 

“No. Not again. Please, not again. God save me. Universe, hear me.” 

“He won’t save you, Mommy. Nothing can save you. Not even Daddy. Just like he couldn’t save me. None of you saved me, Mommy. Why? D-d-did I do something wrong?” Layla’s voice grew louder with each word.

Paige dug her nails into her knuckles as she kept them clasped together. If she ignored the voice, then it would go away. A bitter cold ran down her spine, causing her teeth to chatter. 

“I-it’s cold, M-Mommy. The w-water’s cold. Get me out, p-please.” The image of Layla’s tear-streaked face flashed through Paige’s mind. She rocked back and forth on the step as her spine grew cold, flushing out the searing heat from the pain of her fall. 

“M-M-Mommy, please. Please help me.”

Startled, Paige jolted at the touch of a hand on her left shoulder. She flinched at the pain. The hand felt firm, large, and had an immense grip on her. She tried to shake it off, but a stabbing pain took her breath away as sharp nails dug deep into her skin.

Paige opened her eyes. Standing before her was Layla, radiating a dim crimson glow. A malevolent smile stretched across her face, each tooth gleaming with a dangerous edge. Paige couldn’t take her wide eyes away from her. Dozens of shadows danced across the walls, causing a disorienting strobe effect. One shadow caught her attention. It wasn’t dancing like the others; this one was still, as though someone was standing right behind her.

Paige’s mouth grew dry, and her chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. Her legs became weak as the shadow retracted its hand from her shoulder, relieving her of the nails that had sunk into her flesh. It held its hand above her head and moved its finger meticulously. The thing was writing something. As it drew, the thing created a darkened shadow.

Paige tried to bring herself to her feet, but it felt like a pile of damp bricks was on her lap. She looked down and saw the top of her daughter’s head. Layla was keeping her trapped, making her watch the haunting display before her. Tears formed in Paige’s eyes and fell onto the girl’s head, but instead of landing on her scalp, they simply fell through.

Panic ran through her veins as she realized that the spirit of her daughter was haunting her. Desperate to scream, she couldn’t; fear had too tight a grip on her. Deep laughter echoed throughout the house as Layla’s eyes looked toward the wall where the shadow drew.

“Look, Mommy. Pretty drawing.”

“T-this can’t be real,” Paige gasped.

“It is real, Mommy. Look. Look at the drawing.” Layla kept her stare focused as she urged Paige to look at the wall. Paige lifted her head, praying for the vision to stop. 

“M-Mommy, why won’t you look? He wants you to look.” 

He? Who was he? Paige’s mind ran at an alarming speed. There was so much to process, so much going on in such a short span of time. Not even five minutes before, she’d been tucked up in bed, holding Callum close and inhaling his scent. Damn the power outage. If not for that, then none of this would be happening. 

“Mommy… He’s not happy. Alforous is getting angry.” A faint trace of emotion colored Layla’s voice. It was the voice she would use just before she threw a tantrum, bursting into floods of tears and screaming the house down. It was a sound that Paige had never thought she would hear again. Guilt welled up inside her as she ignored her child’s obvious need for her. Regardless of whether she was a spirit or not, Layla was still her daughter, and that motherly love and need to protect her would never go away. Paige picked at her nails and took a deep breath in. The smell of chlorine and rot caused her to gag.

“Look, Mommy. Look!” Suddenly, a powerful force seized Paige’s hair, jerking her head forward, and she let out an agonized cry. In front of her, written across the wall in the pen of a shadow, was the word Agõnia.

“Time’s almost up, bitch,” a low-pitched voice whispered in her ear. When Paige tried to turn her head to face whatever or whoever had spoken, she was hit in the face by what felt like a hammer. Lying on the stairs, Paige’s body was motionless, her breaths short and exaggerated.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Eric sat in the car as the storm settled overhead. The rain had passed not long after he got Bert in the Honda and headed home, but the echoes of thunder and flickers of lightning still lingered in the air. He killed the engine and turned on the interior light, the street still shrouded in darkness.

Behind him in the back seat, Bert sat at attention after spending the entire journey sound asleep. Eric had been slightly concerned that the dog had died, given how still he’d been. But each time Eric said his name, Bert lifted his head in response to his call. 

“You really are well-trained. Aren’t ya, boy?” Eric said with a smile. It felt like his first genuine smile since Layla died.

No, even before that. Eric cast his mind back to the last time he felt truly happy, truly content with life. It was back amid his battle with alcoholism. Though he knew it was destroying not only him, but his family, he couldn’t help but feel the euphoria that came only with drink. Even the births of his children hadn’t brought him the same joy that having a strong drink in the evenings did.

He wondered if that made him an inadequate father. He was sure it did, though, causing the death of his daughter would be something he could never forgive himself for.

But now, he’d been presented with the opportunity to make up for all those years of pain he had brought to his family, especially Paige. It wouldn’t rid them of their grief, but it would lift some weight off their shoulders. It would take him a lifetime to recover from what had happened, but all he could do was take it one step at a time.

All his life, he’d felt like an outcast and didn’t belong…until Paige. She changed his life for the better in more ways than one, and now it was time for him to repay her for it.

Nothing would ease the pain that she felt in her heart from the loss of her daughter, but there was nothing to say that Eric wouldn’t be able to help her heal through it. Regardless of the images that had taunted him and the craving to return to the old version of himself, he would battle through it. For her. The road would be long, but he was sure this would be the start of his family’s journey toward healing. 

Bert tilted his head as Eric stared at him. It was as though the dog could read his mind just by looking at him. His mismatched eyes glimmered, catching the light and reflecting it like precious gemstones. Hope. There was hope in those eyes.

“Are you ready to meet your new family?” Eric asked.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wondered what had gotten into him. He was talking to a dog and expecting an answer. How ridiculous. Was he already becoming one of those people who held regular conversations with their canine companions? That had always been a strange concept to him, but perhaps there was something to it, something comforting about getting your worries off your chest and out into the open—just like Paige had always encouraged him to do.

Bert wagged his tail and panted. The warmth of his breath caressed Eric’s face. With confirmation that the dog was ready, Eric unbuckled his seatbelt, turned off the interior light, opened the door and closed it slowly, so as not to bring any attention from his wife and son inside the house. 

Darkness shrouded the street, and a palpable heaviness filled the air. He looked around, expecting the eerie mist to make itself present once more. Nothing. The coast was clear of people and supernatural occurrences. He investigated the backseat of the car and saw Bert staring up at him, wide-eyed and almost smiling. His eyes were mesmerizing.

Eric unlocked the door, and Bert wasted no time leaping out, extending his front legs and shaking vigorously. The sound of his collar and leash clinking reverberated through the empty street. As it did, the lampposts flickered to life, casting a familiar yellowish glow that bathed the outside world in a warm ambiance. The power was back on. What great timing. Callum and Paige would be able to see the new addition to the family as clear as day. Eric took in his surroundings, smiling. Taking a deep breath, he nodded toward the house. 

“Come on, boy. Let’s go home.”

Bert walked obediently by Eric’s side.

Eric pulled his house keys from his pocket and placed them in the lock. Before he could turn them, the door swung open, revealing Paige lying on the bottom of the stairs. Paralyzed by fear, Eric stood in disbelief at the sight before him. He had already lost his daughter, and now he might have lost his wife.

A rush of adrenaline flooded his body, causing his heart to race and leaving him gasping for air, his lower back ached from the immediate tension. While he tried to comprehend what had happened, he loosened his grip on the leash. Bert darted toward Paige and covered her face in slobbery kisses. Paige shook her head back and forth, trying to escape the barrage of licks. Eric’s body crumpled with relief, as if all the weight had been lifted off his shoulders upon seeing his wife alive. He rushed toward her as Bert backed away, making room for him. 

“What happened?” Eric asked as he got down on his knees, setting his hand on her shoulder. There was something different about Paige’s eyes. Her hollow gaze and ashen complexion sent a chill down his spine. 

“When did the power come back on?” she asked groggily. It was like she’d been drinking. She turned her head to face Bert. “And what is this?” 

“Paige, what happened? Tell me, baby, are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m just exhausted. Why is there a dog here? And where have you been?”

Eric went to take hold of Paige’s hand to guide her up, but she pulled away from him. She still clearly held a grudge against him for abandoning her in her time of need. He couldn’t blame her. 

“Babe, let me help you up,” he said. Bert sat and motioned his head back and forth between the couple as they spoke, as if watching a tennis match. 

“I’m fine!” Paige snapped as she pushed herself up off the step. She let out a low groan as she struggled to stand. Stretching out her back, she looked toward the new addition to their family. Bert panted again, showing his almost-smile, with his tail wagging furiously. Before Eric had a chance to say anything, Bert swiftly elevated himself onto his hind legs and pressed his front paws against Paige’s shoulders, peering deeply into her eyes. Paige recoiled, causing Bert to land harshly. 

“Why is there a dog here, Eric? You know I don’t like dogs. I’ve never liked dogs.”

“I got him for Callum, babe. He’s always wanted a dog, and I thought, what better time to get one?”

“I don’t like dog—” Paige stopped mid-sentence. She lowered her head for a moment, lost in thought.

Eric knew his wife had never been a big fan of dogs. She’d told him of the story when she was seven years old and got bitten on the ankle by a feisty Jack Russell. But that story hadn’t been in Eric’s mind when he found Bert. Paige would learn to live with the dog for Callum’s sake. Even if she was grieving the loss of a daughter, she was selfless, a quality that Eric wished he could have. Alas, he was the selfish one, but he was adamant about changing the way their dynamic worked. One thing at a time. 

“You did this for Callum?” she asked. 

“I did it for all of us. He didn’t cost anything either. He was up for adoption by some old guy not too far from here. He’s only three and loves kids. I want to save this family, Paige.” Eric forced himself to hold back the tears accumulating in his eyes. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done. You need to believe me.”

Bert barked as if in agreement with his new master. Paige stood motionless for a moment, biting her lip with her arms folded. The air was thick with an oppressive silence. Eric licked his lips, feeling the anticipation build, when Paige closed the distance between them and embraced him tightly. There was a sound of creaking floorboards as the couple hugged each other for the first time in what felt like years.

Standing at the top of the stairs was Callum.

Bert looked up toward the boy, who stood with wide eyes and his mouth agape. Callum felt a rush of joy as he saw the Australian shepherd, with his tremendous black, brown, and white fur and one floppy ear. His heart melted. 

“Is that a dog?” Callum asked, excitement flowing through him. 

“Sure is, Cal. He’s all yours,” Eric replied as he smiled at his son.

The weight on his neck and shoulders ceased immediately. It was as if the dog had sucked out every negative emotion and feeling within him. Feeling light as a feather, Callum darted down the stairs. He dropped to his knees, his eyes meeting his new companion's. 

“Wow! Look at the color of his eyes!” Callum exclaimed while he admired the brown and blue eyes that looked so lovingly into his own. “One’s like yours and one’s like Mommy’s.”

“Huh, I never thought of it like that. I guess they are.”

“What’s his name?” Callum asked as he ran his small hands through silky, thick fur. It was delicate on his fingertips. He imagined it was what a cloud felt like. 

“His name’s Bert, but if ya want, you can rename him, champ.” At the sound of his name, Bert turned his gaze toward Eric and emitted a small bark. 

Callum held his hand under his chin, lost in thought for a moment. “I like Bert, but I’m gonna call him Berty!” he said and kissed the dog on the head. Paige took a step forward toward her son, but Eric pulled her back. He shot her a look that spoke a thousand words. “He’s gonna be my best friend. Can we take him for a walk, Dad?”

Callum was eager to do everything that involved owning a dog. The memory of him and Layla begging for one flashed before his eyes once more, but this time, the guilt and sorrow were nowhere near as heavy.

Yes, Layla was gone and haunting him, but now he had Bert, who would protect him at all costs, no matter what. He finally had an outlet, a safe space, and someone to express himself to without feeling judged or the guilt of not making someone happy. Callum wrapped his arms around Bert’s neck and held him close with his eyes shut. When he opened them, the image of his smiling parents greeted him.

Perhaps the torment was over, at least for now. A dog would bring so many opportunities and possibilities for the family. The thought of it made Callum shake with excitement.

“It’s time for bed, Cal. We can take him for a walk in the morning. Bert can sleep in the kitchen for now in his own bed.” Eric gestured behind him, showing Callum the soft, fluffy bed on the floor. 

“Let me take you up to bed, baby. You say goodnight to Bert, and you can see him in the morning,” Paige said.

His mother seemed to be awfully reserved, considering a new member of the family had just arrived. 

“Have you cuddled him, Mommy? He’s so soft.”

Paige looked down at her son as he embraced the dog. “I did when he came in. Now, come on, baby. We all need some sleep. You can play in the morning and take him for a walk with your dad.”

“And you, Mommy?” Callum asked, still holding on to Bert for dear life.

“We’ll see, baby. Now, come on.” Paige left her husband's embrace and gingerly made her way toward Callum, her eyes never leaving the dog. Bert wagged his tail harder as she approached, his backside moving back and forth on the floor. 

“He likes you, Mommy.” A frenzy of licks bombarded his face. He giggled hysterically and fell back onto the floor. For the first time in a long time, he felt no urge to tic. It was like an instant cure. Bert stood over Callum and continued to lavish him with doggy kisses. The boy’s laughter echoed throughout the house, a sound that none of them thought they would ever hear again. 

Paige recoiled at the sight of Bert on top of her son and looked at Eric. He was laughing along with their boy, adding to the sound of jubilation. Soon enough, the contagious laughter rang throughout the house, as the family laughed together in harmony.

While the family guffawed, Layla stood at the top of the stairs. Watching. Waiting.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The following morning, Callum woke as the sun rose. It was the first time he’d woken up with a genuine excitement for the day since his birthday party. Inhaling deeply, he clambered out of bed and rushed out of his room to see Bert. As he made his way past his parents’ bedroom, an arm caught him around the waist and pulled him in close. He felt his breath taken away as the image of the shadow figure flooded his mind.

“Where do you think you’re going so fast, boy?” Eric said, and Callum let out a sigh of relief.

“I want to see Berty.” He giggled as Eric tickled his midsection. His father had always been rough with the tickling, leaving Callum’s sides aching after each attack, but it was a guaranteed way to make him laugh. Callum’s face turned a deep shade of red as his unstoppable laughter echoed through the air, leaving him gasping for breath.

“D-Daddy, s-stop.”

“Tell me who’s the winner, and I’ll stop.” Eric chuckled, the tickles intensifying. Callum squirmed and wriggled, trying to break free of his father’s grasp, but it was no use. Hysterically laughing, the boy quit fighting and tried to surrender.

“Y-you are,” he wheezed.

Eric planted a kiss on his son’s crown and gently lowered the boy to the floor. Callum crumpled to the ground, dropping to his knees before rolling onto his side, desperately trying to recover from the relentless tickling. Out of breath, he lifted his eyes to his father, who had a dazzling smile, his complexion matching Callum’s flushed cheeks.

“Do you wanna help me feed Bert?” Eric asked.

Callum slowly got to his feet. “Yeah! What does he eat?” 

“The guy said to feed him meat. We have some turkey slices in the refrigerator. He can have those for now, but we’ll have to take a trip to the supermarket so he doesn’t go hungry.”

“And bowls. We need bowls,” Callum replied as he made his way toward the stairs. 

“You’re right, champ. We’ll have to go to the pet store as well. Looks like it’s going to be a busy day for us.” As Eric followed his son, the weight of his steps resonated with each thud. 

“What about Mommy? Is she coming, too?” Silence followed momentarily as Callum bounced down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, Callum looked back up toward his father, who stood motionless. His face had taken on a pallid tone. “Are you okay, Dad?”

Eric looked down at Callum. To the boy, it was like looking up at an older version of himself. Feeling sympathetic toward his father, he questioned if he was also showing signs of TS, causing him to become paralyzed. Did it run in the family?

“Dad?”

“Go see Bert, Cal. I’ll be down in a sec,” Eric said flatly, his eyes unblinking.

Bert’s claws tip-tapped rhythmically across the kitchen floor. As he rounded the corner, his tail wagged furiously. Seeing a dog first thing in the morning filled Callum with an unspeakable joy. A smile sewed itself across his face as he opened his arms to greet his new companion. 

“Morning, Berty.” He dropped to one knee and threw his arms around the dog’s neck. The softness of his fur brushed against his cheeks, feeling like cotton. Bert turned his head into Callum’s and licked the boy’s ear. Giggling, Callum nestled his head further into the dog. 

“Stop it, boy.”

Bert obeyed. His ears pricked up as he glimpsed Eric standing at the top of the stairs, staring vacantly. A deep growl escaped him as his eyes locked onto his new master. 

“Berty? What’s wrong?” There was no fear in the boy. Yes, the dog had a deep growl, which was rather intimidating for an Australian shepherd, but Callum felt safe with him. It was as if he’d known Bert his entire life. He ran his hand down Bert’s spine, trying to soothe him. 

“It’s only Daddy,” Callum said. He looked back up toward where his father had stood. He was gone. Bert’s growls continued to pulsate through his body. Callum could feel how tense he was. Bert hadn’t been like that the evening before. He had been tame and nothing but loving.

Had his father done something to him overnight? Or was it just that he’d woken up in a new home, confused about his surroundings? Callum stood and puckered his lips, making a kissing sound, trying to snap Bert out of his fixation at the top of the stairs. No response. The canine’s focus was clearly on something that wasn’t there. But what? Callum gulped as the surrounding air grew cold. He shivered. 

“Are you hungry, Berty?”

At those words, Bert snapped his attention toward Callum. The growling ceased immediately. With his father absent and his mother still fast asleep, Callum took it upon himself to feed his companion. Owning a dog came with great responsibility; he knew that. It was finally time for the boy to grow up, and Bert was the first step toward that. Yes, the family was still in the midst of emotional turmoil, but Bert would fix that. He knew it.

As Callum walked into the kitchen, with Bert by his side, the scent of fresh roses greeted him. Light from the sunrise cascaded in through the window, giving the room an aura of hope. Callum looked toward Bert, who was staring back up at him, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as he gave that almost-smile. For a moment, Callum became lost in the dog’s eyes. He had never seen a dog with mismatched eyes before. It added so much character, a uniqueness that the boy adored.

Bert sat and cocked his head, patiently waiting to be fed. Callum petted his head and made his way to the cupboards. He could have just chucked the turkey meat on the floor and let Bert gobble that up, but the floor was dirty, and he couldn’t risk Bert getting sick. That was irresponsible.

Climbing onto the kitchen stool, Callum retrieved two bowls from the cupboard. He filled one with cold water from the faucet, stretching as far as he could to reach it. As soon as the bowl hit the floor, Bert rushed toward it and drank like his life depended on it. 

“You thirsty boy,” Callum said. How long had it been since the dog had had a drink? There was no bowl of water in the kitchen from the previous night. Paige had picked him up after he said goodnight to Bert and had taken him straight to bed after their fits of laughter. Surely his father would have left some water down for the dog overnight. But then again, the most basic things could slip someone’s mind, especially during a time of grief, and his father had looked exhausted.

Callum pulled the packet of turkey slices from the refrigerator, tore them into smaller pieces, threw them into the second bowl, and placed it on the floor next to the bowl of water. Just like he’d done with the water, Bert ate ferociously, licking the bowl clean within ten seconds of it hitting the floor.

“That’s a good boy.” Callum smiled as he made his way into the lounge and sat on the sofa. Before he could make himself comfortable, Bert jumped up beside him and gently placed his head on his lap. 

“I love you, Berty,” Callum said. They both sat on the sofa in silence. Callum ran his hand through Bert’s fur. Petting the dog had a calming effect, sending Callum’s mind and body into a relaxed state. His eyes grew heavy as he felt a sudden wave of tiredness wash over him, like a hefty blanket settling on his shoulders. Overwhelmed by weariness, the boy and his loyal companion succumbed to a peaceful sleep.

Upon entering the bathroom, Eric was greeted by a reflection he didn’t recognize. His skin had turned pale, sweat beaded on his forehead, and his eyes were as wide as a deer caught in headlights. He turned on the light, breathless. 

By the sink, he turned the faucet on and splashed his face with cold water. The image of Layla standing behind Bert lingered vividly in his thoughts. Callum had seemed unaware of her presence, staring up at him with his innocent eyes. As her head lifted toward him, he couldn’t avert his gaze from the disturbing image of maggots squirming in the empty spaces where her eyes should have been. His stomach churned, and he vomited into the sink. The putrid smell hit him like a punch to the gut, causing him to heave once more. The light made his eyes sting, so Eric placed his hands over them, putting himself into a comforting darkness. But darkness was never comforting, especially not now.

Eric’s shallow breaths and pounding heart made him feel dizzy as he wiped his tear-stained eyes and ran his hands through his disheveled hair. A clump came out in his grip, causing a sharp pain to radiate through his scalp. Licking his lips, Eric placed his hands on the countertop and tried to catch his breath. Sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He had just squeezed them shut when the hauntingly familiar voice sounded in his ear. 

“The dog won’t save you. He thinks it will. But it won’t. Agõnia is upon us. Your time is coming, Eric. It’s almost up.”

Eric shook his head, trying to get rid of the voice that flowed into his ear and through his mind. The sensation was so vivid that he knew it couldn’t be a mere figment of his imagination. He could feel the warmth of breath against his ear and smell the unmistakable scent of decay.

Eric slammed his fists onto the counter as he recalled Bert staring up at him, his eyes trying to tell him something. Had he been able to feel the presence of Layla behind him? If so, then why didn’t he turn around and growl at her? Why had he been so fixated on Eric? 

He turned around to leave the bathroom when a shadow formed on the wall beside his own.

In great blotches, a slender figure appeared. Eric stood, his mouth wide and skin tingling. Even during the height of his alcoholism, he hadn’t experienced hallucinations as vivid as this. Hell, he hadn’t hallucinated at all. He’d only felt joy, other than the god-awful hangovers the next day, which were quickly remedied with another drink. As the slender shadow figure moved closer to Eric’s own shadow, an icy chill permeated the room. Chlorine filled the air, and the unidentifiable mist swelled from beneath his feet, bringing with it the putrid smell of chemicals.

Eric raised his hand, unsure of whether his shadow would follow suit. It did. He waved slowly; the shadow replicated his movements as it should. As his shadow moved, the slender figure stopped and seemed to admire its delicate movements. Eric held his hand up, waiting for the unknown shadow to respond. Just a moment or two passed while Eric held his hand firm, though it felt like a lifetime.

He peered down at his feet. The mist was eerie and dense, like something out of a fantasy world. When he shifted his attention back to the shadows on the wall, the bathroom light flickered, causing them to flash before his eyes.

The unknown shadow grabbed hold of Eric’s shadow’s wrist. The sensation of his wrist being squeezed in a vice sent a shooting pain up his arm. Somehow, he could feel the shadow taking hold of him. It flung his shadow’s wrist up and down with a relentless force, and Eric was flung with it. His shoulder felt like it was about to be torn out of its socket. 

As Eric attempted to retreat, an invisible force pushed him into the solid wall. His nose collided with it first, sending a shooting pain through his face. He desperately hoped it wasn’t broken. Blood trickled from his nose, its warmth spreading across his lips. The taste of iron made him feel sick.

Panic ran through him as the impact threw him backward toward the sink, his spine taking the brunt of the hit. He dropped to the floor in a heap, his right arm still up in the air, held by some unknown force.

Eric wiped his nose with his free hand and looked down at it. Luckily, it was only a small amount of blood. The searing pain from his birthmark felt like a hot rod being pressed against his skin, and its sudden presence knocked the wind out of him.

So many things were hurting him, but the burning in his forearm was by far the worst. He groaned and clenched his jaw, running his tongue along the back of his teeth, trying to suppress the screams that so desperately wanted to escape him. The lights stopped flickering, and Eric’s right hand dropped.

He leaned back against the cabinets, smacking his head against them, then slid down and placed his burning forearm underneath him. Sitting on it would subdue the pain, he was sure. The more pressure placed on it, the more it would hurt; therefore, it couldn’t get any worse. But he was wrong. As soon as he put his weight onto his arm, the burn intensified tenfold, sending him into a frenzy. He squirmed and shook on the floor.

As he spat blood, crimson droplets trickled from the corners of his mouth. His knuckles turned white as he clenched his arm, staring down at the birthmark, which appeared brighter and fuller than ever. Gasping for breath, Eric got to his feet and placed his arm under the cold water that he left running. It instantly relieved the burning sensation. 

“Fuck.” He spat into the sink, staining the porcelain red, and gazed up at the mirror. His hair was all over the place, and sweat covered his face. Finally, he was able to take a deep breath, feeling his chest expand as he replenished the air he’d been gasping for.

The sound of water running from downstairs ricocheted through the bathroom. Callum and Bert had been left down there alone after he’d promised his son they would feed the dog and take him for a walk. He had to keep his word. He couldn’t lose his son’s faith in him. Not now. Not after he’d just regained some of Callum’s love. 

Eric licked his lips once more. The taste of blood across chapped lips made him crave a drink. Alcohol would have been the perfect thing to settle his nerves. The images of Layla were becoming more haunting, and the unknown voice and hallucinations seemed to become more vivid as the days and weeks passed. 

Would it matter if he had just one drink? He doubted it. It was just something to take the edge off and settle his nerves. Eric decided then and there that he would treat himself that night. He would finally be able to sit down away from his wife, son, and now dog, and enjoy a refreshing beer.

Scanning the room to make sure that nothing was awry, Eric slowly made his way out of the bathroom and headed for his bedroom. There, the image of his sleeping wife greeted him. Thank fuck she hadn’t heard or seen any of what had happened. She would have blown a gasket and accused him of being back on the booze—before he even got a chance to make it true. Eric got himself dressed as quickly and silently as possible, kissed Paige tenderly on the forehead, and made his way toward the stairs.

While descending the staircase, he suddenly felt a strong shove from behind, causing him to lose his balance and tumble down half of the stairs. The sound of Eric’s head hitting the steps echoed three times, and he landed with a thud on the unforgiving floor. Blood spilled from his mouth, and as the world went dark, the sound of Layla’s laughter echoed through his mind. 

The sound of thumping down the stairs woke Paige with a start. She hastily got out of bed and went to examine what the noise was. As she stood at the top of the stairs, the sound of Layla’s childish giggle reverberated throughout the walls. Eric was lying there at the bottom of the stairs. Blood spilled from his mouth, and the smell of stale beer wafted through the air.

Paige gasped and placed her hand over her mouth, trying to stop herself from being sick. It was happening. The thing she feared the most was happening right before her eyes. Her husband had relapsed and fallen down the stairs in his drunken state. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but she was sure this would be the last.

Getting a dog had made no difference to him at all. Did he think he could go straight back to drinking after doing one good deed? After what he’d done? 

Paige stood motionless for a moment, the sound of laughter subsiding. She shook her head and made her way down the stairs to her unconscious husband, tears filling her eyes. She turned him onto his back and smelled his breath. Nothing other than the faint smell of blood. But how could that be possible? How could she smell beer so clearly, yet his breath be free of it?

“Eric? Eric!” She tried to shake him awake. Judging by the bruising that was already beginning to form on his face, he had taken quite the fall. Eric moaned as he opened his eyes. “Eric, what happened? Look at me!” She held his face in both hands, trying to get him to focus on her. His eyes were hazy, just like they had been when he was drinking. 

“Bed. Layla. Agõ—” Eric fell unconscious again before he could finish his sentence.

Paige gently repositioned his head on the floor and turned around. As she did, Layla appeared, her mouth gaping open like a hungry predator. A cold force pushed its way through Paige and rendered her in the same state as her husband. 

As the family lay in slumber, an eerie presence stealthily moved their bodies up the stairs, putting them back into their beds one by one. While on the sofa, Bert observed as Callum was forcefully dragged away from him along the floor.

With his ears perked up, he let out a low growl and bared his teeth.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Callum awoke in a haze. The vivid dream from the previous night had left him with a headache that throbbed with every beat of his heart. The intense light from the autumnal sun flooded his room, forcing him to shield his eyes. Rubbing them vigorously, he looked around to see if Bert had joined him overnight. Of course, he hadn’t. His door was shut, though he had no recollection of his mother closing it when she put him to bed.

He licked his lips and looked down at the sheets. A strong smell of perspiration lingered in the air, and a blanket had been carelessly thrown aside. As the clock ticked, Callum’s memory of his dream became fragmented, but he remembered feeding Bert turkey slices from the refrigerator being a part of it. 

Bert.

His new best friend was just downstairs, waiting to be woken by the embrace and kisses Callum was so desperate to give him. Callum kicked the remaining blanket off himself and got out of bed. Glancing in the mirror, he looked like he’d spent the night swimming. Sweat drenched his hair, and his face was flushed. He rubbed his nose, opened the door, and headed for the stairs. Déjà vu struck the boy as he passed his parents’ bedroom, anticipating something happening, but he wasn’t sure what. Passing their door, he abruptly halted and turned his attention to his parents’ bedroom door. It was slightly ajar, just enough for the boy to peep in and see if they were awake. 

Under the covers were two lumps, both rising and falling, rising and falling. Callum could hear the faint sounds of deep breathing. They were both fast asleep. Good. The sound of quiet snores came from the bed. He assumed it was his father. During his younger years, Callum had grown accustomed to the loud, obnoxious sound of his father’s snores, as much as it aggravated him. But now, the sound of quiet snoring gave the boy a sense of comfort. His father was finally relaxed, and judging by the slow rhythmic movement of breathing, so was his mother.

“I love you,” he whispered and continued his way downstairs. 

At the bottom of the stairs, he noticed a stain on the floor. It was red—like blood. He looked down and examined the stain. Confused, he knelt, and the smell of iron hit him like a truck. With a gagging sensation overwhelming him, he swiftly rose to his feet and made a beeline for the kitchen. No sign of Bert. 

Perhaps he’s in the front room, Callum thought to himself. The sun shone through the windows, bathing the kitchen in a soft, golden glow. Callum looked toward the window. The glass seemed to shimmer in a glow of its own. 

“Maybe,” he began, “maybe this is the start of something new. Maybe our prayers were answered after all.” Making his way toward the window, he tilted his head back to take in the sight of the cloudless blue sky. “I miss you, Layla.” He bit down on his lip, trying to hold back the tears, when the sound of lapping came from the hall. 

Bert was licking at the red stain that lay on the floor. 

“Berty, no!” Callum called out and rushed toward the dog to stop him before he made himself sick. A trip to the vet on the first full day of owning him would have been a disaster. Bert ignored the boy’s cries and continued to drink. Callum took hold of the dog by the scruff of the neck and pulled. He knew it wouldn’t hurt him; he had seen plenty of videos of momma dogs lifting their pups by the nape to carry them somewhere.

Bert stood his ground and continued to lick, unaware that the boy was even there. Between the smell of iron and the sounds Bert was making, it was enough to make the boy vomit in his mouth. His cheeks puffed out as he tried desperately not to throw up on the dog. Breathing in heavily through his nose, Callum swallowed with an audible gulp. He shook his head, stuck his tongue out—bad idea—and pulled harder on the nape of Bert’s neck. This time, Bert came back with him, making him fall on his ass. 

“Ouch!” Callum yelled out. Bert turned his head at the sound of Callum in pain. He wagged his tail and licked Callum’s face. With each lick, the odor intensified. Struggling to keep the dog at bay, Callum lay down and rolled onto his front. Bert sniffed at the back of his head and licked up the sweat from the previous night. 

“Berty, stop. That’s enough.” Callum’s voice was muffled as he pushed himself into the cold, hard floor. Struggling to breathe, the sensation of being licked stopped. He turned over and saw Bert sitting beside him, his mismatched eyes focused solely on the boy. Red stains marred his muzzle.

“We need to clean you up, boy. We need to—” Callum heaved mid-sentence as Bert licked his lips clean from the crimson stain. 

“Callum? What’s going on?” Paige stood at the top of the stairs, gazing down at her son and dog. Before Callum could respond, Bert let out an excited bark and bounded up the stairs toward her. She recoiled in an instant. 

“No! Down!” she demanded. Bert stopped immediately and sat on the stairs. Getting to his feet, Callum wiped his face. He glanced down at the floor where the puddle had been. Bert had licked it clean. It was as if there was never anything there. 

“Are you hungry?” Paige asked.

“Yeah,” Callum said vacantly, his eyes wide.

“How does some bacon sound?” 

“Great, Mommy.” Callum made his way to the kitchen. Panic ran through his veins at the thought of his new best friend becoming sick because of his negligence, and his stomach felt heavy at the image of Bert licking up what Callum could only assume was blood. But where had it come from? Bert bounded back down the stairs and joined the boy by his side. 

In the kitchen, Callum took a seat at the table. Paige turned on the Keurig. The smell of coffee soon filled the air. 

“Why are these out?” she asked as she lifted two empty bowls from the floor. “Did you do this, Cal?” 

Callum looked at his mother, and his dream came flooding back to him like a tidal wave. 

“No,” he said, rubbing his temples. “But I did dream about feeding Berty this morning.”

Brow furrowed, Paige stared at him with concern in her eyes. “Are you sure it was just a dream, honey?” 

“I’m sure.” Callum yawned.

Paige washed the bowls, then went to get a bottle of creamer from the refrigerator. Before closing the door, she paused for a moment. Callum kept his eyes on his mother as she rummaged inside the fridge.

“Did you feed this to Bert, Cal?” She held a pack of open turkey slices in the air. Looking up, Callum’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. He nodded slowly, unable to grasp whether this was yet another dream or reality. 

“It was a dream, though, Mommy. I promise.”

Paige looked at him, then at the packet, then back at him. “But this is a brand-new packet. I hadn’t opened it yet.”

Licking his lips, Callum repeated that it was just a dream.

“Okay, Cal. I think someone may have had another episode of sleepwalking.” She returned the open meat packet to the refrigerator. Making her way to the cupboard, she pulled out the usual mug for her morning cup of coffee. 

Callum looked down at Bert, who sat obediently by his side, still licking his lips. His floppy ear and mismatched eyes elated the boy’s heart, making him almost forget the disgusting sounds and smells that had ridiculed him not even five minutes prior. 

“Are you going to come for a walk with us today, Mommy?”

“Not today, sweetheart. You and your dad can go. Have some boy time.” Paige kept her back turned to her son as she spoke and ran her finger along the rim of the mug.

“Are you okay, Mommy?” Callum asked, though he already knew she would lie to him. There was clearly something up with her. Her hair was down and knotted…and did she also have that same flushed look he did? The warmth of the kitchen caused Callum to sweat. 

“I’m gonna feed Berty and then shower, Mommy,” he said. 

“You need to wait for me, baby. Let’s have breakfast first, then I’ll get you ready.” 

“H’okay.” Callum got up from his seat, headed toward the refrigerator, and pulled out the turkey slices. Bert followed closely behind. 

Reenacting his dream, Callum tore at the turkey slices, placed them in a bowl, and put it down on the floor. In an instant, Bert lapped up his meal, licking the bowl clean—for a second time. Paige filled a second bowl with water after pouring creamer into her mug and handed it to her son. He placed the bowl of fresh water down next to Bert, expecting the dog to drink like his life depended on it, just like he did in his dream. Instead, Bert turned his nose up at it and sat staring up at Callum. 

“Why don’t you both sit on the sofa and watch some TV while I cook this bacon?” Paige said. 

“Okay. Come on, Berty. Let’s go cuddle.” Callum and Bert skipped their way into the lounge and snuggled up on the sofa. At first, Callum recoiled when Bert placed his muzzle on his lap, but the warm comfort of his fur pulled at the boy’s heartstrings. As he turned on the TV, Callum put his hand on Bert’s head and relaxed into the sofa. The sound of the television and sizzling bacon reverberated through the house.

Eric woke in a cold sweat. His face felt as though it had taken a beating from Mike Tyson. He groaned as he rolled over, holding his cheek and wincing at the pain. The smell of bacon filled the air, churning his stomach. He groggily sat up in bed, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. Wiping sweat from his brow, he got out of bed, his head heavy. 

“What the fuck?” he muttered, making his way out of the bedroom. He looked back at the vacant bed, the sheets soaked in stale sweat. He didn’t doubt that Paige had gotten out of bed early to avoid the stench that radiated from him. It was just like when he’d been in the deepest depths of his addiction. He’d planned to drink the night before, but tiredness had swarmed over him like a nest of hornets, sending him into an early snooze.

His dreams had been vivid. The image of Layla standing behind Bert replayed through his mind. Though it was just a dream, it had completely distorted his concept of reality. What was real? He didn’t seem to know anymore.

The temptation to drink was growing inside of him, swelling as each moment passed. He was supposed to be rewarding himself for getting the dog and taking the first big step toward saving his family. But what if he wasn’t able to keep it to just one? What if it would have been the gateway to his downfall? Bert was supposed to be the end of that. The dog was supposed to be the savior of his family.

He ran his hands through his hair and licked his lips. Hands shaking, he looked down and noticed his birthmark had changed. There appeared to be teeth marks around it—the kind that only a dog could make. Had Bert bitten him during the night, and he hadn’t realized? No, surely not. Paige had shut their bedroom door before they both clambered into bed. That much he remembered. 

“I’m keeping it shut to keep that dog from being able to climb into bed with us,” were her exact words. She’d even gone and shut Callum’s bedroom door, which was very out of character for her. Paige firmly believed in leaving the doors ajar at night as a precautionary measure, in case anything unexpected happened. The last thing either of them wanted was to be unable to hear one of their children crying out for them.

Had getting Bert been a bad decision? He didn’t think so. It was the best thing he could have done for them all. Though Paige had been resistant to the dog, he knew that with time, her heart would grow fond of him, and she would allow him to become a part of their family. 

With his head throbbing, Eric clambered down the stairs, his vision somewhat blurred. It was like he’d drunk eight bottles of beer followed by several vodka chasers the night before. With his hand pressed firmly against the wall to keep his balance, he edged toward the kitchen. 

“Morning, babe,” he groaned. Paige turned around, her face white and eyes sunken. She looked like how Eric felt. 

“Morning,” she said vacantly. Eric made his way to the kitchen table, slowly pushing the stool out of his way. The sound of the chair being pulled across the hard floor cut through him like a knife. He sat down and placed his head in his hands.

“We have any Ibuprofen?” he asked. 

“You hurting?” Paige’s face dropped as her eyes finally took him in, and her mouth hung open. “What happened to you?” 

“Don’t know. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, though. My head.” Eric placed both hands on his crown, trying to massage the ache away. Paige made her way over and examined his face. 

“What did you do last night?” As she asked the question, Eric could hear her take in a deep breath. She was smelling for booze. That sniff had always been a giveaway that she was on to him. 

“I haven’t been drinking, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said bluntly, looking into his wife’s eyes. In his drinking days, Eric wouldn’t have maintained eye contact for more than a few seconds at best. She stared back into his bloodshot eyes. He knew she was trying to decipher if he was telling the truth. All alcoholics had their telltale signs that they were back on the bottle, but those who were trying to uncover the truth also had their own little telltale signs. Paige was no exception. She looked back and forth between his eyes, trying to see if his pupils were dilated and that his focus was solely on her. 

“You think I’m lying,” he said.

Paige took in another deep breath, gulped, and said, “No. I don’t think you are. I had this dream last night, though. Are you sure you didn’t get out of bed in the night?” 

“I’m sure. I’ve been fast asleep next to you all night. Where else would I go other than to the bathroom?” Eric paused. “Which I didn’t.” He placed his hand delicately on his cheek. There was a noticeable swelling beneath the surface of his skin. “I need ice. And I had a dream last night, too. It’s starting to come back to me a bit.” He closed his eyes.

“I dreamed you fell down the stairs,” Paige said. “I woke up to the sound of you crashing, and when I came out of the bedroom, there you were—lying still on the floor with blood pouring from your mouth. And Eric, there were bowls out this morning. Callum said he dreamed he got them out for Bert, but they were here.”

Eric opened his eyes and gaped at her. “That’s crazy. Because I dreamed I fell down the stairs after seeing…”

“Eric?” Paige said, but Eric stared blankly into the corner of the room. “Eric, what did you see in your dream?” 

“Nothing. Nothing. God, my face hurts.” He clambered out of the chair, retrieved a bag of peas from the freezer, and placed them directly on his cheek. The coldness was an instant relief. 

Paige hesitantly returned to the bacon and called for Callum to join them. The boy and dog came bounding into the kitchen. 

“He’s such a clever boy, Mommy! He can roll over, give a paw, sit, lie, and high-five. He’s so clever!” Callum squealed with delight. The sound warmed Eric’s heart. 

“That’s great, baby. Now, let’s sit down and eat breakfast.” 

Callum saw his father for the first time that morning. He took a step back and let out an audible gasp. “Dad, what happened?” 

Thinking on his feet, Eric came up with the excuse that he’d walked into the door frame when he’d gotten up to use the bathroom during the night. Of course, a door frame wouldn’t do that much damage to a person, but his son was only eight and easily swayed. 

Sitting around the table, the family conversed about their plans for the day, both wife and son glancing over at Eric and his battered face. Paige would stay indoors and get on with the housework, while Eric and Callum would take Bert for a walk and go to the pet shop to purchase some proper dog bowls. 

All the while, Bert lay by Callum’s side, his eyes fixed upon the kitchen doorway with his ears pinned back. Paige monitored the dog cautiously as he lifted his head and sniffed the air.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Ready to go, champ?” Eric asked as he attached Bert’s leash to his collar. The collar had clearly seen better days and would need replacing soon. Its worn black leather reminded Eric of an old leather armchair he and Paige were given when they first moved in together. It was a gift from her parents to make sure that their daughter had somewhere comfortable to relax in the evenings. The armchair, with its faded upholstery and worn armrests, held the memories of countless evenings where Eric would lose himself in a haze of alcohol-induced oblivion. The things he remembered still haunted him to this day. 

“Sure, Dad. I just need to put my shoes on.” Callum came running down the hall, his raincoat hanging off him as he threw himself to the floor and eagerly shoved his feet into sneakers. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, which was to be expected in the Georgia climate. Rainstorms would come and go frequently, and in their wake would be the glorious rays of the fall sunshine. 

Rain fell outside, its heavy droplets crashing down with unyielding force. That wouldn’t be enough to stop Eric from taking Bert out for his first walk with his son, and neither would the excruciating pain that shot through his face. The frozen peas hadn’t done much for the swelling in his cheek, and his eyes remained bloodshot. 

“Ready!” Callum called out as he jumped up to his feet. “Are you ready, Berty?” He looked down at the dog, who patiently wagged his tail with his focus on the front door.

How often had Cliffton managed to get him out of the house for a good walk? The old man was clearly in no fit state to be walking for miles, and with Bert being an Australian shepherd, he needed the regular exercise. Eric pondered the thought of Cliffton walking along the street with Bert obediently by his side. The dog had been trained well; there was no doubt about that. Perhaps they had walked around the block several times a day. The walk wouldn’t have been too strenuous for the old man, but then again, who was Eric to say what the guy was and wasn’t capable of? 

“How’s your face?” Callum turned to face his father after placing his hand on the door handle. The boy’s eagerness was practically radiating off of him.

“It’s fine.” Eric winced as he spoke. His head throbbed as he looked upon his son, standing there in pure childhood innocence. Callum’s brow was furrowed. That was good. At least Eric hadn’t completely blown his chances of rekindling the love of his boy. If that happened, he would have nothing left to live for, other than Paige, and their marriage was hanging by a thread.

“Are you going to put a raincoat on?” Callum asked. 

“I’m hot. The rain will cool me down.” Eric walked toward the door with the leash in his hand and Bert by his side. 

“Can I hold him, Daddy?”

“Not just yet, Cal. Let’s see how he walks first, and if he’s good and doesn’t pull, then you can walk him for a bit.”

“I’m sure he won’t. He’s a good boy. Aren’t ya, Berty?” Bert lifted his head and wagged his tail at the sound of his name. “Please, Dad.” 

Eric bit down on his lip and repeated that if Bert was good for him, then Callum could have his turn. Pouting, Callum opened the door. The sound of wind and rain cascaded into the residence. Eric took a breath and rolled his shoulders, preparing to take on the horrendous weather that awaited them. He wore only a pair of jeans, tanned boots, and a sweater. There was no doubt in his mind that the downpour would leave him soaked from head to toe. But he didn’t care. It would make him feel alive. 

Just like alcohol.

“Wait!” Paige cried out from behind them as they took their first steps out into the harsh weather. She passed Eric and Bert, knelt down to Callum, put a beanie on his head, and gave him a tender kiss on the cheek. 

“To keep you dry, baby.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Mommy.” Callum could barely get his words out as Paige pulled him in close. Eric looked down at mother and son and licked his lips, the taste of blood caressing his tongue. 

“See you soon, babe.” 

Paige got to her feet and turned to face him. Her eyes seemed vacant. 

“Be careful.”

“We will be. I’m just going to take them to the pet shop and grab some bowls and possibly a new collar. I don’t know how long this one will last him.” Eric nodded toward Bert.

Ignoring the dog, Paige walked by Eric without a second glance. “Love you,” she said bluntly as she walked back inside.

Braving the elements, Eric and Callum pushed through the howling wind and sheets of rain.

Paige stood in the hall as Eric closed the door behind her, taking the one and only thing worth living for with him. Holding her elbows for the comfort she so desperately craved, she made her way to the kitchen.

The dark clouds that formed outside cast a dreary atmosphere in the room, so different from the one that graced her several days before. The weather was always temperamental at this time of year, an accurate reflection of her own emotions. She was willing to give Eric the chance to redeem himself, though nothing he could do would fully make her forgive him. Deep down, she still blamed him for the death of their daughter. Deep down, a part of her still believed he could have done more. 

But you tried and failed. What’s wrong with you, woman? her mind screamed at her as she pulled the chair from the table and took a seat.

The dishes sat on the countertop, emitting a faint smell of bacon as they waited to be cleaned. The boys had both eaten well. She, on the other hand, had taken two small bites from a streaky slice of bacon and given the rest to Callum. Neither of them had noticed her lack of appetite. While she continued to bear the burden of losing their daughter, her husband and son seemed to be on some type of road to recovery. 

But they haven’t seen what I’ve seen, her thoughts echoed as she bit down on her fingernails. They were becoming pale, and she could see the weight loss beginning to show in her hands. They looked gaunt.

Her curiosity compelled her to cast a glance into the darkened corner of the room. The image that she had seen there in days gone by was one that still haunted her. The echoes of those haunting voices still resounded in her mind. Was she beginning to fall into the depths of depression? A place where all her monsters came out to play and would never let her rest? Bouncing her knee, Paige clasped her hands, bowed her head, and prayed. 

“Universe. Please bring me some guidance. What should I do? I was so sure I would leave with Callum. Leave and go to my parents and be safe. But then he brought that dog back with him. I haven’t seen Callum tic once since. He hasn’t smiled like that since we lost…” She trailed off, unable to bring herself to speak aloud that she had lost her daughter.

Her hands trembled as a single tear traced its way down her cheek. She licked her chapped lips and pulled off dead skin with her teeth. Paige had always taken pride in her appearance, a trait her mother had taught her from a young age. 

“You must always look acceptable when out in public, dear. Especially when you’re with a man.” But her mother despised Eric and hated it when Paige put in effort for him, whether it be physically or emotionally.

Paige cast her mind back to when she first found out about her husband’s addiction. The couple had sat down for dinner out at some fancy restaurant in Macon that she couldn’t remember the name of. Paige told Eric she’d found empty bottles in the trash bag, along with small plastic bags. She could constantly smell mint and cologne on him, and his persistent teeth grinding was something that couldn’t be ignored. All the telltale signs that he was suffering in silence.

Eric had caused a scene and walked out, leaving her to front the bill with a half-eaten steak in front of her. After she had collected herself, the servers had shown mercy and gotten the manager to waive her bill, allowing her to leave.

“We lost our daughter,” she whispered. The emotions washed over her like a tidal wave, and despite her efforts, she couldn’t swallow them down. It was like someone had sucked all the moisture from her throat and left her as dry as the Sahara. 

Paige closed her eyes as she took an unwanted trip down memory lane. Crazy how the mind could wander off on its own accord with no input from the host. Her lips trembled as she recalled the night she screamed at Eric to leave. Callum had heard it, that much she was sure of. For the following weeks, the boy wouldn’t go near his father. It’d broken Paige’s heart.

As she wiped the tear that had escaped her eye, she could no longer hold back the flood of emotions and broke down, her body shaking with sobs. Her cries filled the empty room with piercing echoes as she held her face in her hands.

She blinked away her tears and hastily wiped the snot dripping from her nose. How classy. Casting her attention to the window, desperate to avoid the haunted corner of the room, Paige saw that the black clouds were growing thicker and darker, bringing with them a heavier downpour. How long would Eric and Callum really be gone for?

Eric’s concept of time had always been warped, a side effect of the substance abuse, she assumed. He had a troubled past, something that she thought she could help him recover from. But there was only so much she could do to try and help him heal through his trauma and deal with his demons. It was down to him to really make the changes in his life, which he had. Or, at least, she thought he had. Bert was a symbol that Eric hadn’t given up on their family, but it wasn’t enough to convince her.

The clouds glided gracefully in the heavens above her, reminiscent of a ballet dancer’s elegant movements. Paige realized that none of them had paid a visit to Layla’s grave since her burial. Was that why she was having visions of her? Was her spirit angry at the family for not visiting her and showing their signs of remorse and love? Or was it all a part of her subconscious, telling her to visit the ultimate resting place of her daughter?

“What kind of mother am I?” Paige spoke aloud in the empty room. Without hesitation, she took the car keys from the countertop and made her way to the front door, grabbing the raincoat that hung limply on the hook. Hastily unlocking the car, she could feel the raindrops pelting against her skin as she dashed through the downpour. What she found next would confirm her suspicions.

In the passenger’s footwell were four cans of beer. Eric had been drinking again in the car. Paige felt her world crumbling yet again as the car filled with the pungent aroma of stale beer.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The rain didn’t let up while Eric and Callum walked Bert for the first time. They headed toward Showsbury Park while being relentlessly pelted by heavy raindrops. Bert had demonstrated that he could behave on a leash, not to anyone’s surprise. The dog was almost perfect in every way, a true representation of why dogs were called man’s best friend.

He politely relieved himself on several lampposts, sprinkling his scent in his new area, letting other canines know there was a new dog in town. He never once pulled, and when he came into contact with a beast of a rottweiler, he simply sat and patiently wagged his tail, allowing the rottie to sniff him and be on his way.

Eric wondered if Bert had ever had much contact with other dogs. He doubted it. Cliffton was getting on in years and wasn’t able to look after just the one dog, let alone a multitude of them. That didn’t matter, anyway. There was no way that the family could support another dog. They were already struggling to make ends meet as it was.

Layla’s funeral had taken a hefty $7,400 out of their savings, money they had hoped to one day put toward both children’s college fees. Now, they only had one child to support, and even then, they knew that nothing in this life was certain. Who was to say they wouldn’t lose their son before he reached his college days? As quickly as the thought entered Eric’s mind, it left as Callum spoke.

“Can I walk him yet, Dad?” he asked eagerly, splashing his way through the multitude of puddles forming on the sidewalk. 

“Once we get to the park, you can, Cal. There’s still some road to go, and I’d rather we had no accidents.” An image of Callum being crushed by an eighteen-wheeler flashed through Eric’s mind. Ridiculous. There was no way an eighteen-wheeler could fit on these narrow roads. 

“Take my hand,” Eric said, holding out his free hand to take hold of Callum’s. The boy complied. Together, father and son headed toward Showsbury Park. Together, father and son would overcome whatever obstacles the world threw at them. 

“Nickel for a story, mister?” a voice called from the other side of the street. 

Eric turned his attention to the man who lay on the sidewalk, leaning on an elbow with a brown bag held up in the other hand, something he’d never seen in this town before. It was evident that the guy was heavily under the influence, and he almost certainly concealed bootlegged liquor within the brown paper bag. Moonshine was something Eric had always stayed away from, even during his drinking days. Funny how one still held onto some standards, even in the depths of their darkest times.

“Who’s that man, Dad?” Callum asked. 

“Ignore him,” Eric replied bluntly, picking up the pace. 

“Is he drinking?”

“Let’s keep moving. Come on, Bert.” Eric pulled on the leash, urging Bert to keep up with them. The dog pulled back and stopped in his tracks, yanking Eric back with him. Eric’s teeth ground together, his knuckles turned pale as he gripped the leash. “Bert!” 

“Don’t shout at him, Dad.” Callum yanked his hand from Eric’s grip and put his arms around Bert’s neck. The dog never once took his gaze off the screaming man, who was now spouting some nonsense about repenting for their sins and that the good lord and savior, Jesus Christ himself, was coming to punish all for the sins of humanity. Eric bit down on his lip as a small rumble of thunder sounded overhead. 

“I’m sorry, Cal. Let’s just get away from that guy. Come on.” He held his hand out once more, waiting for his son to take hold of it. The stranger screaming into the pouring heavens reminded him too much of a former version of himself. Callum looked up at his father, determination and defiance in his eyes. Eric expected the boy to burst into a fit of tics. High emotion always seemed to trigger them, but Callum stood strong and still with no signs of TS taking over. 

“You need to say sorry to Berty, too.” He folded his arms as his voice quivered. It was clear as day that the boy would fight to the death for his dog. Unbelievable when they hadn’t even spent an entire day together. That was all the confirmation Eric needed that he’d made the right decision for his son.

Not even twenty-four hours prior, Callum’s Tourette’s would have overcome him, and he would have never questioned his father. Now, as he stood in the pouring rain with arms folded and a stern face, he looked like a man that any father would be proud of.

Under any other circumstance, Eric would have snapped at the boy for talking back to him. But this was different. Witnessing the fiery passion in his son’s eyes reignited a dormant spark within him that he hadn’t felt in years.

Hell, he had never felt this type of spark before. 

“I’m sorry, Bert.” Eric squatted down and gave Bert a scratch behind his floppy ear. Bert’s head rested comfortably in Eric’s hand, and his eyes shimmered with a radiant glow as he looked up at him. Eric looked toward Callum. The boy smiled down at his father, uncrossed his arms, and wrapped them around Eric’s neck. The rain on his raincoat dripped down Eric’s neck as he held his son. 

“What a heartwarming sight, y’all. Come one, come all, see the love of father and son. But it’s too little, too late. Repent. Repent. REPENT!” 

“Come on, boys. Let’s go.” They hurried down the sidewalk, leaving behind the man who was convinced that the world would bathe in the blood of sinners.

Upon reaching Showsbury Park, Eric stopped suddenly, pulling Bert back, almost choking him and nearly causing Callum to fall back flat on his ass. His birthmark seared, the pain too intense for him to ignore. He dropped the leash and let go of Callum’s hand simultaneously. Squatting, Eric clenched his arm, trying to ease the pain in any way he could, frantically pulling the sleeve of his sweater up, hoping that the cool patter of rain would soothe the blistering sensation coursing through his veins. The pain only intensified. With labored breathing, he bit down on his tongue, trying to suppress the scream that wanted so desperately to escape him. 

“Dad? Are you okay?” Callum asked. Concern filled his voice as he looked down at his father. Bert stood beside him, looking down with curiosity in his eyes, and cocked his head. 

“I-I’m fine,” Eric struggled to speak as he held his breath. With each word he said, a thousand fiery needles stabbed at him. The teeth marks had vanished, and his birthmark was changing color. He wouldn’t be able to ignore it for much longer. A trip to the doctor’s office would have to be made, regardless of the cost.

Sheet lightning arched overhead, bringing a rumble of thunder that shook the early afternoon sky. Eric looked across to where he and his boy would have been if that birthmark hadn’t stopped them. Where they should have been walking Bert, conversing about the wonders that life held. It was the golden opportunity he’d been waiting for—a chance to break through Callum’s walls and finally get him to open up.

Callum would have felt at ease being in the company of his father and dog. Bert would have made him feel safe enough to speak his thoughts and emotions. He’d missed his opportunity, at least for now.

All because of this fucking birthmark. His mind cursed at him. 

Sodden from the rain, Eric tried to get to his feet, but stumbled back down to the ground, landing harshly on his knees. Bert let out a whine as he watched him try to regain some pride. 

“Is it your mark, Dad?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’m fine.”

An image of a catastrophic inferno suddenly blitzed through Eric’s mind. The park was on fire. He could hear the screams of two people echoing through the wind, a man and a woman. A voice broke through the screams—one that was all too hauntingly familiar. 

“Agõnia. It’s here, Eric. It’s here.”

Eric put his hands over his head and pulled down hard. The burning sensation that shot through his spine caused him to cry out in agony. 

“Dad!” Callum yelled and rushed to his father, trying to pull his hands away from his head. Eric fought against his son and grabbed a clump of hair. His scalp stung with each pull Callum gave. Bert took hold of Callum’s raincoat and pulled along with the boy, and together they broke Eric’s grip.

Eric looked into his son’s eyes, gasping for air. A weak smile formed across his face. If Callum didn’t care, then he wouldn’t have tried to help him. In an instant, the searing pain that shot through his forearm and spine diminished, like a flame being doused. Bert’s tail wagged vigorously, and he let out a muffled bark, drowned out by rain pounding on the sidewalk.

“This is what Mommy is afraid of,” Callum said bluntly. 

“What?”

“She’s afraid of you relapsing.” He spoke the last word slowly, sounding out each syllable. “I’ve heard her praying to the universe. She doesn’t want you to be like this, Dad.” He dropped his head and wiped at his eyes.

Eric gingerly got to his feet and pulled his son in for a hug. His heart pounded through his temples as the thought of his wife believing he was heading into a relapse coursed through his mind. He had tried to bring the family together. He had tried to save their daughter the best he could. She wasn’t the only one suffering. He was suffering, too.

Wishing he’d taken a drink the previous night, Eric placed a hand on his face. The swelling hadn’t gone down completely yet, and he couldn’t help but wince whenever he touched it.

“Has Mommy said anything else about it?” he asked. His voice shook as he tried to control his emotions. 

“No. I only heard her praying before bed.” 

That’s why she’d kicked him out of their bedroom, so she could pray to a higher being and ask the universe to grant her wish. Eric forced himself to swallow the wave of emotions that threatened to overflow. 

“Are things going to be like they used to, Dad?” Callum looked up at his father, his eyes shining with tears. Eric stared down at his son, wondering what he meant. His son, who was becoming a man day by day. He shook his head. 

“No, Cal. No, they aren’t.” 

“I didn’t like it when you were drinking. Layla didn’t like it when you were drinking.”

Layla.

Was that the first time Callum had spoken her name since she died? And when had they ever seen him drink? He’d been sober since the day Callum was born, so what was he talking about? Had it been a case of shared memories mixing in with reality? Eric pulled his bottom lip with his teeth, making it bleed. 

“I haven’t had a drink since the day you were born, Callum.” He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I promise.” Maintaining eye contact, it was as if the pair were speaking telepathically. Callum didn’t believe him. He could see it clearly.

“Okay, Dad.”

Eric shook his head and picked up the leash that lay in a puddle. “How about we go to the pet shop and get Bert some bowls, yeah? It’s horrible out here.” 

“Okay.”

Bert whined as he looked upon father and son. It was as if the dog could read the room and pick up the emotions that flooded them both. 

“Can I walk Berty?” Callum asked. Eric agreed.

The trio made their way to the pet store, which was no more than a ten-minute walk away. There were things to be discussed with Paige when they got home. He would have to convince her, with every ounce of his being, that he wasn’t heading down the road to relapse. 

After purchasing two rather stylish blue bowls for Bert, the trio hastily made their way home, trying to escape the dreadful weather as soon as possible. Callum held Bert’s leash in his right hand, his grip firm. The dog walked delightfully by his side the entire way. 

“He’s a good boy. Right, Dad?” 

“He sure is.”

“I can see home!” Callum exclaimed and ran toward the house. 

“Careful, Cal!” Eric called after him, but the boy didn’t hear him. Bert picked up the pace beside Callum and kept up effortlessly, never trying to overtake and yank the boy off his feet. As Callum and Bert splashed through a multitude of puddles, a voice sounded in the boy’s ear. 

“C-C-Cally? It’s me. Look down, Cally. I’m here.” Callum stopped and dropped Bert’s leash, captivated by Layla’s voice fading into the symphony of raindrops and howling wind. Bert stopped with him, confused by the sudden hold-up. Callum looked all around. His father was pacing toward him with the bag from the pet store swinging wildly.

A sudden force pulled Callum’s head down, making him look at the puddle at his feet. Inside the water was the rippled vision of Layla. She smiled. Callum’s breath was abruptly stolen, leaving his lungs gasping for air. His hands trembled at the sight of his dead sister. 

“Agõnia, C-Cally. Agõnia,” her voice, like a gentle breeze, whispered in the wind. He shivered. 

“Callum? Why have you stopped, bud?” Eric called out. His father’s call went unanswered as he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dead girl in front of him—her eyeless stare, jagged teeth, and the maggots wriggling out of her pale flesh. The rippled vision swayed her head back and forth, back and forth.

Bert barked wildly as Eric approached them, foam spilling from his mouth as he stared into the puddle. Eric halted, dropping the bowls in shock at the aggression Bert was showing. Callum closed his eyes tightly as the vision in the puddle let out an ear-piercing scream. As the scream came to its climax, the image of Layla gobbling him up and banishing him into an eternal darkness flashed behind his eyelids. 

As Eric picked up the bag, Callum grabbed hold of Bert’s leash and ran home, screaming.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Paige put the car into park and yanked the parking brake. The sound of it pierced through her like a knife. She hurried out of the car and ran to her daughter’s grave. As the storm neared its end, raindrops danced softly through the atmosphere.

Paige approached Layla’s final resting place just as a sudden gust of wind knocked her off-balance and forced her to her knees. Her hands caught her just in time. Pushing herself up, Paige forced herself to continue, tears streaming down her face. Her eyes were bloodshot from the relentless crying she’d done in the car on the way to the graveyard. 

Paige looked down at the mound of dirt that covered Layla’s coffin. It would be at least a year before they could order a headstone. Dead flowers lay scattered across the grave. The storms had left it looking neglected. Paige covered her mouth, trying to mask the sobs as she got down on her knees. 

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” She buried her head in her hands. The weight of a mother’s guilt settled upon her like a dense fog, suffocating and burdening her. Shaking her head, trying to ward off the intrusive thoughts that plagued her, Paige wiped at her face and collected the array of dead flowers. The dark clouds overhead dissipated, allowing a streak of sunshine to burst through. The sunlight shone directly on the girl’s grave.

Was this a sign from the universe that her daughter’s spirit had forgiven her? She hoped so. 

“I love you. I’ll always love you,” Paige whimpered as she collected the final rose and placed it into the dead pile by her side. The grave was clear of all flowers and was now just a mound of dirt with a simple plaque, which read: 

Layla Anne Thomas

02-05-2001 — 07-17-2005

There hadn’t been enough room on the tiny plaque for the family to put in a message of remembrance. That would come when the headstone replaced it. Paige didn’t want to have that conversation, much like the one she knew was awaiting her as soon as she stepped foot through the door. But that wasn’t something for her to worry about now. For now, the only thing on her mind was her daughter’s forgiveness for not visiting her final resting place. For letting her grave become tattered with dead flowers and ugly weeds.

“You seem awfully upset, ma’am.”

A voice behind her caused Paige to jump and drop the weeds she was pulling. She turned around and saw an elderly gentleman standing over her, barely able to keep himself up with the aid of a walking stick. In his mouth was a pipe that let off a sickly odor. His mismatched eyes reminded her of Bert.

“Please don’t take offense,” he said, “but may I help you?”

What an odd request. Page hadn’t spent any time in graveyards. Nobody close to her had died until Layla. Her grandparents had passed away years before she was born. Was this a regular occurrence between people who were mourning the dead? She stayed silent for a moment, gazing into the stranger’s eyes. Something seemed odd, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. 

“I know it’s a strange thing, a stranger coming up to you in your time of need, offering help to tidy your daughter’s grave.” His eyes widened. “Sorry. I assume Layla is your daughter.” Smoke billowed from his pipe as he puffed away on it and cast his eyes on the plaque.

“Y-Yes. Layla is…was my daughter.”

“Not was, ma’am. Is. See, even though a physical being has left this world, their soul is still a part of it. Your daughter may have died, yes. But her soul still lives on. It still lives on through your love. You still love Layla. Am I right in thinking that?” The old man spoke in a calming tone, wearing the marks of time on his face. He’d apparently lived through it all, lending credibility to his words. Paige stared up at the man, taking in each word he said.

“Of course, I do. She was my baby girl. She⁠—”

“That word again. There is no such word as was when it comes to family, ma’am. She is still your daughter. Your love for her still runs deep in your veins. As long as you still love her, she is still here. Do you understand, ma’am?” he asked with an almost toothy smile.

“I understand, sir. Thank you. I needed to hear that,” Paige replied as she got to her feet. “Thank you for your offer, but this is something I need to do on my own.” She looked down at her feet, unable to make eye contact again as she refused the friendly man’s gesture of kindness. Would he have been able to help anyway? He could barely stand on his own two feet.

“Don’t feel bad, ma’am. I understand. Some things in this world we must do alone. Sometimes we turn to others for a helping hand, when in reality, we must face those challenges ourselves. Taking aid from another may hinder us at times. It’s what creates a strong character.” Rain began to fall once again, and the old man looked to the sky as they both were sprinkled with raindrops. His smile widened as the sun shone down on him, creating an almost otherworldly aura. “Your son will be fine, ma’am. Have faith and believe that the dog is right for him.”

Paige’s head snapped up at the mention of Callum. How could he know about her son? And how could he possibly know about Bert? But instead of the old man, she found only emptiness. It felt like someone had sucked the air from her lungs. She was alone, not a soul in sight. 

“I’m going crazy,” she whispered to herself. Had her mental state declined so rapidly without her realizing? She stood and looked around the garden of stones, her heart pounding. Not only was she getting visions of her dead daughter, now she was seeing and conversing with old men. But the smell of his pipe was still so potent.

If someone had seen her talking to herself by her daughter’s grave, they would have thought she belonged in an institute, being given regular medications and electroshock therapy. With trembling hands, Paige let out an ear-piercing scream. Birds ceased chirping and flew into the air, scattering in an instant. She glanced over at the oak tree where the flock had been sitting. Layla stood there, her head looking down at her feet, her hair covering her face.

“I need to go,” Paige muttered. “I need to get help.” 

“You don’t need help, Mommy. E-e-everything is okay. I’m here now. Agõnia is here,” Layla’s voice spoke out from her grave. Paige turned her attention back to the plaque.

“No. No,” Paige gasped, stepping away from the grave her daughter spoke from.

“Don’t run, Mommy. You can’t hide. You can’t hide from the truth.” Another harsh gust sent a shiver down Paige’s body. She turned and sprinted back to the car, hazarding one last glance over her shoulder as she opened the door. The oak tree where Layla stood was barren.

She started the engine, released the parking brake, and pressed down hard on the accelerator. Speeding out of the graveyard, Paige headed toward safety. But nowhere was safe for her now.

With anticipation, Eric settled onto the couch, waiting for his wife to return so they could have a conversation during which emotions would run high. Not only did they have to discuss what had just happened to Callum by the puddle, but Eric had to bring up what the boy had told him. If not, it would have eaten away at him like maggots.

How often had she prayed that he would stop drinking? How long had she believed he was back on the bottle? He picked at the bed of his thumbnail. A speck of blood appeared, but that didn’t stop him. He’d become numb to the world around him, his mind too preoccupied with the image of Paige on her knees by the bed, hands clasped together and praying hard that he would be off the bottle. Her prayers were useless. He’d been sober for years now. But all that would change if she didn’t believe him.

What was the point of fighting his addiction if she already believed he wasn’t over it? Who was he trying to prove himself to? Eric had never had anyone to do that for. Without an authoritative figure in his life, it didn’t matter what he did. Until Callum was born, from that day on, he felt a true sense of responsibility, and with the addition of Layla, that responsibility only grew. But he wasn’t responsible. Never had been and never would be. 

Eric had always tried to take the easy way out of life. He drank himself stupid so he became numb to his emotions, and if that didn’t work, then the sweet white line fever would soothe him. His leg shook as he cast his mind back to his past. All the parties. All the drugs. All the booze. How he missed it. 

I wouldn’t hear the voices or see Layla if I had a drink. It would numb and blind me from it all. 

Callum and Bert were upstairs. He could hear them bouncing around on the floor. The closed door muffled the sound of Callum’s laughter. Usually, Eric would want to make sure his son kept the door open. Easier to hear any commotion or roughhousing going on, though there was no longer a younger sibling for him to roughhouse with. But today, he didn’t want Callum to overhear the looming conversation he didn’t want to have. It could turn ugly.

“She won’t believe you,” a deep voice said from behind him. “Might as well drink, Eric. Enjoy your final days.”

Eric turned around sharply and faced the back of the sofa and the wall. “Who are you?” he whispered. “Leave me alone.”

A slender silhouette appeared on the wall, its arms swaying as if engaged in a mysterious ceremony. A red mist descended over Eric’s eyes as anger swelled up inside him. Clenching his fists, he threw a punch at the wall. The pain that shot through his knuckles took his breath away.

“You can’t hurt me, Eric. You’ve never been able to hurt me. Remember when you were thirteen?”

Eric held his throbbing fist underneath his armpit. He stood and turned to face the shadow that spoke to him. “What are you talking about?” 

“You remember, Eric. I know you do. I see it in your mind’s eye. Look down and remember.” As the words echoed through Eric’s mind, his birthmark let out a searing pain, much worse than any before.

He dropped to the floor and writhed around like a worm in bleach. Biting hard on his tongue, he gasped for air, trying to scream but unable to. The sensation of strong, bony hands constricting his throat left him unable to speak. 

“Remember when those boys held a knife against your throat when you didn’t pay up for the weed?”

Eric’s eyes widened at the memory of being jumped in an alleyway after school. 

“Remember when you closed your eyes, and they just stopped and seemed to vanish into thin air? That was me, Eric. That would have been too easy a way out of this life. You must suffer, you must–”

The front door opening interrupted the voice, causing the grip around Eric’s throat to release and the shadow to disperse. 

“Eric!” Paige called from the hall. Panting and sweating profusely, Eric called back that he was in the front room. The pain in his forearm ceased immediately. He got himself up onto the sofa and ran his hand through his hair. The sound of Paige’s heavy footsteps approached. Eric lifted his head, despite feeling like an anvil was hanging off it. His temples throbbed and blurred his vision.

“What are these?” Paige asked sternly. Blinking hard, Eric tried to focus on what she held out in her hands. “What are these?” Paige raised her voice. Eric swayed on the sofa, disoriented. It was as if he had just taken twenty shots of vodka. 

“I can’t see,” he said. 

“Because you’ve been drinking again!” Paige yelled and threw the cans of beer at him. They landed on his crotch, knocking the breath he’d finally collected right back out of him. He held his manhood as the throbbing intensified. 

“Explain yourself now, you piece of shit.” There was a momentary pause as Eric’s vision cleared and revealed Paige’s face, red and shiny with sweat. “Or I’m leaving with Callum right now.”

“No. You can’t,” Eric gasped. “I haven’t been drinking. I promise you.” 

“So why does the car reek of old beer, and why are there cans there?”

Eric explained what had happened with the spillage through gritted teeth. Paige stood unblinking, her shoulders pulled back.

“You expect me to believe that?” she said. 

“I do. We’ve already lost so much. Why would I risk losing more?” Eric looked up at her, flicking his eyes back and forth between hers. They were beautiful, just like Layla’s. 

“How many more chances do you think I can give, Eric?” 

“I haven’t been drinking. You have to believe me.” 

“I don’t have to do shit!” she screamed as spittle flew from her mouth, landing on Eric’s cheek. “I need to be alone.” Paige turned and walked upstairs.

Eric lay back on the sofa, stunned. If only he’d picked up the cans of beer when he got out of the car. Then things would have turned out differently. But fate had its course to run, and for Eric, it was all about to change for the worse.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The following afternoon, Paige sat in Allum’s Diner with three old colleagues from Carthouse Daycare. Joanne, Emma, and Kayleigh had all kept in contact with Paige after she left the job to be a full-time stay-at-home mom. They admired her for it, but they didn’t admire her losing her daughter.

“We’re all so sorry to hear about what happened, Paige,” Kayleigh said as she took a sip from her blended coffee.

“Why didn’t you call any of us sooner? We could have all come over and supported you as much as we could,” Emma followed up. Her dazzling green eyes filled with tears.

“I know,” Paige said. “But I just didn’t know what to do.” She held onto her cup of coffee, the warmth soaring through her cold hands.

“I can’t believe she’s actually gone. Poor baby, but you can’t blame yourself. We all know you did everything in your power to save her,” Emma offered her reassurance.

“I tried so hard. One minute, we’re all singing Happy Birthday to Callum. It was amazing seeing my boy’s eyes light up as the kids sang for him. He looked so happy, so full of excitement, that he was one year closer to being a big kid. Then all I can remember is trying to pull Layla out of the pool. I’ve never struggled so much in my life.” Paige took a sip from her drink, trying not to get lost in the image of Layla’s lifeless body lying in front of her.

“How has Eric taken it all?” Joanne asked.

The mention of his name made Paige recoil. “We’re struggling. He’s struggling.”

“I can only imagine, babe. He hasn’t…you know…” Joanne left her words hanging in the air, hinting at Eric’s previous drinking problem. Paige gazed into her eyes, knowing that her own windows into her mind would give away the harsh truth.

She had never told the group about Eric’s drug problem. Emma would have reported him to the police, and then they would have questioned her, which would have been a fiasco. But that was one of many reasons why Paige adored Emma so much. Paige admired her straight and narrow ways, especially in today’s climate.

Joanne placed her hand on Paige’s shoulder. Before Paige could respond with a gentle nod, Kayleigh spoke.

“I’ve never seen you look like this before. I know it sounds stupid, considering all you’ve been through. But it’s like your entire personality has been stripped. It’s heartbreaking.”

“Kayleigh!” Joanne snapped.

Kayleigh had never been one to use the best words in times of need. Once, when a student had fallen flat on her face and cut her head open, Kayleigh’s advice to her was not to worry about it, as she wouldn’t bleed to death. How she’d managed to get her job was beyond Paige.

“It’s fine,” Paige said. “She’s right. I’m not the same. I miss being able to feel. Being able to smile genuinely. The only thing that makes me even close to happy right now is Callum, and he’s suffering worse than the rest of us.” Paige began to cry at the mention of her son’s name.

Emma stood from her chair and embraced Paige from behind. “Callum is the luckiest boy in the world to have a mom like you. You know that, right? You’re the most caring, funny, giving, selfless, lovable person any of us has ever met. Right, girls?” Both Joanne and Kayleigh nodded in agreement as they wiped their tears away. “You are so loved by us all. Please never forget that. I can’t believe you went this long without telling us.” Paige felt Emma’s embrace tighten as her shoulders shook from crying.

As the group huddled around Paige and shared in her grief, Layla stood by the corner of the diner. Watching. Smirking.

Eric pulled at the rotisserie chicken he’d had delivered from the local supermarket. He’d planned for the delivery to arrive while Paige was out having coffee with her friends—something she desperately needed. She needed to clear the air, to get the weight of the world off her chest, and Eric knew that for the time being, she wouldn’t be able to do that with him.

Their argument the previous day had plagued his mind overnight, as well as the image of Callum running and screaming. He hadn’t slept, tossing and turning, wondering whether his wife would actually take his son and leave him. He wouldn’t blame her, but he couldn’t let that happen. She blamed him for Layla’s death; he knew that. But grief could do crazy things to a person’s mental state.

The void left in the family would never be filled, but Bert was the closest thing to doing it for the time being. Paige had accused Eric of drinking once again, and that hurt, but he had to show her that he still cared, that he wanted the best for his family, and what better way to do that than to surprise her with chicken noodle soup for dinner when she returned home?

They hadn’t spoken before she left, though Eric had tried. Paige had slept with Callum in their bed once again while Eric had taken the sofa. By the time he'd woken, Paige was already dressed and ready to go. She planted a kiss on Callum’s head, hugged him, and told him she’d be back soon.

Callum had just stared at his father as he stood in the doorway to the living room, watching his wife close the door behind her. Callum had asked if he could play in the backyard with Bert and if his father was okay. Eric said yes and told him he was fine.

Paige had been out for several hours, so there wasn’t much time to prepare dinner. As Eric pulled the last of the chicken off and placed it onto a plate, the trees outside swayed in the Georgia breeze. He looked out the kitchen window, admiring how gentle the outside world looked. The world was delicate. Life was delicate. He knew that all too well.

As he took in a deep breath, he opened the window to allow Mother Nature into the house. The wind blew through his hair, making him feel almost rejuvenated. He could hear Callum laughing and Bert barking. Bliss.

Eric made his way to the cupboard and fetched out the chicken broth and noodles needed to make dinner. With everything in the pot and the gas on, he stood back by the kitchen window. With closed eyes, he took in the scent and feel of his surroundings.

That was when an all-too-familiar voice carried itself in the breeze.

Agõnia.

Eric snapped his eyes open, expecting to see a living nightmare before him. Nothing. He ran his hands through his hair, grinding his teeth. How long would he be tortured with this word he had never heard of?

“It has to mean something,” he said to himself. Eric turned and examined the kitchen. On the table was Paige’s laptop. He turned the gas down to give himself time to do some research. He had to find out what the word was if it was the last thing he did. Perhaps if he found its origin, then it would explain something, anything.

Eric opened the laptop and typed ‘Agõnia meaning’ into the web browser.

Web page can’t be found. An error he hadn’t seen in years. Had the Wi-Fi gone out? He looked to the top of the screen. Full bars. He refreshed the page but got the same result. Biting his lip, Eric typed in ‘videos of dogs’. The page loaded immediately, displaying multiple links to dog videos. He sat back in the chair, darting his eyes back and forth on the screen.

Once again, he typed in ‘Agõnia meaning’, and again, the page could not be displayed. Rubbing his hands over his sandpaper stubble, Eric pondered the screen, hoping the thing would come to life and display at least a definition for the word. The wind outside picked up, making the room grow colder by the second.

As the broth bubbled away and Eric sat at the table, Layla stood in the corner of the room. Watching. Smirking.

“Catch, boy!” Callum shouted as he threw an old tennis ball across the backyard. There had been tension in the air since he and his father had returned home after his vision of Layla in the murky puddle. He’d stood at the top of the stairs with Bert, listening to his mother accuse his father of drinking again. They had dashed back into Callum’s room when he heard Paige say she needed time alone.

The boy had spent the rest of that afternoon matching his mother’s sobs, which flowed from her bedroom like a river. Eric had come up the stairs an hour after Paige. They had shut their bedroom door to spare Callum from overhearing their argument. But that didn’t stop the boy. Outside the bedroom door, he and Bert had sat huddled together, wrapped in a blanket, straining to hear the conversation through the cracks in the door frame. Despite the muffled voices, Callum was able to catch what he assumed were the important parts.

He had asked his father on that rainy day if things would go back to how they were before, back in their darkest days. Eric had said they wouldn’t, but that was far from the truth, and he knew it. The conversation between his parents had stretched on, the fading sunlight replaced by the moon's ethereal glow. Callum and Bert had retreated to bed when the boy struggled to keep his head up. As the night wore on, they forgot about dinner, as more urgent concerns weighed on their minds.

Bert chased after the ball Callum threw, wagging his tail as he ran. Jumping in the air, the dog caught it before it could land. He was athletic as well as smart. Was there anything this dog couldn’t do?

“Good boy! Bring it back,” Callum bent his knees and patted them. Bert bounded back with the ball in his mouth and dropped it at Callum’s feet.

“You’re so clever,” Callum cooed as he squatted down and petted Bert’s head. Bert nestled himself into the boy and panted happily. Their bond was growing stronger by the day. Callum had never felt so protected and loved, other than by his parents—but even they couldn’t protect him from the image of Layla that haunted him. Could Bert? Callum sat himself on the floor and wrapped his arms around his canine companion. Bert sat, rested his head on the boy’s shoulder, panting. The warmth of his fur was comforting, like a blanket.

“I love you, Berty,” Callum said as he nuzzled his face into thick fur. Bert let out a small bark in response. “You understand everything I say. Don’t you, Berty?”

The dog stood and locked gazes with Callum. Those mismatched eyes were captivating, so full of life, wonder, and love. Just like his mother’s had been before Layla was taken from them. Callum held Bert’s stare. As the duo stared at each other, the sun blasted down on them, shrouding them in warmth. A comforting breeze filled the air, sending small goosebumps down the boy’s spine. Bert whimpered.

“It’s just the wind, Berty.” Callum lifted his hand to comfort the dog, but Bert was on edge. His eyes were no longer on Callum’s, instead staring behind him. Callum turned around to look at what had snatched Bert’s attention. There was nothing there. Nothing but the back door.

“It’s okay, Berty. Nothing there.” Callum turned to face Bert, but the dog lowered his head and tucked his tail between his legs. Callum got to his feet and picked up the tennis ball.

“Here, Berty, catch!” He threw the ball once again, hoping to distract Bert from whatever was upsetting him. Bert ignored the ball and continued to whimper, staring at the back door to the house. There was still nothing there, but Callum slowly went over to investigate.

With each step, the breeze seemed to grow colder. Mere feet away from the back door, a huge weight took Callum down from behind. The air was stolen from his lungs as he tried to cry out. Fear took over; it was Layla—he knew it.

Before the boy could figure out what was going on, a barrage of licks assaulted the back of his neck.

“Berty!” Callum called out through a hysterical fit of laughter. He tried to roll over, but Bert pushed his weight down on him, stopping him from doing so.

While the dog calmed his owner with his smothering kisses, he kept his eyes on the back door. Standing there was Layla. Watching. Smirking.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Halloween was upon them. Callum got dressed in the Dracula costume his mother had bought him the year before. It was tight across his back but still fit. The boy hadn’t grown much in the past twelve months. He’d worn the same one last year, when Paige had taken him and Layla, who was the cutest pumpkin in town, trick-or-treating around Atlanta. The drive was long, but the haul of candy they’d returned with had been more than worth it.

As Callum put his white lace shirt on, Bert sneaked up from behind and playfully licked the boy’s neck.

“Berty, stop that.” Callum giggled. Bert sat back and looked up at the boy. Callum had begged his parents to buy Bert some type of Halloween costume. It hadn’t taken long for Paige to give in and take them to the pet store to buy him a spider outfit. 

Bert looked cuter than ever. He’d caught on to his commands quickly and was more than happy to comply with anything asked of him, as long as there was a tasty treat on offer at the end of it.

His favorite treat was jerky strips, which Callum made sure there was always a secret stash of in his bedroom. Sneaking the dog a midnight snack had become a tradition. A sweet gesture that served as a testament to the love Bert received. Callum opened his drawer and threw a small strip toward him. Bert jumped up and caught it effortlessly.

“Callum, are you ready to go?” Paige called from downstairs. 

“I still need my makeup, Mommy,” he called back. Everyone knew a realistic Dracula needed pallid skin, just like in the movies. Just like Layla. 

“We don’t have time, honey. Come on, let’s go.” 

“But, Mom—” Debating back and forth with his mother would have only upset her, and time was candy. Bert made his way downstairs, the legs of the spider costume bouncing with each step. Concerned that the lack of makeup might cost him a few tasty treats, Callum took the fake fangs that sat on his bed, put them in his mouth, swung his cloak over his shoulders, and made his way downstairs. 

His parents stood by the front door, and neither had dressed up. Strange, but not surprising. They had always dressed in some kind of gimmicky outfit on Halloween night for trick or treating. His mother would go as a witch and his father as Frankenstein, most of the time. A simple witch’s hat and Frankenstein mask would have sufficed, but neither seemed to be in the mood. They both looked exhausted, with bags under their eyes and their shoulders slumped.

“Are you not dressing up?” Callum sulked. It was bad enough that he would be trick-or-treating without his little sister and now, with his parents going in a regular old sweater and jeans, the death of Layla hit him hard.

He missed her dearly, though he was grateful he’d had no more visions of her since the puddle. That was good. He’d overheard his mother say that she visited Layla’s grave that night and that his father should do the same. Perhaps her visit had calmed Layla’s spirit and sent her off to heaven, where she belonged.

“Not this year, Cal. We didn’t have time,” Eric said bluntly, holding out a plastic pumpkin for him. Callum took it and looked down at his feet, unable to look his father in the eyes. He had promised Callum, promised him, that history would not repeat itself. Words were one thing, Callum knew that, but it was action that mattered. 

“Where’s Berty?” Callum muttered.

“What, honey?”

“Where’s Berty?”

“I can’t hear you, Callum. Speak up.” Paige’s voice took on a hint of annoyance, something that Callum wasn’t used to hearing. He lifted his head and turned his gaze toward her. She stood with tightly folded arms, tapping her foot as if waiting for a bus. Callum clenched his fists. 

“Where’s Berty?” he said through clenched teeth. Paige dropped her eyebrows and shook her head. 

“Take those teeth out, Cal. We can’t hear you,” Eric reiterated.

Callum dragged the fake fangs out of his mouth. A trail of drool hung from them. He licked his lips and spoke. “Where’s Berty?” His voice cracked as he pouted and tried to hold back tears, worrying that their patience may be running thin. Paige shot a glance over at Eric, squinted her eyes, and mouthed something that Callum couldn’t make heads or tails of. 

“I thought he was with you, sweetie,” Paige said, taking on the calm demeanor that Callum was used to. She unfolded her arms, stepped toward him, and placed her hand on his shoulder. 

“He came downstairs, and I followed,” Callum said as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. 

“Bert!” Eric called. There was no response. Strange for a dog that was so highly obedient. Bert had always answered the family’s call, regardless of where they were or what was happening. 

“Berty!” Callum echoed. The sound of claws against the hard floor filled the air as Bert came out of the kitchen and joined the family. He was strolling with his head dropped. Strange. Bert had always come bounding to Callum when he called him, tail wagging and eyes bright. He made his way toward the boy, sat next to him, and gave a single lick to his hand.

“What’s wrong, Berty?” Callum asked, panic in his voice. Bert looked up at him, his eyes mimicking Eric’s sullen gaze. 

“What’s happened to his costume?” Paige asked.

“He must have chewed the leg off,” Eric sighed and made his way to the kitchen. 

“He wouldn’t do that. Would you, Berty?”

“Never put anything past a dog, honey,” Paige said. “After all, they are animals, no matter how well-trained they are.” His mother was clearly still reserved about Bert, though he’d shown her nothing but love and affection. Bert looked back and forth between the family as they spoke.

“I can’t see it anywhere,” Eric said as he returned from his inspection in the kitchen. “There’s no way he could have eaten that.”

“He’ll get sick! We need to take him to the vet if he’s eaten all that!” Callum’s eyes widened at the thought of Bert’s stomach becoming so inflamed from the spider’s leg that it caused him to combust. 

“He’ll be fine, honey. We’ll keep an eye on him. Now, let’s go.” Paige ran her hand through Callum’s hair, then went and opened the door. The refreshing evening wind swept through the hallway. Callum gave his father a pleading look.

“He couldn’t eat all that, Cal,” Eric said. “I promise.”

The family walked out the door together, Bert with his tail between his legs. Something had happened to him while he was in the kitchen. Callum had no doubt about that. With his fake fangs back in his mouth and pumpkin bucket in hand, Callum walked into the moonlit night, ready to stock up on candy. 

They pulled up on Collingwood Street an hour after leaving the house. The journey had been silent, other than Callum talking to Bert in the backseat and constantly reassuring him that everything was okay. Everything wasn’t okay. Eric had stayed silent and focused on the road ahead, chewing on his lip and becoming lost in his own thoughts.

When he’d gone into the kitchen to look for the piece of costume Bert had torn off, he’d come across a pool of blood and fur. It had paralyzed him. The smell of chlorine and iron had hit him hard as soon as he had entered the room. An icy coldness had filled the air, penetrating deep into his bones and causing an involuntary shiver.

Something had happened to Bert in that kitchen. The blood and fur belonged to him—there was no doubt. Yet the dog appeared to be fine. No blood stains on the costume and no limping or excess licking. He couldn’t have panicked and checked the dog as he wanted; that would have only upset Callum further. As soon as the family returned home, Eric would have to make sure to send Callum to his room to feast on the candy he’d collected. If he saw the blood and fur that was scattered across the floor, he would lose his mind.

Bert hadn’t been the same since coming out of the kitchen. It was clear as day. So, what had happened?

Agõnia. Layla’s voice echoed through his mind.

As Eric ran his hand through his hair, Paige nudged him, pulling him back into the real world. 

“Ready?” she said without looking at him.

“Sure.”

“We’re ready!” Callum said from the back seat. Excitement filled his voice as Eric looked in the rearview mirror to see his son smiling from ear to ear. Bert seemed to be back to his normal self, wagging his tail with eyes bright as the stars and his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Good. That was good.

Eric opened the door. Across the road was a group of teens, dressed as everything from slutty cats to mummies to werewolves. They were drunk as could be, stumbling down the street, singing some up-to-date tune that Eric didn’t recognize. He licked his lips and looked on in awe. They were having the time of their lives, and why? Because they were drinking. 

“We’ll go down this way,” Paige said as she got out of the car and spotted the teenagers. 

“Okay, Mommy. Come on, Berty. Let’s go!” Callum ran toward the first house on the corner. They always started at Mrs. Locket’s house and made their way up to Mr. Johnson, who lived at the end of the street in an over-decorated home and was the kindest of them all. He would always give the kids a generous handful of candy. 

“Halloween comes but once a year. Let the children enjoy themselves,” he would say, while giving the kids a generous handful of candy. The family would then cross over to the other side and make their way back down to the car, by which time both buckets would be overflowing with candy, sweets, chocolate, and the dollar bill that the woman, whose name they never knew, would give. But this year, there was only one bucket to fill. 

Could put that money toward some more beer. She’ll give Callum more because of what’s happened. You know she will, a voice in Eric’s mind said as he turned his back on the teens to catch up with his wife and son. 

Together, the family made their way up the street collecting candy. Every resident gave words of support and condolences, yet none of them mentioned the new addition to the family. It became monotonous after the fourth house.

“I’m gonna head back to the car.” Thinking quickly, Eric made up an excuse to go back to the car to take in the enticing aroma of alcohol.

“But we still have a whole side of the street to go,” Callum protested, stopping in his tracks. People had given him so many extra treats that his pumpkin was nearly overflowing already.

“I’m not feeling too good, Cal.”

“It’s okay, Callum. You and I can keep going.” Paige looked at Eric. “Take the dog with you.” Paige placed her hand on Callum’s back and ushered him along. 

“But I want Berty to stay with me.” Callum pushed against her, planting his feet on the spot. 

“How about we ask Mr. Johnson if we can borrow another basket for extra candy?” Paige said, trying to persuade the boy to stay with her. 

“That sounds like a great idea,” Eric said. “Your mom can’t walk Bert, and you want extra candy, right?” 

“But…but I want people to see how clever Berty is.” Callum’s lip quivered. The sight of his son pleading broke his heart in two. He knew that putting his child’s needs before his was the right thing to do, hard as it might be.

“Okay, Cal. Let’s show the street what Berty is made of.” Eric smiled and placed his hand on Callum’s back, guiding him up the street to the next house.

Callum made Bert sit and give his paw at the next six houses they visited. Residents would giggle and applaud the dog and child duet, telling them they should enter a talent contest. The sight of it warmed Eric’s heart. He believed he’d truly taken the first steps to mending the family he had broken.

As they crossed the street to come back around the other side, Eric’s birthmark began to burn. He came to a halt and clutched his forearm. Pulling his sleeve up, Eric looked down at the birthmark. Darker.

“Are you okay?” Paige asked as she brought Callum to a stop to look at her husband.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just. Jesus, it’s never burned like this before,” Eric said through gritted teeth.

“Do we need to go home?” Callum asked.

“No, Cal. You carry on.”

“Do you want to head back to the car with the dog?” Paige’s voice had taken on a concerned tone.

“I…I don’t know.” As Eric gripped his forearm tighter, Bert began to bark hysterically, though no one in the street seemed to notice.

“Come on, take him and go.”

Eric cast his attention to Callum, who stood there staring at him. The boy gave a weak smile and nodded. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too.”

With those words, Eric turned on his heels and made his way back to the car. At first, Bert resisted, but with several sharp pulls of the leash, he complied and walked by Eric’s side. 

At the car, Eric opened the doors and let Bert into the backseat. The dog jumped in and immediately lay down and rested his head. Eric glanced around, looking for the group of teens and breathing in deeply. The intense pain in his forearm dissipated. 

The teens hadn’t gotten far; they were just a few houses down the way. Sitting on a wall, they played loud, obnoxious music. Temptation dug its claws into Eric. Would it be such a bad thing to ask a group of kids for some alcohol? Of course it would be, but rational thinking had dissipated when he’d spotted the booze.

One girl, dressed as a cat, caught Eric staring at them. She hollered at him, calling him out for being a pervert and to, as she so kindly put it, “Fuck off before I call the cops.” 

Eric brushed off the remark and got into the car. 

Sitting and waiting in the darkness, Eric could hear Bert’s breathing. He was in a deep sleep. It wouldn’t be too long before Paige and Callum returned. What was he to do in the darkness for roughly fifteen minutes? He turned the key so he could crank the radio and listen to some tunes to take his mind off the need for a drink.

As a local ad came through the speakers, Eric glanced in the rear-view mirror. Layla sat in the back seat, grinning from ear to ear. 

Paige and Callum continued trick-or-treating after getting a fair-sized bucket from Mr. Johnson. The man had told them not to worry about returning it and for Callum to make sure he filled it to the brim, giving him another handful of candy. By the time they had reached the fifth house, it had gotten too heavy, and Paige had to start carrying it for him.

They reached number 227, where a little old lady had lived for as long as Paige could remember. Callum rapped his knuckles on the door and bared his fangs in preparation. The door opened and revealed a face Paige had thought she would never see again. Standing there, with a pipe in his mouth, was the kind stranger from the cemetery. His eye caught the moonlight, shining with a mysterious glimmer. 

“Trick-or-treat!” Callum hissed as he impersonated the prince of darkness. 

“My my, what a scary Dracula. I'd better give you some extra candy so I can keep my blood.” The old man reached behind the door and pulled out five chocolate bars. He gave them to Callum, who put them into the bucket that Paige held. She stood, stunned.

What were the chances that she would bump into him once again? 

“Thank you,” Callum said. 

“Wait. Before you go, here.” He reached behind the door once more and produced a handful of chocolate coins. 

“Wow! Thank you, ma’am!” Callum put the coins in the bucket, wished a good evening, and went to the next house. Paige fixated her eyes on the old man as he calmly puffed on his pipe, the smoke swirling around him, creating a mysterious atmosphere.

“Goodnight, Paige.” He smiled as he closed the door, leaving Paige in a world of wonder. She turned on her heels and called after Callum, warning him not to go too far without her. Halloween was a night of spooky and unexplainable events, but this was just plain weird. And had Callum called him ma’am?

She caught up with him as he waited to knock on the next door. Paige placed her hand on his shoulder, knelt beside him, and asked why he called the gentleman ma’am. 

“She’s a lady,” Callum answered like it was obvious. Wide-eyed, Paige repeated herself, to which Callum gave the same answer. A chill ran through Paige’s spine. Her head pounded. She looked down the street toward the car. A faint mist surrounded it. 

“Come on, honey. I think that’s enough candy for one night.” She took hold of her son’s hand and led him toward the car. 

“But the bucket isn’t filled,” Callum whined as he tried to pull against her. She tightened her grip on his wrist. “Mommy, you’re hurting me.” 

“Sorry, baby.” She loosened her grip and looked down at her son. His eyes filled with tears, and his bottom lip trembled. How could she have done that to her own boy? Guilt crashed into her like a tsunami. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to.” She pulled him into her and ran her hand through his soft, delicate hair. “I love you.” 

With a sniff, Callum echoed her heartfelt words. 

“I-I-I love you, too, Mommy,” Layla’s voice sounded from behind Paige.

Paige froze; the hairs on her neck and arms stood on end. She turned her head slowly back around to the house they had just visited. Rocking on the rocking chair on the porch was Layla. Her smile took the breath from Paige’s lungs. 

“What are you looking at, Mommy?” Callum asked. 

“N-nothing. Let’s go.” Shaking, she turned and hastily made her way to the car, holding Callum as close to her as possible. 

“You can run. But you can’t hide, Mommy.”

Swallowing down her fear, Paige ran to the car. The candy in the bucket didn’t spill.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

In the backyard, Eric sat on the decrepit wooden chair by the swimming pool. The air was crisp, giving the sense that summer was well and truly behind them and fall was here, soon to be followed by the cold winter. He held a can of beer while the remaining cans sat on the ground by his feet. From the murky water, his reflection stared up at him.

Much time had passed since Layla’s death, yet it still felt like yesterday to him. Yes, Bert had come along and somewhat improved their lives—or, at least, Callum’s. That was one good thing. But his marriage to Paige was hanging by a thread once again, just as it had in the past.

Eric cracked open the can of beer and took a huge swig. The taste was refreshing, sending him into a euphoric state. 

“God, I’ve missed you,” he said to the can as he held it up in front of him. The arguments between him and Paige had become more toxic as time went on. They were both grieving for their daughter, but the constant accusations that he was drinking again were too much for him to handle. He licked his lips, the taste of beer caressing his tongue. Taking another hefty swig, he looked toward the kitchen window to see if there were any prying eyes. It looked empty. 

“Accuse me now, and you’d be right,” he muttered. He felt another chilling breeze brush against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. “You’ll keep me warm. Won’t you, baby?” He smiled and took another sip.

After just three mouthfuls, the can was already half-empty. Over eight years of sobriety had come to an end just like that. In an instant, his life had changed, just as it had so many times before. 

“She’s caused this. She’s made me go back to this.” Eric ran his fingers through his hair and took another gulp from the can. With tense shoulders, he took a deep breath, inhaling the autumnal air. His eyes swept across the backyard, captivated by the kaleidoscope of hues painting the trees. The sea of green gave way to a stunning palette of yellows, oranges, greens, and reds.

Layla would have loved it. She’d always loved watching the trees change color with Callum. They spent their days either basking in the sunlight outdoors or seeking shelter by the window during rain showers, patiently awaiting the enchanting spectacle of the leaves transitioning. To Eric, it would have been as dull as watching paint dry, but to a child’s imagination, it was spectacular and full of wonder.

Callum would tell Layla that the change in color meant Thanksgiving would soon be upon them, followed by the imminent arrival of the big man in red himself.

This year would be different. There would only be half of the presents under the tree, with only one set of small feet clambering down the stairs to see if the cookies, milk, and carrot were gone. 

Tears formed in Eric’s eyes as he thought about what Christmas would have in store for them. Would they even be together? Or would Paige leave and take Callum to her parents to spend the holidays as a family? 

“Fucking Christmas.” His voice cracked as he sat back in the chair, looking up into the overcast skies above. He closed his eyes and cast his mind back to the Christmas that had changed his life forever. 

The adoption at fourteen by a kind couple who longed for a child of their own had been a stroke of luck for Eric, bringing a sense of belonging and family. The pair could have easily opted for one of the younger children, but they’d decided there was something special about him.

“He’s a gifted one, there’s no doubt about that,” Robert had exclaimed on multiple occasions.

“Such a handsome young man as well. He’ll have all the girls falling at his feet.” Janice would follow her husband’s outbursts.

The couple filled out the appropriate paperwork with no hesitation after meeting Eric. Eric was eternally grateful that the couple had saved him from the shithole he’d become accustomed to. This gave him a chance to build a life worth living and show the world his true capabilities. A chance to show his parents, up in heaven, that he could become a man they would be proud of.

Yes, he had taken drugs. Yes, he had been drinking from the age of twelve, but it wasn’t too late for him. Robert and Janice would guide him and show him the way of a sober life. A life where anyone could become anything as long as they worked hard and put their mind to it.

Life was fine for the new family of three for the first four months. Then Christmas was upon them. Eric woke early and headed downstairs to cook his parents a breakfast they would never forget. A token of thanks, something that they had tried to instill in him since the day they brought him home. With a smile, Eric cooked bacon, croissants, eggs—sunny side up, just how Robert liked them—sausage patties, griddle cakes, and toast. What wasn’t there to love?

Eric cooked away while both his foster parents slept soundly upstairs, the smell of food not disturbing them. Janice had been kicked in the face by a horse at the tender age of seven, and it had left her physically and mentally scarred. All her teeth had shattered on impact, and her jaw and nose had broken alongside them. Though the hospital had done its best to fix her up, and they had done a marvelous job, there was nothing they could have done to save her sense of smell and taste. But that didn’t matter to Eric. He still wanted to cook them the breakfast of a lifetime, even if Janice wouldn’t be able to taste it.

Though he’d been suffering from the usual winter flu, Robert could vouch for it. But a blocked nose and some wheezing wouldn’t stop the festivities from going full force. 

With the food all cooked in a timely fashion, Eric plated up the two breakfasts, placed them on a serving tray, and headed upstairs to surprise his foster parents. The perfect child for the perfect family.

He’d been sober since the day he was brought into their home—something he’d be eternally grateful for. After all, if he had continued following the road he’d been heading down, who knew how he might have turned out? An addict? Homeless? Living on the street and begging people for spare change just so he could get his next fix?

No. That life wasn’t for Eric. His life was here, with Robert and Janice Jones.

Upstairs, the family sat in bed and ate their Christmas breakfast, thanking the lord for bringing them together and giving them the life they so desperately desired.

With full stomachs, they marched downstairs and opened presents. Much to Eric’s surprise, they had bought him a bike. Not bad for a first Christmas with an actual family.

“Thank you,” Eric said, looking at his foster parents with tear-filled eyes, overwhelmed by the love and care they had shown him.

“You’re welcome, champ.” Robert smiled from ear to ear as he ruffled Eric’s hair.

“You deserve it after all you’ve been through,” Janice added, her dimples flaunting themselves as she beamed alongside her husband.

“Can I take it out?” Eric asked.

“Of course. Just stay near the house. Don’t want you falling off and hurting yourself far from home. And make sure you wear that helmet,” Janice warned as she took a sip from her cocoa.

Eric looked at her, bewildered. “A helmet?”

“Goodness sakes, woman, he hasn’t got to that one yet.” Robert chuckled as he placed his arm around his wife.

“Oh, I’ve completely ruined one of your gifts!”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Eric said.

Mom. That word felt so right for him to say. It rolled off the tongue with minimum effort and made him feel warm inside. A feeling he had never experienced before, other than that one time when he was high on meth in the park with the kids from the local middle school. They were a group Eric should have never hung out with, and he was glad to see the back of them, even if he’d enjoyed the high and laughter.

“Mom. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?” Janice nestled herself into Robert.

“It sure does.” Eric smiled.

“It sure does,” Robert echoed.

With the presents all unwrapped and the wrapping paper stowed away in a thick trash bag, Eric got dressed and headed outside, completely unaware of the events that were about to unfold.

In the freezing December wind, Eric rode his favorite gift from the best foster family anyone could have asked for. He was pedaling down the street as fast as his legs would take him when an explosion rocked the entire neighborhood. He ground the bike to a halt and swung around to face the sound.

Where his foster parents’ house once stood, there was now a blazing inferno. An icy wave of terror and shock stole Eric’s voice and left him motionless, unable to do anything but watch in horrified silence. The searing flames devoured his future, the heat so intense that he could feel it from several houses down the road.

Neighbors quickly called emergency services when they saw the Joneses' house alight. Mrs. Byrnes came out and took hold of Eric, assuming he’d try to run into the blistering inferno. Eric sobbed and sobbed in the Byrnes’ kitchen as they tried to console him, while firefighters and paramedics tried their best to save the couple inside. But there was no saving them.

Police reports showed Robert and Janice had died instantly; firefighters found both bodies in the kitchen, merely a charred memory of what they once were.

The cause of the explosion was a gas leak. Robert had ignited it by lighting a cigar—a Christmas tradition of his, according to family. Officers questioned Eric about the events that had unfolded that morning before the Joneses died. Eric informed them that there wasn’t any smell to indicate a gas leak, at least not that he’d noticed.

After a thorough investigation of the house, the police believed it was a freak accident. They released Eric and filed no charges against him.

He returned to the foster home on New Year’s Eve.

What a way to start the new year, Eric had thought.

One moment, he’d had a life filled with great opportunities. The next, he’d been back to square one. It had been all too easy to start with drugs and alcohol again. Falling back into the pit of despair he’d come from, Eric had spent his nights with tears on his pillow, wishing he could bring back the parents he had killed.

I left the stove on. Fucking idiot, look what you did. You deserve to pay. You must pay.

That voice had haunted Eric for years to come, never letting up. Until Paige. 

Lying back in the chair, Eric opened his eyes and felt a strain in his back. He absentmindedly ran his hand through his hair as he took another sip from the can, emptying it. He crushed it, picked up the next one, and cracked it open.

Go hard or go home, his younger voice said from the depths of his mind.

“She’ll never know,” Eric whispered. 

In his bedroom, Callum and Bert played ball together. Bert was the most talented dog Callum had ever seen. Each time he bounced the rubber ball, no matter which direction it ricocheted, Bert was able to jump up and catch it without colliding into any of the furniture. And he didn’t miss a single one.

“Good boy!” Callum cheered and held out one of Bert’s favorite treats. The stash was down to the last three.

Bert bounded back to him, eyes bright, tail wagging, and tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He placed the ball in Callum’s lap and gently took the treat from him. Bert had always been incredibly gentle, not once snatching treats out of his hand or playing too roughly. Callum petted him on the head as the dog scarfed down the jerky. 

“I love you, Berty. Do you know that?” Callum beamed at his dog.

Bert lifted his head and looked deep into his eyes. Callum had read in a book about dogs he’d found at school that prolonged eye contact was a sign that a dog truly loved and trusted him. Or was it his teacher who had told him? He couldn’t remember. 

School.

He hadn’t been back to school yet. His parents had informed the principal that Callum would have a substantial amount of time off to grieve the loss of his little sister. With the holidays fast approaching, Callum wondered if he would have to return in the new year to save his parents from getting in trouble. But that was adult stuff, not anything for him to worry about.

He could tell his classmates about Bert and how smart, cute, and funny he was. Perhaps his parents—more than likely his father—would bring the dog to pick him up after school one day.

Callum sighed. “I wish I could take you to school with me, Berty.” 

“Y-Y-you can’t go back to school, Cally,” Layla’s voice called from under the bed. “N-not without me.”

Bert’s growl reverberated in the air as he bared his teeth. 

“Can you hear Lay Lay, too, Berty?” Callum asked.

“Of course he can hear us, boy.” From the same spot where Layla’s voice had come from, a deep demonic voice resonated, sending chills down Callum’s spine. The urge to vomit overwhelmed him. “It’s not in your mind. It’s all real. Agõnia is upon us, boy. It’s too late. Too late for you all.” A deep chuckle echoed throughout the room.

Callum got to his feet and swallowed the bile that had pushed its way into his mouth. The ball bounced from his lap toward the bedroom door. Bert’s head dropped, his snarl growing more intense as he stared at the bed. 

“Who are you?” Callum asked. 

“I’m your baby sister, Cally. Don’t you remember me?” 

“Layla, I remember you. Of course, I⁠—” 

“Are you sure?” she cut him off, her voice growing distant. A shiver coursed through Callum’s body, causing goosebumps to form on his arms. The room was growing colder with each word Layla spoke. A thick mist rose from beneath the bed, filling the room with the pungent combination of chlorine, smoke, and decay. 

“Smell that, boy?”

“Who are you?” Callum whispered as his breathing became shallow. 

“Why would you want to know? It matters not.” 

“Because I⁠—”

“He’s my friend, Cally. He’s been looking after me,” Layla interrupted Callum as she materialized in the corner. “Would you like to meet him?”

Callum cast his gaze toward her, his eyes wide and shoulders tense. He swallowed and had just opened his mouth to speak when Bert lunged toward the girl. There was a pained yelp as the dog collided with the wall.

“Berty!” Callum screamed. Layla laughed as the dog backed away, still snarling. Foam dribbled from his mouth. 

“Stupid dog.” She smirked. “Alforous is here, boy. Do you remember him?” 

The air filled with Bert’s relentless barking. 

“Berty, stop!” Callum screamed at the top of his lungs and ran toward the dog. 

“Stupid girl. Keep your mouth shut.” A dark figure appeared behind Layla and held her by the throat. Its tall, slim figure reminded Callum of a skeleton. A hood covered its face, though menacing yellow eyes, reminiscent of a snake, peered through. The pupils were like slitted openings into hell.

The figure turned its head slowly toward Bert and smiled. Callum could make out sharp, sadistic teeth that would put any werewolf to shame. It didn’t seem to have a tongue. Blood trickled out of its mouth and down its chin.

A deep chuckle rumbled from it as Layla took hold of its hands. In the grip of her attacker, her face contorted in agony, her once-pallid complexion now a ghastly shade of blue. Callum shrieked like a banshee as he watched his little sister dying in front of him again.

Paige stood in the kitchen, watching Eric drink from behind the curtain. He looked toward her, and she quickly crouched out of view. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t seen her. She was about to peek out again when Callum’s screams echoed from upstairs, along with Bert’s barking.

“Callum?” she yelled out and rushed up the stairs, the sound of Bert’s barking growing louder and more ferocious. 

He’s killing him. Oh my god, he’s killing him, she thought. The dog was trouble. She had known that from the start, and now it was too late.

Paige reached Callum’s bedroom door and tried to open it. It was jammed, only opening an inch or so. “Callum! Callum, open the door!” she screamed, but her voice was drowned out by all the noise. She looked down through the small gap she’d created and saw Bert’s rubber ball blocking the hinge side of the door. 

“Callum!” She took a step back and kicked the door as hard as she could. The door only bounced off the ball, seemingly stuck.

With a concoction of sweat and tears streaming down her face, Paige tried to push her full weight against the door once again. It still wouldn’t move any further. The image of Bert tearing at her son’s throat flashed before her eyes. Realizing she wouldn’t be able to open the door herself, she ran downstairs and out to the backyard to get Eric.

When she ran out the back door, he was nowhere to be seen. Even from out here, she could hear Callum screaming, and she was certain that one of the neighbors would call the cops soon, reporting child abuse at the Thomas residence. Paige wiped her eyes and hastily made her way back inside. 

“Callum!” a new voice cried from upstairs. It was Eric. Paige could hear him banging on Callum’s door.

“Eric! Help him! For fuck’s sake, kick the door in!” she hollered up the stairs. Eric stood back from the door, warned Callum to stay back, and put a hefty boot through it. The door broke off the hinges, and the chaos ceased.

Paige ran to her son, who was curled up in a ball on the floor, weeping. 

“Callum! Oh my god, Callum, what happened?” She kissed him countless times on the head and examined him. He was clammy, his hair drenched in sweat. This was a sight she was becoming all too familiar with.

Callum’s tics took over as he rolled his eyes back and forth relentlessly, making a humming sound as he did so. 

“That dog needs to go now!” she screamed at Eric. 

“N-no. H-he s-saved m-me. L-Layla,” Callum stuttered as he shook violently in her arms. Bert tried to get close to him, but Paige slapped him across the face, hard. The dog whimpered and retreated, his head bowed and tail between his legs. 

“Leave, now!” she shouted.

“What the fuck is happening?” Eric said as he swayed on his feet. 

“You’re fucking drunk! You brought the dog into this house! You killed Layla! Go! Both of you. Just. Fucking. Go!” Tears streamed down her face as she let her emotions out. 

“Bitch,” Eric said calmly. “You absolute fucking bitch. After everything I’ve done.”

“All you’ve done is wreak havoc ever since I met you,” Paige spat as she held Callum close in her arms. His shaking grew stronger. Eric stood in silence, Bert by his side. He looked down at the dog, who sat with his tail underneath him, a splatter of blood on his snout. He clenched his fists and ground his teeth.

“Fine. We’re going. Come on, Bert.” He grabbed Bert by the scruff of his neck and escorted him downstairs. 

“M-Mommy. N-no. B-Berty,” Callum whispered as he closed his eyes, his breathing slow.

“It’s okay, Callum. That dog isn’t good for you,” she said as she ran her hand through his hair. 

“S-save him, Mommy.” Callum fell into a doze in his mother’s arms as she rocked him back and forth. 

The sound of the front door opening brought her a small sense of relief. The dog was gone. Thank the universe.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The sun was setting when Callum awoke alone in his bedroom. He wiped his eyes, clearing his vision. His head pounded like a thousand jackhammers. Pushing himself up, he scanned the room, which was lit in an array of pale yellows and pinks. 

“Berty,” he whispered. Callum threw the covers off himself and headed for the landing, hoping to see any sign of Bert. Nothing. He ran to each room upstairs. Bert was nowhere to be seen. 

The kitchen, he thought. Callum darted down the stairs, almost falling down them as he descended two at a time. 

“Berty!” he called out, but no response. He stood in the hall, listening for the pitter-patter of Bert’s paws, but none came. The kitchen was empty, illuminated in the same hue as his bedroom. Bert would have responded to Callum’s call immediately if he was in the house. Callum grabbed the stool, placed it by the kitchen window, and climbed onto it.

Outside was his mother, her head buried in her hands and her shoulders jittering. She was crying. Callum gulped and stared. He wanted to comfort and give her the cuddles she so desperately needed. But it was because of her that his best friend was gone. She’d banished him from the house. A sense of resentment swelled up inside the boy.

“Dad?” he called out. No response. Had his father taken the dog somewhere and let him go free in the wild? Callum hopped down from the stool and made his way back upstairs. The clambering of his heavy footsteps echoed throughout the house, mimicking the rhythmic pounding in his head. 

He stripped out of the thick winter pajamas he’d found himself in and replaced them with black joggers, a white and green long-sleeved T-shirt, and a thick red hoodie. He would go out into the cold evening and find his best friend if it was the last thing he did.

As the boy left his room, Layla’s giggling resounded throughout the hall, sending him into another fit of tics. Standing frozen to the spot, Callum lifted his left arm and waved it repeatedly in jagged motions in front of his face. His eyes flickered back and forth, adding to the pain he’d already found himself in. With his shoulders tense, he tried his best to break the cycle. 

He groaned in pain, cursing the TS for showing its ugly head at the worst moments. Time wasn’t on his side. With every second that passed, Bert could find himself in a world of trouble. He could even be dead. Then what would be left? He’d have no sister and no best friend.

Callum inhaled deeply through his nose and let out a haunting scream. Something snapped inside of him, breaking him free from the grasp his tics had on him.

Back downstairs, he ran into the front yard, mounted his bike, which had lain there since Layla’s death, and rode. He pedaled as fast as his small legs could, gasping for breath and sweating profusely. 

He rode blindly, heading in whichever direction his arms steered him. Taking a left turn onto the block parallel to his, he heard the faint sound of barking. Callum pulled on the brakes hard, almost toppling over the front of the bike. He looked around, listening intently. The barking seemed to be coming from just up ahead. It was Bert; he’d recognize that excited bark anywhere. Pedaling even faster, his calves burned like the fires of hell. No doubt he’d feel it in the morning, but he didn’t care. All Callum cared about was finding his dog.

As the sun beat down on him, the smell of cooked dinners wafted through the air. Mashed potatoes, meatloaf, chili, and…was that a pizza delivery boy? While his attention was elsewhere, the bike clipped a small rock, hurtling him through the air. He landed on his front, taking the force of the fall with his hands.

At least he’d saved his head and face from being pummeled. As he rolled over, his palms and knees stinging like a son of a bitch, he heard a heavy panting sound approaching. He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but a barrage of licks and delicate nibbles assaulted the back of his neck.

It was Bert. Callum breathed in, making a hissing noise at the pain, and pushed himself into a sitting position. Bert walked around and sat in front of him, gazing into his eyes. 

“Berty,” Callum whispered as tears filled his eyes. The pair stared at each other in a moment of silence. 

Can you hear me? A voice sounded in Callum’s mind. 

Follow me. Callum’s eyes grew wide as he pulled his head back, shocked. 

“W-was that you?” he stuttered as he tried to catch his breath. Bert responded with a single bark and wagged his tail. 

Berty?

Follow me.

Callum blinked hard, stunned that he seemed to be communicating telepathically with his dog. Stranger still, the voice sounded familiar. Had he heard it before? As Callum got to his feet, Bert stood and stretched. Callum held out his hand and rubbed the inside of Bert’s ear. 

“How did you get here?” he asked.

Bert opened his mouth and panted, his eyes reflecting the magnificent rays of the sunset. Callum waited for an answer, but silence hung in the air. Bert looked toward the bike and threw the top half of his body to the ground, his wagging tail sticking up in the air like a flag. 

“Where are we going?”

There was no answer. The dog wagged his tail five times, got to all four legs, and ran. 

“Berty, wait!” Callum called out. Mounted on his bike once more, he pedaled after his best friend. Where they were going, he didn’t know.

Paige sat in the same chair Eric had been drinking in. The smell of stale beer swarmed her as tears fell to the ground below. The end of her marriage was near. There was no use in trying to deny it any longer. Eric was back on the bottle. After looking the other way for so long, she couldn’t ignore the undeniable truth. She’d seen it with her own eyes.

Her daughter was gone. Her husband had relapsed. Her son had a mental disorder, and she was hallucinating. She wiped the tears from her eyes, which blurred her vision, and looked down into the pool.

The vast oranges, yellows, and reds of the sunset reflected off the water, giving it a unique palette of color. Those colors should have represented hope, faith, and love. Fall was upon them, and Thanksgiving would soon approach, followed by Christmas—a time for families to come together and bask in their love. But that wouldn’t be her Christmas. Not this year. Perhaps never again.

She was left with no choice but to take Callum to her parents with her, a plan she’d made weeks before but never followed through with. Because of that dog. The dog she was sure had tried to kill her son behind that door. 

Bert was a clever pooch; there was no doubt about that. He had shown obedience and intelligence she’d never seen in a canine before, but that also meant he was deceptive—just like Eric. 

The dog put the ball there to stop you from getting in. He would have killed Callum, and it would have been your fault if not for Eric. Her mind raced as her emotions batted against one another. Yes, she would leave Eric, pack her and Callum’s things, walk out the door, file for a divorce, and only see Eric every other weekend when he could spend time with their son.

But it was Eric who had saved their son. Who knew what would have happened to Callum if he hadn’t kicked through the door? For that, she had to be thankful for him. But alas, though he’d saved one child, he had let another perish. 

“But you failed me, too, M-M-Mommy,” Layla’s voice resonated from the water.

Paige closed her eyes and clamped her hands over her ears. Rocking back and forth, she bit down on her tongue. She was overcome by the flavor of blood. 

“No. No. No,” she repeated to herself. 

“Y-y-you don’t love me anymore, Mommy. You let the flowers die. You don’t care.” 

“Yes, I do. I love you more than life itself. But god, I can’t take this torture anymore.” 

“Agõnia is upon us. Your torture will end soon.” The deep, demonic voice mixed in with Layla’s as Paige opened her eyes and saw her dead daughter staring back up at her from the water. The vibrant colors of the sunset had been replaced by a mixture of red, black, and gray.

Layla grinned, revealing a row of teeth coated in a macabre shade of red. 

“It’s okay, Mommy. D-D-Daddy will be gone, too. His plan is coming to fruition. Not long now, Mommy. Not long now.” The image of Layla slowly dissolved, vanishing into the murky water before her very eyes. 

Paige jumped up from the chair with such force that it toppled over. She rushed into the house and headed to Callum’s room. A feeling of foreboding settled over her the moment she stepped inside, causing her heart to sink and her body to shiver. Her son was gone. 

“Callum!” she called out. No response. Paige was stuck in a real-life nightmare. She called out for him once more, but there was only absolute silence. The smell of chlorine and burning struck her as she rushed downstairs to see if Callum had fallen asleep on the sofa. 

The room was empty, just like the rest of the house. Paige collapsed to her knees. Regret swelled up inside her, and she sobbed uncontrollably. Her hair fell in front of her face. She pulled it back to clear her vision. There wasn’t time to be feeling sorry for herself. She’d done that far too much in her life. Relied on others one too many times. Now was the time for action. She needed to bring her boy home.

As she got to her feet, the front door opened. Relief swooped through her. Callum had come home. 

“Callum!” she called out, expecting to hear his sweet voice call back to her. Instead, it was Eric who responded.

Why did she call for Callum? Eric wondered as he closed the door behind him. 

“It’s me,” he hollered back to his wife.

Tears streamed down her face as she emerged from the front room, her hair tangled. “Callum’s gone,” she said bluntly.

For a moment, Eric stood in silence as he took in the sight before him. Never had he seen his wife look like this. She was a shadow of her former self—disheveled, a stranger.

“What?”

“Callum’s run away. And it’s all your fault!” Paige screamed, then ran toward him like a frenzied lunatic. Eric pressed himself against the door and covered his face.

Paige attacked him with relentless slaps, but none of them rang true, nor did they have any intent behind them. They were weak. Eric could barely feel them. He pushed her away and wiped his mouth clean from the spittle that formed. Paige landed on her ass and looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot. 

“What the fuck do you mean he’s run away?” Eric asked, looking down with a sense of hatred coursing through him. He clenched his fists. “And what the fuck do you mean because of me? You’re the one who’s supposed to be looking after him!”. 

“I put him to bed. Now he isn’t there, and you know exactly what I fucking mean. You’ve caused nothing but pain and suffering for us. I stood by you through it all. But I can’t anymore.” With shoulders tense and eyes fierce, Paige got to her feet, her gaze locked onto his. “I’m going to find my boy, and then we’re leaving. Do you hear me? Leaving!”

Eric took a step back as she screamed at him. He bit down on his lip and tried to relax his hands as his knuckles took on a shade of white. He couldn’t. After all that he’d done for this family and all the sacrifices he had made, this was how it would end? No. He wouldn’t allow it. 

“You’re not taking my boy from me,” he said. 

“Just you fucking watch me.” 

“You can’t go anywhere without these.” Eric fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the car keys. Paige gawked at them. “I’m going to find Callum and bring him home where he belongs. With his father.” 

“He’s not safe around you. No one is.” 

Eric scoffed. “You can’t be fucking serious right now, Paige. Not safe around me? You’re one to talk. He’s run away under your care. And I’m the one who’s not safe? Please.” Eric’s voice trembled as he prepared for another onslaught of slaps. Instead, Paige dropped to the floor and wept hysterically. 

Eric turned his back and opened the door. 

“Wait! You can’t,” Paige cried out. He stopped for a moment and looked over his shoulder at his wife, who was holding her hands out to him. Eric walked away, slamming the door behind him.

As his world spun around him, warped by booze, Eric made his way to the car and drove. Where he was heading, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he needed to find his son before it was too late. Having the blood of one child on his hands was torturous enough, but two? That would be a world not worth living in.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Callum chased after Bert for what felt like an hour. The intense burning in his legs didn’t let up once, but he relentlessly pedaled to keep up with the dog. Finally, Bert came to a halt. Callum squeezed as hard as he could on the brakes, turning his knuckles white. Callum narrowly avoided hitting Bert, and his midsection collided with the handlebars. Bert looked back at him, barked, then turned his attention back to the craftsman's house that stood before them. 

“Why did you bring me here, boy?” Callum panted, trying to get his breath back. He dismounted the bike and laid it down on the sidewalk. 

Follow me, Bert’s voice said in his head, and the dog casually made his way to the front door and sat, waiting for Callum to follow.

Callum hesitated for a moment. His mother had always told him not to talk to strangers. No matter what they offered you, whether it be money, candy, or anything else that sounded mildly appealing, you never speak to strangers. Yet, here he was, standing in front of an old house, in a neighborhood he’d never been in, preparing to knock on a door and face whoever might be inside. All of this, because of a dog. How ridiculous.

Callum gazed up at the house. It was shrouded in a dense fog, as if it were wearing a mysterious veil—just like the mist he had seen so many times before when Layla appeared. He examined his surroundings. There was a small row of shops; one of them was a liquor store. 

“I wonder if that’s where Dad got the drink from?” he said, not realizing that he was speaking his thoughts.

As the moon replaced the sun, Callum weighed his faith in Bert. The dog had never done him wrong, so why would he start now? He glanced over at his bike and back to the house, then took a deep breath. The air carried a subtle scent of burning. Feeling his heart settle and his lungs fill with oxygen, Callum joined Bert at the front door, prepared for whatever lay ahead. 

In the corner of the porch was a white rocking chair. Whoever lived here clearly enjoyed spending their evenings sitting on the thing, observing passersby. As Callum raised his hand to knock on the pale green door, the locks disengaged and the door opened slowly, letting out an eerie creak.

A sweet, sickly stench assaulted his senses, replacing the scent of smoke. For a moment, Callum thought he would be sick on the doorstep. An elderly man appeared in the doorway, boasting mismatched eyes like Bert’s. Callum recognized him but didn’t know where from. 

“Hello, son,” the old man said. The moment those two words were uttered, Callum’s recollection of encountering the stranger resurfaced.

Before Callum could respond, Bert ran toward the man, jumped up on his hind legs, and smothered him with affectionate kisses. 

“Now, now, settle down, boy. I’ve missed you, too. Now, you get down. I have company.” Bert pulled himself off the old man and sat beside him, facing Callum. Looking at the pair was haunting. They had an uncanny resemblance to each other, beyond even the mismatched eyes. 

“You’re the man from the bathroom at the doctor’s office,” Callum said, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“I am.”

“And you know Berty?” 

The man chuckled as a thin blanket of smoke billowed from his pipe. “Berty, eh? That’s your nickname for him, is it? I like it.” He looked down at the dog. “We like it. Don’t we, Berty?” Bert looked up with affection in his eyes and gave the playful bark that had melted Callum’s heart from day one. “Why don’t ya come in, son?”

Callum stood frozen to the spot. It was wrong to go into a stranger’s house. But the guy had interrupted the visions and voices that had plagued him in the bathroom months ago.

With a gulp, Callum nodded. Something inside him told him it was right to go in. Callum's gaze fell on the moon as the old man and Bert disappeared into his house. Its redness overpowered the darkened sky with its brilliance.

The red moon.

With a sigh, he followed them, walking into the unknown. 

The interior of the house didn’t quite match the exterior, with a musty odor hanging in the air and a dimly lit hall. Callum noticed several black-and-white photographs lining the wall as he slogged past.

He paused momentarily, gazing up at one picture depicting what he guessed was the old man in his younger years. He was in a group of ten, all wearing the same weathered cloaks, gathered around a fireplace with their hands raised to the skies. The picture was grainy, making it hard to decipher their faces, but Callum was sure it was the old man right there in the center. A man and a woman were on either side of him. Something about them screamed familiarity to Callum. Squinting, he leaned closer to try to recognize them.

The smell of the old man’s pipe lingered in the air as he called after the boy. Callum looked toward what he assumed was the kitchen and glanced back at the photograph with curiosity running through his veins. As he continued down the hall, the sound of creaky floorboards underfoot sent his stomach into a knot. 

“Come, take a seat. Do you drink tea, boy?” the old man asked as he held himself up against the kitchen counter.

Callum took a seat at the worn table. “No, sir.” 

“Too young, eh?” He turned and faced Callum with an almost-toothless smile. Callum retracted in his chair. The old man chuckled as he took the chair opposite the boy. It scraped loudly against the wooden floor, sending a shiver down Callum’s spine. It was worse than running long nails down a chalkboard. The old man collapsed into the chair, staring intently at Callum. Bert placed his head on his lap. Petting the dog, the man puffed on his pipe, releasing even more of the sickly scent into the air. 

Callum stared back, shifting his gaze between him and Bert, unable to take his focus off their eyes. After a moment of silence, the old man spoke. 

“The name’s Cliffton,” he said as he placed his hand on the table. It was skinny, almost like a skeleton, flaunting prominent purple veins and loose skin. 

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Callum responded unblinkingly.

Those eyes.

“No need to call me sir. Cliffton will do. Now tell me, boy: how has Bert, here, been for you and your family?”

Callum took an audible gulp, feeling as though the FBI was interrogating him. “He’s amazing and so much fun.”

“He is a special one, our Bert. Tell me, Callum, have you noticed any strange goings on in your house, especially with your father, after what happened?” He leaned forward, raising a thick gray eyebrow. 

“Since what?”

“Since Layla.”

Callum dropped his head at the mention of his little sister. How did Cliffton know about her? And how did he know his and Layla’s names? He was sure he hadn’t mentioned it, neither here nor in the bathroom at the doctor’s office. 

“How do you know about⁠—”

“I’ve been around a long time, boy. Seen and heard more things than you could ever possibly imagine.” Cliffton sat back in his chair and entwined his fingers. “Tell me, boy. That day in the bathroom. What happened exactly?”

“I…I saw something.”

“You saw Layla. I know, boy. I could feel it.” The room grew colder as Cliffton spoke, sending another shiver through Callum’s core. “Ya see, Callum, this world isn’t all it seems. There’s much more to it than meets the eye. A whole other world lies in conjunction with ours, but not everyone can see it. Nor do they feel it. People pay no heed to what’s right in front of them. You will realize it when you get older.”

“As old as you?” Callum asked with childhood innocence.

Cliffton let out a chesty laugh. “No, boy. I don’t think you’ll get as old as me. Now, your father. How has he been? You can tell me, boy. All is safe between the three of us.” He nodded at Bert. “He’s good at keeping secrets as well.”

“My dad’s been…weird. Like he used to be.” Callum frowned, swinging his legs beneath the table. “He and Mommy have been fighting a lot, like they used to before I was born. I heard Mommy talk about it.”

“Right. And has he been drinking again?” 

“Yeah. They had a big fight about it. Mommy told him to leave and to take Berty with him. She slapped Berty. She doesn’t like him. But I do. I love him, si—Cliffton,” Callum corrected himself as he spoke with a toneless voice. 

“I got that feeling, too,” Cliffton replied, pulling a match from his pocket and relighting the pipe. 

“You know my mommy?” Callum asked. 

“Just in passing. But I get these feelings, ya see. Feelings that tell me what a person is like. Call it intuition.” He took several puffs on the pipe and flicked the match to the floor. “Your mom is a good person, Callum. She loves you very much. Bert here tells me so.” 

Callum’s eyes went wide. “You can hear him as well?”

“Yes. You see, Bert isn’t like any other dog. He’s special.”

“He sure is.”

“Aye, he sure is. Not many animals in this world can communicate with our kind like Bert can. There’s a reason he’s with your family, boy. Do you understand?”

Callum bit down on his bottom lip, trying to read between the lines. He cocked an eyebrow. Cliffton’s eyes widened for a moment. 

“Bert will save you and your family from the beings that haunt you all.” 

“Us all? You mean⁠—”

“Yes, you’re not the only one seeing Layla and hearing that ghastly voice.” The sound of church bells rang throughout the house. Cliffton looked up and took the pipe from his mouth. “You must go, Callum. Agõnia is almost upon us. Take Bert and go home.” Cliffton got up from his chair and petted Bert three times on the head.

There was that word again.

“What is Agõnia?” Callum asked.

“Something you don’t need to worry about, boy. You must go. Take Bert with you and pedal home faster than you did here. Your family needs Bert to break this, Callum. Now, go. There’s no time to explain. The moon has given its signal.”

“The red moon?”

Cliffton ignored the boy’s words.

Bert whined softly, wagged his tail, and made his way to Callum. He took hold of his sleeve and gave it a gentle tug as Cliffton made his way to the hall. Callum’s mind was racing; so much information in such a short time. He had so many unanswered questions, but he allowed the dog to lead him out of the kitchen.

Cliffton stood by the open door and ushered the pair out. “You know what you need to do,” he said to Bert, bending down to kiss the dog on the nose. Bert barked in response. “Be safe, Callum. If all is well, then your lives are about to change for the better. Tell your father to protect the dog. No matter what happens. Protect Bert and let him end Alforous once and for all.”

Cliffton brought the door to a close with an eerie creak before Callum could respond. Callum stood there for a moment, wondering if what had just happened was a figment of his imagination.

Alforous.

That name hung in his mind like a pendulum. Did Cliffton know about the figure that strangled his sister in front of him?

Bert tugged on his sleeve and whimpered. It was time for them to go. 

Under the light of the blood moon, Callum and Bert made their way home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Pacing up and down in the kitchen, Paige chewed her nails down to the bed. Countless worst-case scenarios flowed through her mind. Callum could have been abducted by a stranger. Hit by a car, fallen into a creek, or come face-to-face with a coyote and been mauled until there was nothing left of him. And whose fault would it have been? Hers.

Was this how Eric had been feeling since the day Layla died? For a moment, Paige felt for her husband. But if he hadn’t let their daughter die, he wouldn’t have gotten that stupid fucking dog, and none of this would have been happening. They would still be a happy family. She would still have unconditional love for her husband. Callum would have been playing with Layla, and all would have been well. Instead of curling up together on a chilly November night, wrapped in blankets, eating popcorn, and watching a movie, the family was all on their own.

From the kitchen window, Paige could see the tall trees swaying gently in the breeze, their branches casting dancing shadows on the ground. The swimming pool reflected the moon's light, which hung high in the sky, its shade of crimson giving the backyard a halloween feel.

Halloween.

That night felt like an eternity ago, yet it had only been a couple of weeks. Time itself seemed to distort around her. As she gazed up into the starless night, an intrusive thought rang through her ears. 

The bedside table.

That was where Eric had hidden his alcohol before. Surely, he wasn’t stupid enough to stash it away in the same place. Paige turned on her heel, ready to investigate what lurked in the drawers, but an unseen force spun her back around. Her breath caught in her throat as she let out a heavy gasp. Facing the kitchen cupboards, she noticed that one door was ajar. 

She cautiously approached it and opened it further, revealing an array of plates, bowls, cups, and glasses. 

“No way,” she said to herself. She pushed the glasses aside and revealed a half-empty bottle of vodka, along with four beer cans and a bottle of rum. How had Eric hidden all of this from her? And in such plain sight. Paige picked up the half-empty bottle and examined it. Years of abuse flashed through her mind.

Her parents were right. Eric could never stay off the bottle completely. Though he claimed to be eight years sober, Paige doubted he’d even gone a week without sneaking a drink. How long had he been hiding this secret for? “A good marriage is based on trust.” That was what her mother had told her. “If you can’t trust one another, it will never work.”

The sound of those words reverberated in Paige’s mind as she collected the rest of the alcohol from the cupboard and placed it on the kitchen table. What lay before her was the reason her marriage was dissolving, why her relationship with Eric had almost come to a grinding halt in the first place. But she’d seen past his substance abuse, had seen the man that lay underneath all that shit. And she had been wrong. 

Even after the death of his child, Eric had not changed. He’d had an addictive personality since birth. If it wasn’t alcohol, then he would turn to drugs—and who’s to say he wasn’t taking a sneaky line here and there behind her back?

If he could hide alcohol in such plain sight, then stashing away a small bag of powder would have been even easier to conceal. Was that why he’d been too weak to pull Layla from the water? Was he strung out at Callum’s birthday party? She made her way back to the cupboard and pulled out a glass. 

Paige had never been much of a drinker, only on special occasions or family gatherings. At the table, she uncapped the bottle of vodka, the sharp scent immediately filling the air, and poured herself a generous shot. Holding up the glass, she scrutinized the transparent liquid, twirling it like a whirlwind.

The house was engulfed in an eerie silence, as if it was yearning for some noise to fill the space. She bit down on her lip, her hands trembling. Her wedding ring clinked against the glass. It shattered the silence and sent a shiver down her spine. She placed the glass down and fiddled with the band.

More of her mother’s words rang through her mind. “Take it off, and the marriage is over. Never take your wedding ring off. Even if it’s a dire emergency. You never take it off. I never took your father’s off, and do you know why? Because I love him.”

Her mother had always tried to instill some wisdom into her from a young age. Paige had thought herself wise enough, but some had left her the day she’d gotten with Eric, and more so when she said, “I do.”

For a moment, she hesitated, feeling the smooth metal of the ring as she twisted it around. She gave it a slight tug and suddenly felt as if a heavy load had been lifted. Her finger was no longer suffocating, and neither was her heart. Tears formed in her eyes. 

“What do I have to lose?” In an instant, Paige snatched the glass and took the shot. The fiery sensation blazed a trail down her throat and ignited in her chest. She slammed the glass back down onto the table. With closed eyes, she shook her head, trying to douse the fire inside her.

Hesitating, she placed her fingers over the band once more and pulled it a quarter inch up her finger, then refilled the glass and took another shot. The burn wasn’t as intense as the first one. Another quarter inch. Another shot. Another quarter inch. The band dropped back down her finger. 

“He can’t control me anymore,” she slurred. The room spun as she poured the fourth shot, each one bigger than the last. She downed it and slammed the glass back to the table. A crack struck down its side. 

You need to stop. Callum will be home soon, she told herself. Paige scoffed at the corner of the room where she first saw Layla’s apparition.

“He won’t be coming back. He’s with Layla now. My two babies are together. Gone. Because of their worthless parents.” Paige emptied the last of the vodka into her mouth, the sharp taste lingering on her tongue. She breathed heavily, shook her head, and threw the empty bottle against the wall. It shattered, filling the room with the glint of a thousand tiny glass fragments. 

“Clear that shit up,” she said, rocking in her chair. “Here’s to me.” She cracked open the bottle of rum. “Mother of the year.” She took a shot. This one burned like hell. She scrunched her face and stuck out her tongue, trying to let the air take away the burn. “No, no. Mother of the century.” She screamed at the top of her lungs and held her arms out, expecting God almighty to take hold of her and whisk her away to heaven. Though actually, it should’ve been Lucifer pulling her down to the clutches of hell. 

Paige blinked at the clock. It had two faces and four hands. She staggered toward it, clutching the bottle in her hand. From what she could decipher, Callum had been gone for an hour. An hour in which anything could have happened. She took another shot. Stumbling backward, her back struck the countertop, but she felt no pain. The light in the kitchen flickered.

“He’s gone,” she sobbed. “He’s gone, and it’s all my fucking fault.” Paige dropped to the floor, brought her knees to her face, and wept uncontrollably. As the hands of the clock ticked throughout the house, she continued to drink herself into oblivion. There was nothing worth living for now. 

“Agõnia is here.” The deep, infernal voice broke through her sobs.

Paige lifted her head and came face-to-face with the demonic being that had been plaguing her since her daughter’s death. Its eyes were yellow and bloodshot, pupils thin like a snake’s. Its face was a darkened, fractured skull, blood-stained and filled with maggots that wriggled through where its nose should have been—all barely visible beneath the hood that hung above it. The smell of rot and death caressed her. It and Layla stood side by side, grimacing at her. Blood spilled from the creature’s mouth. The smell of iron filled the air.

“I-i-it’s time to play, Mommy,” Layla’s voice trembled with excitement. 

“N-no. Not again,” Paige stuttered. “It’s the drink. It has to be the drink.” 

The tall demonic figure raised its hand, its long, sharp nails glinting in the dim light, and placed it gently on Layla’s head. “Is it really the drink? Or is it Agõnia?”

With a sickening thud and cracking of bone, it severed Layla’s head from her neck. Blood spouted uncontrollably, painting the walls a vivid crimson. Paige screamed and threw the bottle at the creature, pushing herself back against the cupboards.

Laughter filled the room as it rolled Layla’s head toward Paige, leaving behind a trail of dark blood. When the head came to a halt, Layla’s eyes looked up at Paige. The grimace was still there, with those sharp teeth coated in blood. Her eye sockets shuddered as maggots crawled out from their hiding places. The room was engulfed in a thick mist, and the air became heavy with the smell of chlorine and fire. 

“Don’t be scared, Mommy. We just want to play.”

As Paige let out a scream that tore at her throat, the front door opened.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ignoring the speed limit, Eric zoomed through the darkness, the moonlight providing a faint illumination as he frantically scanned the surroundings for his son. 

“Where the fuck has he gotten to?” he muttered to himself. The booze had caused his vision to blur, and the little light offered by aged street lamps made it hard to distinguish between the shadows that danced around him. He kept his focus straight ahead, not looking in the rear-view mirror. With the road spinning and the car swerving, it didn’t seem unlikely that Layla would appear and cause him to go off the road.

The half a bottle of vodka he’d drunk before leaving had settled deep in his bloodstream. As soon as he and Bert had walked out the door, Bert had pulled hard on his leash and was off. Eric had stood by idly, watching as the dog ran out of sight behind a set of bushes.

He would have chased after him, but there was only one way that would have ended: with Eric face-down on the floor with another bloody nose and his pride in tatters. He couldn’t do that. Bert was an obedient dog and had an unbreakable bond with Callum. Eric figured he wouldn’t go far and would return home soon enough. But he hadn’t.

Callum had ventured out in search of his dog, leaving Eric to wander the roads late at night, desperately seeking them both.

The sound of a car horn cut through the night. Eric was suddenly blinded by oncoming headlights. While he’d been fumbling with the controls, trying to put his window down, the car had meandered into the other lane. Eric clutched the wheel and swerved, narrowly avoiding a catastrophic accident. He slammed down on the brakes and brought the car to a sudden halt, not once checking to see if he would be rear-ended.

The car he’d almost collided with drove off, leaving a trail of honking and screamed profanity behind it. Eric could barely hear what was said but knew it wasn’t pleasant. Hell, he’d have gotten out of the car if the shoe was on the other foot.

With the car sitting idly, Eric wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell of burnt rubber and anxiously glanced around. He hadn’t been focusing on where he was going. The thought of what might be happening to his son out on the streets in the middle of the night had consumed his mind.

With a shiver running through his spine, Eric called out Callum’s name and waited a moment for any type of response. In the stillness of the crisp night, the only sound was the car’s engine, its rumble like the distant roar of a thunderstorm. Eric rolled the window back up and continued his way to God knew where.

As he pushed gently on the accelerator, he caught sight of something in his peripheral vision. His gaze shifted to the row of houses, all in perfect alignment, with inviting porches and immaculate grass. As he looked upon a house, his eyes widened at the warm glow of the porch light. Sitting there, in illuminating letters, was a sign. It read: Dog for sale. 

“That’s it!” he yelped, putting his foot flat on the gas pedal. It was like a sign. A literal sign from God or the universe—he didn’t care which. There was only a slight chance Callum had found Bert on his search, but any chance was worth a shot. Eric headed toward Cliffton’s house.

Ten minutes later, the car came to a halt with a jarring screech as Eric slammed on the brakes. Turning off the engine and rushing out of the car, he fumbled toward Cliffton’s house. Eric’s head was spinning, and his stomach churned, yet he somehow made it to the door without losing his balance.

“Cliffton! Cliffton!” he yelled, pounding on the door with no consideration for the neighbors. It was late, and everyone was probably asleep in their beds. Eric pressed his ear against the door and listened for any sign of life. Nothing.

Desperate, he knocked again, the sound reverberating in the silence as he shouted for the old man. Still no response. Cliffton was undoubtedly asleep; after all, a man his age would have tucked himself up in bed hours ago, just after the sun went down.

Eric stood back from the house and gazed up at the windows, trying to catch any sign of life from inside—a flash of light, a shadow casting itself across the walls, anything. He looked toward the driveway. Had there been a car there when he’d visited the first time? He couldn’t remember, but there wasn’t one now.

As his heart pounded in his chest and his palms sweated, Eric bit down on his lip and ran his hands through his hair. He squatted down as hope began to leave him. The sound of bolts unlocking grabbed his attention in an instant, causing him to fall back onto his ass. Cliffton was home and awake. Thank Christ.

Eric quickly scrambled to his feet and hurried to the door. With an almighty crash, he slammed straight into it, sending a surge of pain through his nose. He had forgotten that Cliffton kept it chained. The sound of tutting came from inside the house. 

“Indeed. The time has come,” Cliffton said as he closed the door to unlatch the chain. It swung open with the eerie creak that made Eric go cold. Cliffton stood in the dimly lit hallway, his long black robe casting an ominous shadow. It was strange attire for bedtime in Eric’s mind, but more pressing matters were at hand. 

“Come in, Eric.” Cliffton turned his back and made his way into the house. 

“Have you seen my son?” Eric asked. But his words went ignored. Eric placed his hand on his nose. The pain wasn’t too bad, thanks to the alcohol. He hastily followed Cliffton. The door closed by itself behind him. 

A flickering light emanated from the single candle that graced the kitchen table. Cliffton was already sitting in the chair. How had he moved so fast? Eric stood in the doorway when a burning sensation in his forearm took over. He winced at the pain. His nostrils flared and his eyes bulged as he demanded an answer. 

“Sit.” Cliffton entwined his fingers. It was like the guy was about to give a palm reading or look into a mystical ball and tell Eric his future. 

“Are you not hearing me?” Eric said sternly. The burn intensified with each passing second. He took hold of his forearm, trying to douse the fire. 

“Sit and the pain will leave.” Cliffton dropped his head and raised his eyebrow.

What the fuck is he talking about? Eric wondered.

Staring at the old man in the flickering candlelight, Eric slowly made his way to the table, pulled out the chair, and took a seat, not once taking his gaze away from Cliffton. As soon as he sat down, the pain dispersed. 

“See. Let that be a lesson for you to listen.” Cliffton’s voice was stern and monotone, the complete opposite of how he’d sounded when Eric took Bert from him. 

“Where’s Callum?” Eric asked again.

Cliffton shuffled himself in his chair and leaned backward. The glow from the candlelight caused his one eye to sparkle. “He’s safe for now. But Eric, you must listen to me carefully. Do you understand?” A shadow cast itself across Cliffton’s face as he spoke. 

Eric shook his head. “My boy.”

“This is one of your downfalls, boy. Just like your father’s.” 

“You knew my father?” Eric asked, stunned. Instantly sober, he sat upright in his chair, leaning toward Cliffton, his eyes fixed intently on him. The old man had caught his attention. 

“Yes, and your mother, too. Look, things are not always as they seem in this world. People aren’t who they portray themselves to be. Creatures exist that regular folk wouldn’t begin to fathom, you understand? Just because we don’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” Cliffton reached into his robe and pulled out his pipe. Eric sat silently as the old man lit the pipe with the candle. He puffed on it several times, filling the room with the sickly scent Eric had hoped he would never smell again. 

“Tell me, Eric. Has your life always seemed less fortunate than those around you?”

Eric nodded.

“There’s a reason, ya see. A reason you may well not believe, but trust me, it is the truth.” Clifton looked at a door in the kitchen’s corner and back at Eric, waiting for a response. 

Eric glanced over at the door. From what he could see, the decrepit thing barely clung to its hinges. Wasn’t that the door that Cliffton had walked through to retrieve Bert?

“How did you know my parents?” 

“Let’s just say we shared a common interest, one for a greater being. Your parents were good people, Eric. But your father had a stubborn head on his shoulders, always believing that he was right about everything and no one could prove him wrong. That is, until you were born.” Smoke billowed in thick clouds as Cliffton puffed heavily on his pipe. “Your mother always tried to convince him otherwise, to listen to others and have an open mind and heart. That was the kind of woman she was. Beautiful. Caring. Nurturing. She gave her life for you.”

“Wait,” Eric said sharply as he placed his hands on the table. “What do you mean? I thought my parents put me up for adoption? What the fuck do you mean she gave her life for me?” His world was collapsing in on itself. Everything he thought he knew was actually a web of lies, unraveling. 

“That’s what they told you. But never believe everything you’re told, boy. There is always much more to a story than people let on.”

“Then why should I believe you?” 

An audible click came from Cliffton as he bit down on his pipe with his few teeth. “I have no reason to lie to you, Eric. You want the truth? I’m not sure you’re ready for it.”

The table shook violently as Eric slammed his hands down with a loud thud. Cliffton seemed unfazed by the outburst. 

“Just tell me what the fuck is going on and where my son is. I know you know, you old creep!” Eric’s voice grew louder with each word, sending spittle flying from his mouth.

Cliffton chuckled and shifted himself once again in his chair. “You think you’re ready to find out about your life? Then you must find out for yourself.” He looked over his shoulder at the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be a few moments. Choose what you do wisely, Eric. Your family’s lives may depend on it.”

The flickering light from the candle vanished, plunging Eric into darkness. He lunged across the table, trying to grab Cliffton by the throat and throttle him to within an inch of his life. The table dug into his midsection, making him gasp for air. The lights switched on, bathing the room in a warm, soft glow. 

Cliffton was gone. Sweat dripped down Eric’s brow and stung his eyes as he looked around, trying to find any sign of him. 

“D-D-Daddy?” Layla’s voice sounded from behind the door, and the hairs on Eric’s neck stood on end. “Daddy, help.”

Eric shifted his gaze around the room one last time before making his way to the door. He placed his hand on the doorknob. It was cold as ice. A shiver ran through his body, and an image flashed before his eyes.

It was a river where he and Callum would spend their days fishing while Paige and Layla stayed at home for some ‘girly time.’ The river flowed with a thick, crimson tide. Eric gasped and tried to take his hand off the knob, but it was stuck. He pulled with all his strength, and his birthmark burned relentlessly once more, as if someone had doused it with gas and set it alight. Eric screamed and grabbed hold of his forearm, trying as hard as he could to pull himself free. 

Stifling his howls, Eric placed his foot on the door frame and pushed his body weight through it. The door swung open violently, sending him flying backward and landing on his ass once more. Eric lifted himself up with his elbows, winded once again, pain shooting through his lower back. It was pitch-black beyond the door. He couldn’t make out a thing.

Until Cliffton suddenly emerged and wrenched him into the darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Callum! Callum!” Paige screamed as she stared down at her daughter’s severed head, hoping, praying that her son had returned. There was no response. 

“What’s wrong, Mommy? Don’t you want to play?” Layla grinned from ear to ear. Despite her best efforts, Paige found herself unable to look anywhere else. As the lights flickered violently, she gasped for breath, her chest heaving, and pressed her back against the cupboard before finally mustering the strength to stand.

“Y-you’re not my daughter.” Paige’s voice shook.

The smile Layla wore turned into a grimace. Blood streamed from her eye sockets, tracing a crimson path down her cheeks and splattering onto the floor in a gruesome pool. “T-t-that’s not very nice, Mommy. I love you.”

As Paige focused on the head, she didn’t realize that the menacing figure had made its way toward her, with Layla’s body beside it. The sound of church bells filled the air, and Paige jumped. 

“It is almost time, my princess.” The demonic figure held out its hand. Layla’s head rolled toward it, as if being pulled by a magnetic force. With a flick of its wrist, the head floated up into its hand like a balloon. With a sickening squelch, it placed the head back onto the girl's body.

Paige’s stomach churned, and she hurled herself to the sink and vomited. 

“You know what to do,” the voice whispered. It sounded like a mix between a human and a snake. A baritone, hissing sound that would make anyone’s skin crawl.

Struggling to maintain her balance, Paige grasped onto the sink for support, her legs wobbling beneath her. The room spun as the mist grew denser. She wiped the bitter remains of vomit from her mouth and stared wide-eyed at the phantom duo. 

“W-who are you?”

The demonic figure smiled, revealing teeth even sharper than Layla’s. They reminded Paige of a shark’s mouth. It held its right hand to its chest. Those long fingernails made Paige recoil in disgust. They were dirty and coated with dried blood. 

“I am Alforous. All knowing, all being. But you should know that, Paige. I have been with you since Eric. I have been there from the start. Watching. Waiting.” Alforous bowed his head, his face hidden beneath the shadowy depths of his hood. “And now, my time has finally come.” 

“What the fuck?” Paige gasped, astonished. It was all becoming too real for her. What she had assumed to be a surreal, alcohol-induced hallucination had transformed into a tangible, undeniable truth. His head rose, and as their gazes met, Paige recognized the serpent-like eyes before her. Alforous’s penetrating stare sent a shiver down her spine. She went cold, as though the life was being sucked from her. Her mouth shut tight, as if invisible threads had woven together to silence her.

“M-m-me and Cally are going to play together soon, Mommy.” Layla held her dress, twisting back and forth. “I miss playing.” She turned without moving a single muscle and made her way out of the kitchen. Bells rang out once more. 

“Time is up,” Alforous said, raising his cloak over himself. Disappearing into the dense mist, he left behind a trail of swirling smoke, creating an eerie atmosphere in his wake. 

Paige’s breath came in sharp gasps as her heart thumped like a jackhammer. 

“Callum!” she called out. 

“I’m out here, Mom!” her boy’s voice called out from the backyard, but it sounded distant, as if it was fading away. Paige rushed to the kitchen window and looked out into the backyard. Standing there, looking down into the pool, was Callum, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. 

“Callum, get away from there!” Paige screamed and banged on the window. No response. Callum kept his gaze on the water. Paige tried to open the window so that her son could hear her, but it didn’t budge, no matter how much strength she put behind it. “Fuck.”

She ran to the back door, bumping into the table on her way and almost knocking herself to the floor. She swung the door open and screamed for Callum to get away.

He wasn’t there. The backyard was empty. But how? She’d just seen him with her own eyes. Had he fallen in while she made her way through the house? She screamed into the night and sprinted.

Dropping to her knees by the pool, Paige looked down into the water for any sign of her boy. The water rippled. The pool was empty. Paige looked around the backyard; maybe Callum had heard her and escaped. The only sign of movement was the soft breeze in the trees. 

As she got to her feet, she felt a presence behind her, watching. 

“Why don’t you love me anymore, Mommy?” Layla’s voice carried through the breeze. Paige slowly turned to face her daughter. With wide eyes, she saw her daughter as she was in life—sweet, innocent, and full of wonder, with sparkling eyes and dimples to die for.

“Baby,” she whimpered.

“I-I-I miss you, Mommy.” Layla twisted her foot on the ground as tears filled her dazzling blue eyes. 

“I miss you, Layla. God, I miss you.”

“We can be together again, Mommy. Don’t you want to be together?” 

Paige gulped and then licked her lips, the taste of vodka and vomit still strong on her tongue.

“The pool, Mommy. Get in the pool like I did. Please. Then we can be together again,” Layla pleaded, giving Paige the puppy dog eyes that had always worked like a charm on her. Her hair fluttered in the wind. She was wearing the frolicky pink dress that Paige had bought her for Christmas, and two yellow bows held her pigtails in place. It was Paige’s favorite outfit. Layla looked so cute in baby pink. 

“I don’t understand, sweetheart,” Paige said. 

“Y-y-you just need to go under the water, Mommy. See?” Layla took small steps toward the pool. Paige tried to take hold of her daughter but went straight through her, almost falling to the ground. As she turned around, she caught sight of Layla gracefully easing herself into the water. 

“See, Mommy? It’s fun.” Layla giggled as she submerged herself in the pool. Paige crept toward the edge and looked down. As Layla settled on the pool floor, her features danced and shifted in the undulating water. Her giggles filled the air as she begged her mother to join her. “Y-y-you need to stay under, Mommy. Take the rock.”

Paige turned her attention to the trees on the other side of the pool. Beneath them was a pile of decorative rocks she’d bought when she and Eric first moved into the house. She loved that feature. Those four gray limestone rocks added a sense of vibrancy to the vast greenery of the backyard. She made her way to the pile and ran her hands over one of them. Its surface was smooth, just like Layla’s skin. 

The rope. Alforous’s voice echoed through her mind. As Paige lifted the rock, she discovered a length of rope hidden behind it. It was the rope from the tire swing that Eric had put up for Callum a week before his birthday. She’d told him to throw it away so that the children wouldn’t get hold of it and strangle themselves. Of course, he hadn’t listened. He never listened.

Paige lifted the rock with both hands. Struggling, she waddled toward the pool, her movements slow and labored, and dropped the rock beside it. Her arms and shoulders burned from the strain of lifting it. She retrieved the rope, sat on the floor, and made a lasso around the rock, tying the other end to her ankle. 

“N-n-nice and tight, Mommy.”

As Paige raised her eyes to the heavens, she was spellbound by the grandeur and splendor of the blood moon that loomed above. “I’m coming, baby.”

She got to her feet and peered down into the pool. The once-clear water had turned a thick crimson, covering any sight of Layla. Paige closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the overpowering scent of chlorine filling her nostrils. She would be with her daughter once more and away from the man who had filled her life with nothing but lies. Any thought of Callum had left her completely.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Eric tried to scream, but Cliffton held his hand against his mouth. The air was heavy with the pungent scent of rot, decay, and ash. 

“Don’t scream, boy. You wanted to learn the truth; your wish has been granted.” Cliffton slowly removed his hand from Eric’s mouth. The room was cramped and worn out, its walls adorned with a collection of old newspaper clippings and vintage photographs. Craning his neck, Eric looked around, astounded by what he saw. 

“What is this?” he asked. 

“Take a look for yourself,” Cliffton responded as he turned and made his way toward the far end of the room. There sat a small circular table made from what appeared to be oak, its smooth surface reflecting the soft glow of the room. The chair that sat beside it looked like an archaic throne. Cliffton took a seat and continued to smoke his pipe.

Eric got to his feet, rubbing his head and neck while feeling a warm sensation radiating from his forearm. It was reminiscent of a spoon hovering above a flickering flame, something he was all too familiar with. The light was dim and flickering, as if from a candle that was floating in midair.

One of the pictures grabbed Eric’s attention immediately. He approached it slowly. Held within a broken black frame was a sketch that resembled his birthmark. The image of Pisces and Taurus intertwined. 

“What the fuck?” he gasped. Eric looked at Cliffton, and his confusion only grew. The old man gradually vanished amid the thick smoke billowing from his pipe. “What is this? What’s going on?” 

Inside his head, Cliffton’s voice sounded: Keep looking.

Eric scanned the photographs that lined the wall. Each image depicted a group of people huddled around a crackling fire, their hands reaching toward the sky. On the opposite wall were pictures of dead animals, everything from rabbits to coyotes to cows to goats. All of them were mutilated in some form. Guts were torn open, and entrails spilled onto the ground. Throats were slashed, leaving behind deep, gaping wounds. Between that and the smell, Eric’s stomach churned, so he returned to the other wall. 

“Is this you?” he asked as he came to a picture that resembled Cliffton, only much younger. 

“Keep looking,” Cliffton’s voice said from the shadows.

Eric looked closer at the photograph. Within the grainy, black-and-white image, he managed to discern a face that bore a striking resemblance to his own. “Is that⁠—”

“Yes. That’s your father beside me. And her.” A hand reached over his shoulder and pointed to the woman beside his father. “That's your mother.”

Eric stared at the picture, his shoulders hunched and his breath shallow. His mind raced at the image of his parents. They were all wearing long black robes and red shawls, just like Cliffton, their faces slightly covered by oversized hoods. Eric licked his lips. “Is this some kind of cult?” 

“Yes. The cult of Lupous. We were all a part of it,” Cliffton whispered in his ear. “I told ya, Eric, there is more to this world than what we see. Spirits and deities roam this world alongside us.”

“What the fuck does all this have to do with me? Why were my parents in it? Who are these people?”

“There isn’t much time left.” The pungent odor of Cliffton’s breath hit Eric like a wave, causing him to instinctively hold his own breath while the old man spoke. “There were ten of us left. Ten of us who all lived together in this very house and spent our days and nights praying to the higher being known as Alforous, pleading to summon him and save us from our own lives. You see, we were all weak and vulnerable. That’s why he targeted us. Alforous has been around since the dawn of man and has plagued this world. Ever wonder why your life has always seemed so bleak? Why even during your happiest times, there was still a weight on your shoulders?” Clifton took in a deep breath. “It’s Agõnia. The curse of Alforous. They placed the curse of Alforous upon you the moment you were born to ensure that you suffered in this life until your final day. He didn’t believe in having children, you see. It went against our way of life, against what Alforous believed. He wants to cleanse the earth. Adding more numbers to it would just make it more difficult. Alforous permitted marriage, but sex?” Cliffton shook his head. He saw that as the biggest mark of disrespect to him. He was our pleasure. He was our life. He was our savior, or so we thought. Your mother kept her pregnancy a secret for as long as she could. I helped deliver you, Eric; we all did.”

Eric turned and faced Cliffton, his expression stern. “Wait, this doesn’t make any sense.”

“Remember what I said, boy. Not listening is your downfall, and there is much at stake. See all these faces in these pictures surrounding you, Eric? They’re faces of desperation.

“Alforous had recruited Zameh. He was our leader. The one who promised us all a way out of our pathetic lives, promised to move us all on to another world where our problems would wash away like the waves of an ocean. Zameh believed that Alforous spoke directly to him through telepathic messages. None of us ever heard him, only Zameh, and we were all foolish enough to believe his words. There is no photographic evidence of him, but believe me, he was real.” Cliffton cast a gaze toward Eric, then continued.

“See that figure in the middle, the one with the disfigured hand? That was Simeon, Zameh’s second in command. He was the one whom Zameh would send out in the dead of night, searching for members to recruit to that godforsaken cult. He was persuasive, believe you me. He got us all—hook, line, and sinker—with his words of affirmation and a listening ear, promising a better, brighter future.

“No one ever listened to us in the outside world. No one except Simeon. Those young twins, Hallie and Holly, both alcoholics. They’d speak as one, as though they weren’t their own person. Both acted like a pair of dim-witted zombies, not able to think for themselves. Simeon promised them Alforous could rid them of their addictions, give them a life of luxury, and a man who would take care of them as if they were queens. A perfect target for a being as evil as Alforous.” The air around Eric grew cold with each word that Cliffton spoke.

“That girl with the light-colored hair.” Cliffton pointed to a young woman who stood next to Eric’s mother. “Olivia. She and her husband had lost their baby because of cot death. She was weak and vulnerable when Simeon approached her in the dead of a snowy December night. She packed just a single blanket, which her child was wrapped up in when he died, and left her husband, never to see him again.” Cliffton took in a deep breath and continued his tale. “The brute on the far left, that was Harrison. An addict in the grips of a crippling heroin addiction. Once he was in, Zameh told him that Alforous could offer him a drug that would send him into a completely new euphoria. One that wouldn’t eat away at him slowly.”

“And what about my parents?” Eric asked as he gazed at the photograph. 

“Your parents were going through a struggle in their marriage. Both had reached their breaking point. Your mother had planned to leave your father the night that Simeon paid them a visit. He told them that their marriage could be saved, that their love would last an eternity, far past this lifetime.”

“Just like me and Paige?” Eric said under his breath. Like a sudden flash of lightning, the realization that history was unfolding again struck him. 

“Yes. Which is why you must return home, Eric. The curse that has been placed upon you is reaching its climax.”

“Curse?” Eric asked as he snapped himself away from Cliffton. 

“You do prove you’re just like your father by not listening. That mark on your arm is no birthmark. It’s the symbol of Agõnia. That curse was placed upon you by Zameh the day you were born. He took you away from your parents before the umbilical cord was even cut. With blade in hand, he cut into his palm, releasing the blood of Alforous from his being and etching that mark into you. Your life has been a lie from the moment you were born, boy. Your parents were sacrificed as soon as that mark was etched into you.” A solitary tear accompanied Cliffton’s words.

Eric looked around the room, trying to understand what was happening. The air grew heavy, and the smell of chlorine overwhelmed him. He felt like he was trapped in a living nightmare, waiting to wake up beside Paige in his bed at any moment.

“So, they never abandoned me. They were taken from me? I can’t have Callum go through what I did.” Eric ran his hand through his hair. “But why me? Why wasn’t my parents’ death enough?” 

“Alforous feeds off life, Eric. He wants suffering to plague this world. Agõnia was just one way to make sure that the suffering would carry on after your parents’ deaths. He will never rest until the cult’s entire bloodline has been taken out of this world.”

“How did they die?” Eric asked. Cliffton remained silent, dropping his head. “Tell me!” He went to grab Cliffton by the scruff of his shawl, but his hands fell straight through him, as if the old man wasn’t there. 

“It was me. They made me do it. They forced me to tie up your parents and burn them.” Cliffton stared into Eric’s eyes. “It happened where Showsbury Park now stands. I’m sorry, Eric. I tried to save them; believe me, I did. And believe me, I have suffered my own curse because of it.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Eric asked as he took in deep, heavy breaths.

“Alforous placed a curse on me for trying to protect your parents. I am not a being of this world, Eric. I am stuck between this existence and the afterlife. You have been plagued with Agõnia. I have been plagued with Arranmai. My soul cannot move on from this world.” Cliffton lowered his head as if in shame.

“So, what are you?” Eric asked. Cliffton scoffed.

“Even I don’t know that anymore. You see, I can take on a variety of appearances and personalities. I’m an artisan of the afterworld, if you will. Halloween night, I was there. I spoke to Paige and Callum. Your boy is gifted, Eric. I’ve been trying to help you all this whole time. To free you. To free myself.”

Eric’s mind raced as he tried to cast his memory back to Halloween night. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to. All you need to understand is that your family is in grave danger and the only way to break you, us, free of this curse is to kill Alforous.”

“But how? And what happened to all the others in this cult?” Eric asked as he bit down on his lip. It felt like rough sandpaper between his teeth.

“Alforous has the power to take over the living, but only during a blood moon. In order to break your curse, our curses, the body he inhabits must be killed.”

“You mean…” Eric whispered.

“Yes. The ultimate sacrifice must be made to free you. As for the rest of the cult, they are no longer with us. The day after your parents were sacrificed, he promised us all salvation. But we had to burn for the sins we had committed. Only then would we be given the lives we had all so desperately sought. There was a mass suicide. We built up a great fire, and one by one, we blindly jumped into it, letting the flames take hold of us and carry us into our sanctuary. Screams rang out through the night air as the cult of Lupus died. I was the last one left, and Bert stood by my side until the bitter end. But Alforous appeared and plagued us with this god-awful curse. Once he uttered those final words, the flames spread and engulfed both me and Bert. There was no escape.”

A wave of shock washed over Eric, leaving him speechless. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

The sound of bells rang throughout the room as Cliffton revealed the long-hidden truth. “That day the ultimate sacrifice was made. Does it not make sense to you yet, Eric? It wasn’t you who killed Layla. It was Alforous. Listen carefully: Bert is the key. You must save your family and us. If you don’t, the curse will never be broken, and we will all be trapped here. Now go. Go!”

Cliffton’s voice rang out as a thick mist enveloped him. An unseen force knocked Eric through the door, and he smashed his head against the kitchen floor. What did Cliffton mean by “we?” Were other members of this cult still walking among the living? Had some escaped without Cliffton’s knowledge?

As he got to his feet, Eric scanned the kitchen. Nothing out of the ordinary. The door he’d been dragged through had vanished, leaving only solid drywall in its place.

Racing toward his car, the urgency of the situation consumed his thoughts, leaving no room to reflect on what he’d just heard. Whether it was a vision from a laced bottle of alcohol or reality, he needed to get home. He had to save his family.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Callum brought the bike to a grinding halt outside his house. Dismounting, he noticed the front door standing wide open. 

“Come on, Berty. Let’s go!” Wasting no time, he and Bert hurried inside, oblivious to the impending catastrophe that awaited them. 

“Mom! Dad!” Callum called out as he stood in the hall. No response. Bert barked as if mimicking his calls to his parents. They made their way to the living room. Empty. Callum called out once more and was again met with deadly silence.

Bert left the room. The sound of his paws thundering up the stairs reverberated through the house. Callum followed, a knot of fear tightening in his stomach at the thought of never seeing him again. His footsteps were unsteady, and he stumbled multiple times, his arms flailing as he barely saved himself from a face-first collision with the steps. He glanced around the landing and made his way to his parents’ bedroom, hoping to find them both tucked into bed, sleeping peacefully.

Callum entered his parents’ room, and his gaze immediately fixated on the protrusion nestled beneath the duvet. Relief washed over him as he let out a long, satisfying exhale. 

“Mommy?” His voice was just above a whisper, not wanting to wake his mother after such a long, stress-inducing evening. There was no response. The duvet rose and fell with a soft grace, mirroring Paige’s slow and delicate breaths.

Callum tiptoed toward the bed, cautious of any noise he made. It never ceased to amaze him how, during the day, walking in the room was soundless, while at night, each step seemed to reverberate like an entire army parading through. As he breathed in the heavy air, he felt a slight resistance, as if the atmosphere had become denser.

Holding his breath, Callum could see Paige had pulled the duvet up over her head, something she did when in a deep sleep. Placing his sweaty hands on the duvet, he pulled it back to reveal his mother’s face. As he did, Bert came bounding into the bedroom, barking frantically and foaming at the mouth. 

“A-A-Agõnia is here, Cally.” Layla’s voice spoke out as Callum looked toward Bert. He snapped his attention back to the bed and saw Layla where his mother should have been.

Callum gasped and jumped back at the sight of his dead sister, her features more disheveled and mutilated than ever. Laughter rang throughout the house as Bert landed on the bed and sank his teeth into Layla’s throat. His jaw pierced through her, only to be cushioned by the plush duvet. Bert tore at it, shaking his head frantically. Layla lay in the bed, mocking the dog as he tore feathers from the duvet. 

In the blink of an eye, her body disappeared. An icy breath caressed the nape of Callum’s neck. She was behind him. 

“It’s time to play, Cally. Time to—” Bert cut her off, jumping toward Callum and aiming another bite at the girl. His teeth grazed Callum’s neck, causing a sudden and intense pang. A warm trickle of blood made its way down Callum’s neck. He winced and held his hand over the mark.

“Berty, stop!” Callum called out as his head radiated a tremendous heat. His temples thumped with the rhythm of his heartbeat, hard and fast. Bert whimpered and made his way out of the bedroom. Callum turned to face his sister, but the dense mist greeted him, tying his stomach in a knot.

Running out onto the landing, Callum could hear Bert descending the stairs and into the kitchen. The pitter-patter of his claws on the floor was like a thousand tiny needles piercing into Callum’s eyes. The lights in the house flickered on and off as Layla’s intense laughter filled the house. 

In the kitchen, Bert jumped onto the counter by the window and looked toward Callum as he followed through the doorway. 

The pool! Bert’s voice echoed through Callum’s mind. Without hesitation, Callum ran to the back door, not needing to look out the window. He knew Bert wouldn’t lie to him. He knew his parents were out there and were in trouble.

Paige stood outside, her figure illuminated solely by the moonlight. As she stood over the swimming pool, peering into its depths, her movements were like those of a marionette controlled by a malevolent puppet master. 

“Mommy!” Callum screamed, but there was no response. Paige’s eyes were fixed on the pool, a wide grin spreading across her face. Bert darted past Callum and headed straight for her. Before Callum could pick up his feet and head for his mother, she jumped headfirst into the ice-cold water. As she made a splash, Bert leaped forward and grabbed the lifeline connected to her. Overwhelmed with fear, Callum stood rooted to the spot, feeling as if an invisible hand had clamped down on his chest.

“No! No! Let me go!” he screamed out into the night as he watched his dog frantically trying to pull his mother out of the water. 

Alforous’s voice, hushed and sinister, echoed in his ear, accompanied by the sickening scent of decay emanating from his breath. “The dog won’t save her.” He chuckled. Sharp claws sank into Callum’s shoulders, causing him to scream in excruciating agony. 

“Berty! Berty, help!”

Bert’s ear perked up, and he turned to look toward the sound of Callum’s desperate cries. He pulled on the rope that was attached to Paige’s ankle.

With a blend of menacing growls and plaintive whines, Bert’s claws dug into the ground, anchoring him as he gave one final, desperate pull. Paige’s body lifted with him slightly. She was coming out of the water. 

“Keep pulling, Berty! Keep—” Callum called out but stopped abruptly. He had fallen to the ground, his skin growing pale and his lips taking on a bluish hue. 

With Paige out of the water and gasping for air, Bert ran to his best friend, crying. The dog had saved one life that night, but at what cost?

Paige coughed and gasped for air, disoriented and unaware of the events that transpired. She rolled herself onto her side and vomited water. Barely able to hold herself up, she looked around the backyard, her vision slowly regaining focus. The stillness of the night was broken by the sound of Bert’s cries and whimpers. 

They’re back. He saved me. 

Paige pushed herself up, her arms shaking beneath her weight. As the porch light flickered, she was able to make out the heartbreaking sight of Callum lying still on the ground. With his front legs firmly planted on Callum’s chest, Bert appeared to guard him with unwavering loyalty. 

“Callum?” she screamed as she tried to get to her feet, but all that came out was a gurgle. She fell back down in an instant, too weak to hold her body weight up, her legs like jelly. She shivered uncontrollably as the cool night air seeped into her soaked clothes. “Bert!”

The dog ignored her call; his focus was solely on Callum. Paige began to crawl toward her son, the weight of the rock making it difficult for her to gain any distance. As she pulled herself along the ground, Bert took hold of Callum’s pants and began to drag him toward her. With only feet between them, Paige reached out her arm and held onto her son’s free ankle, squeezing him tightly. Each breath she took was a struggle, her chest constricting as if it were imploding. 

“Callum, Callum, wake up. Please, wake up,” she cried as Bert dropped Callum’s leg and licked the boy’s face. Paige lowered her head to the ground, mourning the death of her second child.

“M-Mommy?” It was the soothing sound of Callum’s voice floating on the night breeze. 

Paige lifted her head and saw him looking at her. He was pale, and his eyes were glazed, but he was alive. 

“Callum. Oh my god, Callum. You’re okay.” 

Bert’s tail wagged vigorously as Callum struggled to sit up, his body swaying unsteadily. “What happened, Mommy?”

No more secrets. Not anymore. There was no plausible explanation for what had just happened. Her determination grew with each tear she wiped away, and she slowly got to her knees. 

“Honey,” she began. “I saw Layla⁠—” 

“So do I!” Callum interrupted, and Paige’s eyes grew wide. “She’s scary, Mommy, and so is Alforous. They want to hurt us, but Bert saved you, just like I knew he would. And he talks to me. Cliffton said he’s a special dog, and he was right.”

“How sweet,” Alforous said from behind her. She turned and saw the menacing figure standing by the edge of the pool. Layla stood beside him, her long black cloak draped over her, and her head tilted down, the hood concealing her face. 

“M-M-Mommy. You love Callum more than me? How could you, Mommy? How could you?” Layla’s voice shook as she began to cry. 

“You’re not my daughter. You’re evil,” Paige hissed. With a smirk, Alforous raised his hands and directed his gaze toward the sky. Bert growled as Callum held him tight, restraining him from attacking them.

“It is time. My princess and I will become one with you, and then Agõnia will begin. No one can save you now, Paige. You blamed him for your daughter’s death. But it was me.”

Paige stared in disbelief. This whole time she’d spent believing that Eric hadn’t tried hard enough to save their daughter. How wrong she had been.

“Callum, you need to let Bert go,” Paige said, but her words went unheard. Callum’s eyes were rolling frantically into the back of his head, showing only the whites, and his arms shook violently. It was another tic attack. Bert tried to break free from his grip, but it was useless. It was as though Callum had the strength of a thousand men. A piercing scream filled the air as Paige reached out for her son, but Layla took hold of the rock tied to her ankle and began to pull her toward the water. 

“No! No!”

A swift force hit Paige across the face, plunging the world into darkness. On the brink of unconsciousness, she could hear Alforous speaking in an unfamiliar language. 

“Tracoa Mest Sadar. Tarcoa Seid Sotai. Torcoa Ren Partar. Protanda Sai Agõnia.” Alforous’s words hung in the air as his mark was etched into Callum’s forearm.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Eric could hear Paige screaming as he exited the car. 

“Paige!” he called out, running through the front door. His mind raced. As Eric sprinted through the house, the thick mist wrapped around him, weighing him down and making it difficult to move. It pulled him to the ground, and he hit his head, unable to place his hands in front of him to catch his fall. The room spun as he pushed himself back up to his feet. As he did, the mist dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. Through the back door, he could hear a deep, menacing voice speaking in a foreign tongue. 

“Protanda Sai Agõnia.”

Agõnia. The curse. It wasn’t a hallucination at all; Cliffton was right. Through the backdoor, he could see a demonic figure with his hands raised to the sky. At the figure’s feet, Callum was shaking violently with Bert in his grasp.

“Callum!” Eric dashed over and fell to his knees, trying to break Callum’s grip on Bert. It was as if he was in a battle against a boa constrictor. Callum’s grip was immense, and the uncontrollable shaking made it difficult for Eric to get a hold of him.

Bert let out a series of whimpers and whines. Callum was clearly hurting him. With his fingers digging deep into the boy’s forearm, Eric pulled as hard as he could, finally freeing Bert. Both he and Callum fell backward; his son was a dead weight as he landed on top of him.

Bert ran toward Alforous, growling furiously. The sound reminded Eric of a wolf, warning its foe off. Alforous looked down at the dog and held a bony-fingered hand in front of him. Bert stopped instantly, as if he’d collided with an invisible wall. 

“Ahh, Bert. I see Cliffton never taught you well.” Alforous smirked as blood dripped from his mouth and down his chin. “It’s too late now. Too late for you all. Layla.”

Eric followed his gaze and saw Layla dressed in the same robe Cliffton had been wearing. Her oversized hood masked her face, but he knew that underneath it was the demonic version of his daughter that had plagued him for so long.

“Agõnia is upon us. Be free, my child.”

Eric released his grip on Callum and clenched his fists. Rising to his feet, he screamed, “She’s not your fucking child! She’s my daughter!” He ran at Alforous, stumbling, his fist raised and ready to hook the fucker who had taken his daughter from him. But Eric came to an immediate halt, hitting the same wall that Bert had.

“Ridiculous, Eric. Just like your father. Tell me, do you know why you suffer so much in this life? Wouldn’t you like to live a life in paradise?” Alforous asked, the grin still smeared across his face as blood dripped to the grass. “I can give you that.”

“Fuck. You,” Eric spat.

With a pitying laugh, Alforous lifted his head to the sky once more. The moon was covered by the dense mist that had almost trapped Eric in the house. “Very well. Say goodbye to your son.” Alforous’s voice was filled with a sick sense of excitement.

Eric and Bert struggled to break free of the demon’s invisible grip. Layla screamed like a banshee into the night. She and Alforous vanished instantly, disappearing into the darkness surrounding them. With wide eyes, Eric saw Paige lying on the ground, her body motionless. 

“Paige!” he cried out. She lifted her head slowly but couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Agõnia is here, Dad,” Callum’s voice said from behind him, and the mist surrounded him once more. The hairs on Eric’s neck stood on end; the smell of rot and chlorine lingered on his son’s breath.

“No. God, please no,” he whimpered.

As Eric cast his eyes to the sky, trying to hold back tears, he saw a pattern in the stars. It was his birthmark, dancing across the night sky. With a shaky breath, he screamed, and Bert howled alongside him.

A piercing pain struck his forearm, like a red-hot knife had just pierced through his skin. He dropped to the ground, clutching his arm and writhing.

“I feel it, too, Dad.” Callum’s voice was merely an echo of itself.

Eric rolled over onto his back and saw that Callum’s skin had taken on that pallid hue that Layla had. His teeth were sharp, and one eye was gone, the socket crawling with maggots. The remaining eye was like a serpent’s, with its yellow hue and slit pupil. It was like Callum had fused with his dead sister and Alforous, creating one horrific being.

“Callum?” Eric said breathlessly. The pain in his birthmark grew worse. He winced. Callum smiled and pulled up his sleeve, revealing an identical mark.

“Agõnia.” He smirked.

It was too late. Eric hadn’t made it in time to save his family. If only he’d put his foot down more on the way home. If only he hadn’t asked so many questions at Cliffton’s, then maybe, just maybe, he would have been able to get here in time.

Callum raised his other arm and held his hands in front of his face. His nails grew to a gruesome length right before Eric’s eyes. With his index finger, the boy drew a slit across his throat. Blood spilled from the wound as he coated his palm in crimson. He walked, almost floating, toward Eric and Bert. Bert tried to snap at Callum but was met with a swift kick to the face. Bert slumped to the grass, unconscious. Eric watched as his son floated toward Paige. Callum looked down upon her and back at Eric.

“Maybe you can save her, Dad?”

With panic and rage filling his veins, Eric clambered to his feet, the world still spinning around him. He took a step, the pain in his forearm radiating throughout his body. Another step. He almost fell to his knee, but steadied himself. Another step. The mist grew denser, making Callum and Paige almost disappear. Another step.

“That’s it, Dad. Almost there.”

A voice sounded in Eric’s mind as he took another step toward his wife and son. The spirit can’t be killed, but the body it inhabits can. It’s the only way to break the curse. Do it. Save us both, before it’s too late. He glanced back at Bert. The dog’s breaths were slow and labored.

Summoning all his strength, Eric ran at Callum, aiming to take hold of his throat and choke him to death, but he tripped and landed face-first on the ground once more. Looking around in the mist, he could see nothing. He felt around with his hands, trying to find an ankle to grab hold of. Nothing. Until a soft hand touched his.

“Eric,” Paige whispered. “Eric. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Her voice quivered, sounding distant in the mist.

“Paige, I⁠—”

“No. Just listen. I’m sorry I blamed you. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect our children. I know you tried your best. I know it was this monster who took Layla from us. I’m sorry.” Her words gave way to sobs.

“No. I’m sorry I couldn’t save us. I’m sorry for everything. I wanted to give you the perfect life, but all I’ve done is ruin it.” Eric felt Paige’s thumb rub comfortingly the back of his hand. Even in her suffering, she still put others before herself.

“I love you, Eric.”

“I love you, too.”

“How precious,” Callum’s voice called from the mist. Eric pushed himself to his knees, searching for the deity that had taken control of his son’s body and caused him so much grief.

“Fuck you!” he screamed and got to his feet, swinging aimlessly, hoping to God that one of his punches would ring true. Laughter rang throughout the night.

“Fool! You will never learn.”

Not listening is your downfall, Eric. Those words screamed through Eric’s mind as he continued to swing violently. He stopped and looked around. The mist was beginning to evaporate, making way for the moonlight. He turned to face Bert, but the dog was gone. Breathing heavily, his eyes grew wide at the sight of Callum mutilating his own hand. Callum chomped down on his fingers, blood spilling down his hand. The squelching sound twisted Eric’s stomach into a knot. Backing away, Eric bumped into something. A splash followed.

At the bottom of the pool, Paige’s lungs filled with water, the rippling image of Eric above her fading into blackness. She tried to fight against the weight on her ankle, but it was no use. She lay with her eyes open, looking up into the dead of night as the blood moon shone down upon her.

As the ripples from her fall into the pool began to settle, Layla appeared as she was in life. Her sweet, innocent, perfect daughter looked down on her from above the water, smiling. She was wearing Paige’s favorite dress, her hair in the pigtails Paige adored. Her beautiful blue eyes were filled with hope, reflecting the light that bounced from the water. 

“We’ll finally be together again, Mommy,” Layla said as she held out her arms, waiting for her mother’s embrace. Paige smiled, and her world faded into darkness one final time. 

Eric turned and saw Paige lying at the bottom of the pool. Without hesitation, he tried to jump in after her, but Callum yanked him back by the shoulder.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he hissed in Eric’s ear.

Eric struggled to break free, staring desperately down into the water as the ripples began to settle. Paige was smiling. Her eyes glazed over, and she left the world. Tears rolled down Eric’s cheeks as his wife died before his eyes.

“Now, it’s your turn,” Callum chuckled and bit deep into Eric’s neck.

The pain was excruciating, sending Eric’s entire body into shock as he cried out. Warm blood trickled down his neck as Callum buried his sharp teeth deeper into his skin. Dropping to his knees, Eric grabbed hold of Callum’s arms and tried to peel him off. They struggled against each other, but darkness began to take over Eric’s vision. He was dying.

The dog is special. Cliffton’s voice rang in Eric’s mind just as he was starting to give up the fight and let death take him. There was nothing left to live for now. His daughter was gone. His wife was gone. His son was now draining the blood from his body. And all because of a stupid curse he knew nothing about.

What would have happened if he’d never gone to the liquor store that day? How would his life have panned out if he’d never knocked on Cliffton’s door? Would this have all happened much sooner if it wasn’t for Bert? But what-ifs were always too late.

“Aghhhh!” Callum screamed, pulling his teeth from his father’s neck. Eric fell onto his back. Pressing a hand over the wound, his palm began to fill with blood. Bert had grabbed Callum by the throat and was biting into him hard, like a lion making its kill. Blood spurted from the boy as he screamed for his father’s help.

The spirit can’t be killed, but the body can.

Eric closed his eyes and covered his ears with his hands. As he cried into the ground, listening to the muffled sound of his son being killed, Eric thought of one thing and one thing only.

My family’s blood is on my hands.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The breeze that blew through Eric’s hair was crisp as he got to his feet and approached Bert. The dog’s snout was covered in blood, and he licked some away, making Eric vomit on the spot. As he wiped his mouth clean, Eric looked down at his son. Callum’s throat had been completely mutilated. He squatted down and moved his hair out of the boy’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. With tears stinging his eyes, Eric gently lifted his son’s lifeless body. He was so light. Callum’s head flopped back, and Eric held out his elbow to support it, just like when he was a newborn. Looking down at his firstborn’s face, Eric saw the pure innocence of his boy. The innocence that had been taken away right before his eyes.

He placed a kiss on Callum’s forehead and began to make his way into the house, his neck screaming with pain. Bert remained outside, allowing father and son to share one final moment together.

In Callum’s room, Eric lay his son down in his bed and kissed his head one final time. The mark on Callum’s forearm had disappeared. He looked down at his own forearm. The birthmark that had riddled him since birth was gone. Agõnia was gone. He was free. Breathing in deeply, Eric pulled the covers over his son, his tears spilling onto them.

“Bye, Cal. I’m so sorry. I’m so proud of you.”

Now was the time to say goodbye to Paige.

Outside, Bert lay by the pool, awaiting Eric's return. Eric stumbled toward the dog, his movements sluggish. He looked up to the night sky, where the blood moon hung high in the air. His hands trembled as he stared for a moment, unable to take his gaze away from the thing that marked the end of his family. The taste of blood ridiculed him. He had bitten his lip deep and hard without realizing it.

Bert dropped his ears and gave a small whimper. Even he knew it was time to say a final farewell.

Paige lay motionless at the bottom of the pool. Taking in a deep breath, the air chilling his lungs, Eric dove headfirst into the water and retrieved his wife’s body. He was surprised at how light she seemed, considering the rock she had tied to her ankle was what had kept her under. Was it adrenaline coursing through his veins, giving him extra strength? Was it grief? Whatever it was, he didn’t care. He just needed to say goodbye to his beloved Paige.

Eric placed his wife’s body on the ground. How beautiful she was, even in death. There was so much he wanted to say, but he would never be able to. So many things he wished he could take back. So much he would have done differently. But it was too late. It’s always too late.

Eric took Paige’s left hand, examined her wedding ring, and kissed it gently. He clasped both of his hands around hers. It was cold and felt so fragile. He brought it up to his forehead and begged for forgiveness. Begged that she could still hear him and how much he loved her. His body trembled as he was unable to hold back tears.

Moaning, Eric cried out. “Please come back to me.”

The air around him hung in silence. A cold breeze blew through his hair, sending a shiver down his spine. Bert sat beside Eric and nudged him with his snout. Eric cast his gaze at the dog, who bobbed his head toward Paige’s ankle. To Eric’s surprise, Bert had chewed through the rope tied there. The dog had freed her in a way.

Eric bit down on his lip and, with a tremor in his voice, said, “Good boy.”

Bert lay down and whimpered the same way he had before Eric took Callum’s body into the house. Eric wiped his nose and nodded.

As he carried his wife in his arms, just like he had on their wedding night, Eric shook under the weight of emotion. Bert remained where he was. In their bedroom, Eric placed Paige’s body in the bed. Her hair clung to her face, and he gently moved it out of the way to get one last clear look at his beloved. Eric leaned in and kissed her tenderly on her lips. They were cold. Ice cold.

“I’ll always love you, Paige. I’m sorry for what I put you through. I never meant to hurt you.” He pulled the covers over her body. In the doorway, Eric turned back and looked at the small figure that lay under the covers, hoping to God to see any sign of movement. But there was only stillness.

“I’ll see you again soon, my love. I promise.” With those words, Eric closed the bedroom door, leaving Paige in her final resting place.

Eric walked through the house one last time, taking in the life he and Paige had spent so many years creating. The memory of Callum and Layla running down the stairs, playing rocket ships, flooded his mind. He conjured a weak smile.

“At least you’re together again, my babies.” Eric stood outside the back door and looked into the darkness. With a barely audible click, he closed the door, shutting away his family and his old life.

“What do I do now?” he said out loud.

Bert came and sat beside him, his mismatched eyes looking drained of all life. Eric petted the dog on the head. If it wasn’t for Bert, then he would be dead as well. Wouldn’t that have been easier, though? If he’d just let death take him from this mortal realm and give him the freedom he’d always sought? Both his daughter and wife had drowned. His son had been taken by a deity that he had no knowledge of, one that had haunted him since the day he was born. He didn’t blame Bert for Callum’s death. The dog had done what he’d been sent to do.

Things happen for a reason, Paige’s voice entered his mind. We love you, and we don’t blame you.

Looking around the yard, Eric ran his hand through his hair, the blood acting like gel. He turned away and beckoned for Bert to follow him, fresh tears spilling from his eyes.

Eric and Bert made their way around the side of the house and headed to the car.

“Wait here,” he said as he got inside the Honda. Bert sat obediently, panting frantically. Eric started the motor and drove straight into the house, collapsing the front wall completely and covering the car in debris. The airbags went off, bashing Eric’s face and sending more pain through his neck. With ringing in his ears, he exited the car slowly.

Your pocket, Cliffton’s voice said in his head. Eric reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches, the same matches that Cliffton had used to light his pipe.

The pieces of the puzzle were all beginning to make sense. Eric popped the hood and opened the matchbox. There was a solitary match. The memory of Cliffton appearing behind him in his house coursed through his mind.

“He knew,” Eric gasped.

With the match in hand, Eric pondered his life. Being in care. The substance abuse. Meeting Paige. His wedding day. His strained relationship with his in-laws. His children’s births. His relapse. None of it mattered. It was all plagued to be doomed from the start. His destiny had been written in the stars before he was born. The moment his parents conceived him, destiny had put him on the course of destruction.

Eric lit the match and tossed it into the engine bay. Fire began to spread throughout the house.

Outside the house, Bert watched as the flames took hold of everything in their wake. He looked up to the sky and howled a piercing howl.

AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed Shadowed Echoes, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads or Amazon. Reviews, ratings, and word of mouth recommendations are so important for independent authors and help more books like this get written!

To stay up to date on my next projects, please join my discord server through the link below, and give me a follow on Instagram at @j.l.heathauthor or TikTok at @j.l.heath.author

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

K.L. Devore - To my fiancée. Where do I even begin with you? If it wasn’t for you, then this book would have never been a thing and would have ended up being thrown out after the first draft. I can’t begin to thank you enough for your love, support, guidance and laughter you smother me with each and every day. I love you with all that I have and will do so forever and always. Thank you for sticking by my side through thick and thin. Until death do us part my darling. I love you.

Mum and Dad - Without you two I would have never been able to pursue a career in writing and for that (and so much more) I will be forever grateful. You’ve both seen me through everything and made me the man I am today. Though you both have your own hurdles to conquer in life, you’ve never let that stop you from being the best parents anyone could ever ask for. Thank you for everything you’ve both ever done for me since day one. I love you both with all my heart.

Grandad - Nineteen years have passed since we lost you. Not a single day goes by where I don’t think of you and hope that I’ve made you proud. You taught me to put my heart and soul into everything I do and to do whatever it takes to keep my head above the water. I miss you everyday and hope you’re looking down with a smile on your face and that amazing twinkle in your eye.

Alfie - To my furry friend, though you can’t read this (what with being a dog an’ all), I need the world to know that I cherish and love every single moment we spend together. From the walks, to the cuddles, to you taking up my bed, I love each and every one of them and have never laughed as much as I have at you and your silly antics. You’re a good boy.

Liam - From being in bands together to living our own lives, you’ve always been a part of mine and I am eternally grateful for your friendship. You took the time to read through my short stories before I started even considering writing a full length novel and gave me such great feedback and support from day one. Though we don’t see each other as often anymore, you still have a big place in my heart. You know it makes sense.

Kirsty - Kirsty! Thank you so much for working with me on developing this novel into what it is. From my first draft right through to the end, your support and kindness means the absolute world and I look forward to working with you further! And thank you from the bottom of my heart for answering all my stupid questions, it means so much you took the chance to work with me when I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.

Alex - The man who made this draft improve tenfold. I couldn’t have asked for a more professional and attentive line editor. From day one I’ve appreciated our working relationship so much and I am beyond grateful for what you did for this novel. You will be my go to man for line edits without a single hesitation. Thank you!

K.C. Woodruff - Ahh K.C! Thank you so much for all the advice you’ve given me (love the podcast suggestions), the proofread and the formatting. Your attention to detail is astounding and I will be forever grateful for everything you’ve done. I’m so glad I got to meet you through K.L. You’ve taught me so much in such a short time and I will forever be a fan of your insta stories and Caramel!

Inkspire - Kat and Sharon! Where do I even begin? ‘Thank you’ will never be enough for how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me. From cover reveals, to ARC signups, to social media content, to putting up with my silly questions. Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re both so sweet and deserve for Inkspire to be known by the world! The hard work and dedication you put in is beyond inspiring. Please never stop what you’re doing.

To you, the readers - From the bottom of my heart, thank you! It's because of you guys I get the opportunity to do this. I hope to publish books for the rest of my life and give you even more gripping and thrilling adventures. Reading has always been an escape from the harsh reality we all live in and I hope I have been able to do that for you, if even for a split second. Thank you for taking a chance on me and for taking out your time to read my debut novel. Words will never suffice how much it means to me!

Without all of you, Shadowed Echoes would never have been brought to life. Thank you!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J.L. is a lover of all things thriller and horror. When he isn’t writing, he enjoys spending time with his cockapoo going on walks and playing out in the garden on warm sunny days. A cozy night in with a book and a cup of tea after a pub dinner is his idea of a perfect evening.