A Voice like Sin

I had been sitting down on the couch, when my mother rushed into the living room and demanded I go downstairs. The tone wasn't mean, simply desperate.

I went downstairs without a question.

The routine felt familiar.

Thinking about why it seemed familiar made me sick.

My father wasn't the nicest man. I will leave it at that.

I took two stairs at a time and turned the corner quickly. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see my mother open the front door. I couldn't hear what she was saying but she sounded scared. Terrified, even.

Who was she talking to that made her voice shake?

I could only think of one person.

My father.

I dismissed the idea and ran to my room, shutting and locking the door. It was impossible. He was dead. He had been dead for three years.

But if it wasn't my father... who was it?

I sat on my unmade messy bed and tried to stop shaking. I hauled my knees to my chest and breathed deep. Through my vent, I could hear my mother yell shrilly and an unknown deep voice that made goosebumps raise on my arm.

I tried to think of someone my mother could be talking to. I racked my brain, over and over, but still couldn't think of anyone.

Who was she talking to?

My curiosity made me stand and press my ear to the ceiling vent. I only heard bits and pieces of words.

"Get out! ... my house!" I recognized that voice as my mother's.

Another voice began talking. The mere sound of it made me shake in fear. It sounded like... sin. And not the hot, sweaty kind. It sounded malicious. And mean and black and evil. I couldn't make out any words besides one.

"... deal?"

A deal? What was the mysterious man talking about? What deal could my mother, an abused widow, possible make with the evil, awful sounding voice?

My mother screams. As a learned involuntary reaction, I start crying.

I haven't heard that scream in three years.

I bite my lip hard and the blood runs hot down my chin. I remember what my dad would've said in response to me crying.

I can almost see him now. A tall man, hair and eyes both dark, with his hand raised. When he saw me crying, he always said the same thing. "Stop all that crying, or I'll give you something to cry about!"

Hearing that voice in my head, I instantly stop crying. My eyes stop burning and I can concentrate on what's happening upstairs again.

It's silent.

No screaming, no evil voice... nothing.

I don't dare go outside my room and walk upstairs. My mother wanted me downstairs for a reason.

Whatever was happening upstairs, it was dangerous.

The only way I could really help my mother was stay downstairs, with my phone.

With shaking fingers, I grab my cell, an iphone- my mother was so proud when she bought it for me as a birthday gift. I had been proud too, and surprised. After my father's passing, money had been scarce. The iphone represented that things were finally going well in the house. It takes me three times to dial a phone number I know by heart, my fingers are shaking so bad.

I press my ear to my phone and wait for the the phone to stop ringing. It goes straight to voicemail.

I curse, perhaps a bit too loudly, I hear someone with heavy feet move around upstairs.

I dial again and hope it doesn't go to voicemail.

Because the person moving around upstairs doesn't sound like my mother.