C O M P L E T E - first draft.
7x featured story.
Undiscovered Gem, Romance Ambassadors, January 2025.
Ambys 2024 Favourite - Mystery & Thriller
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I don't register what comes first--Mum's screams and curses, or the searing pain that perforates...
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September 4th
Z A C H A R Y
Most normal ten-year-old kids barricade their bedroom door to protect themselves from dumb, fictional monsters. Like the Boogeyman, or that lanky prick Slender Man. But the monsters that Addie—my little sister—shields herself from are very real.
I remember the first day our waste of oxygen father let dangerous people into our home. It was six months ago, about three months after he started dealing. I hadn't long turned eighteen, and Addie was nine at the time. I was watching cartoons on the sofa with Addie when our splintering front door swung open and a middle-aged man stumbled inside. He stank of smoke and alcohol, and I clenched my fist, ready to throw a punch right at the centre of his ugly face.
But our father—Gareth, I don't refer to the fucker as 'Dad'—staggered down the hall and greeted the intruder like an old friend. He said he was here for the 'stuff,' and I knew straight away he meant drugs. Gareth didn't exactly do a stellar job at hiding his shady means of income from me. But this was the first time he'd brought one of his customers to our home. This was a safe place for Addie, and now it wasn't.
Gareth took the piece of shit who barged in through the halls and emerged with him again five minutes later with a wad of cash in hand. The piece of shit then staggered toward the door and went to leave, but he stopped and turned to the sofa. His eyes fixed on Addie and I tightened my arm around my little sister as she moved to hide behind me.
"Aw, don't be shy, little girl," the man said to Addie, and not in a comforting way. He grinned and cackled, exposing his rotting teeth. "Why don't you tell me your name?"
I remember the way I balled my fists and lurched up from the sofa, stomping over to the piece of shit. I remember the way his nose cracked and popped when my fist smacked it. The blood that pooled at his feet on our stained carpet when I hit him again and again, only stopping when Gareth yanked me away. The shady bastard had the audacity to speak to my little sister in the comfort of her own home, and I wanted him dead for it.
The man left clutching his bloodied nose, threatening to have me stabbed or shot. He threatened to have my body thrown in a lake. He said he knew people who could make me disappear, and something told me he wasn't lying about his sinister connections.
That was the day I realised our home was no longer safe. And it was all Gareth's fault.
#
Thuds and yells are audible through the thin stud walls and derelict flooring of our house—a regular background noise around here at night. A "fuck you" here, and a "I'm going to have you killed" there rings out. Something breaks and smashes and more slurred insults and threats bounce off the walls.
The drunken assholes stay in the kitchen most of the time, but even if they attempted breaking into this room, they wouldn't get far. When Gareth brings his horde of criminals here whilst I'm home, I push the heavy dresser in Addie's room in front of her door and spend the night on her bedroom floor. I keep a baseball bat in the top drawer. Even if they got in, I'd beat them senseless before they could touch my sister.
