Hidden Deep

6

In fact, it was.
Timmy ran up the stairs to the first floor of the house, he opened the door that was right beside the kitchen and looked at the knives displayed in the counter, next to the stove. In the wooden knife display there was five spots, three on top and two in the bottom in-between the top ones, but there was only four knives there and a free slit.
He immediately turned away and ran to the stairs for the second floor. While he did, he remembered what he had seen through the creature, and how it could be true:

The father, after leaving the basement, stopped by the kitchen and stood there staring at the counter for a few seconds. He picked up the butcher's knife from the knife display, the bottom-right slit (like Timmy saw).
He turned around, arms lowered and clutching the knife's handle on his right hand, and peacefully headed upstairs.
At the top step, lights still on in the upstairs hallway, he went for the closest bedroom and pushed the door open with his left hand, his son's bedroom.
Then he approached the defenseless sleeping boy. He raised his left hand to the child's face and firmly grasped his nostrils with his index finger and thumb, while covering his mouth with the palm of the hand.
The child's eyes opened wide in panic and they lit up some of the surrounding darkness with the white in them.
Then, Timmy noticed how that, small but bright, white light reflected on the smooth metallic surface of the knife as it neared the boy's neck.
But it didn't stop there. His right hand kept going upward on the child's head, and so did the butcher's knife.
If the boy had blinked Timmy hadn't noticed, for he couldn't stare away from the reflection of the boy's eyes and he had not seen them shut since they opened. He could see the struggle in them though. Blood-red thin veins growing wider and thicker, almost reaching his pupils.
Two tear-drops were forming close to the nose in each eye, and they both ran down his face when the child looked up at his father's dead-shut eyelids.
Timmy almost knew for sure what the boy was screaming in his mind at that moment, Why, dad? Why?
And the knife kept going, passed his lips first. Then, it lightly touched the tip of his nose and continued.
Why are you doing this, DAD?!
The boy struggled and tried to take his father's hand away from his face, but in futile attempts. It only made him hold stronger.
By then, little Timmy couldn't see any reflection anymore. The father's right hand was passing above the boy's eyes and reaching his eyebrows.
Then it stopped, an inch above the middle of the boy's forehead.
He pressed the knife on the boy's skin and a droplet of blood streamed down his head until it found an eyebrow.
The kid shut his eyes hard then and gave up struggling.
The father raised and held the butcher's knife up above his shoulder to gain momentum, and...

Timmy was now on the top floor of the house and saw that the little kid's bedroom door was wide open.
He took a step forward and hesitated, then he entered the room.
The bed was empty and the room was dark. He neared the end side of the bed and there he saw the boy's dead body lying down on the floor. The top of his cranium had been violently cut off and half of his brain was showing.
Timmy felt like puking and almost did, but somehow he couldn't. He stepped aside from the room into the hallway and for a moment he was thankful for not vomiting.
Where would it go, if I did? He considered.
I mean, everything I do gets back in place. So, if I'd puke...
He stood up-straight and stopped for a while. Timmy couldn't get his eyes off of that room, although he couldn't see anything in there anymore, it was way too dark for that.
Then there was a scream coming from the first room where he had been. He hurried to the sound and, there was the man.
The belly-rolling snoring woman was now being held on the floor on top of the rug, by the neck. She kicked and screamed, and even jolted her body back and forth to try and get loose, but the man was now raising his hand over the shoulder again.
Timmy felt powerless but still he rushed to them, and when the knife was completely raised in the air, he held the man's arm and did not let him finish.
Timmy pushed back, and the hand pushed forward but it felt pointless. Finally, after a minute of struggling with the man's arm, little Timmy let go, and the knife entered the woman's skull an inch above the middle of her forehead. But it was not enough.
He did it once, twice, three times and even more, each blow more and more fiercely. Her blood squirted across the wooden floor and even onto the blood-red rug and to the vase and jewel-box on top of the chest of drawers.
The blood gushed to his tee-shirt as he witnessed the act, but as it hit his body it would instantly fall down to the floor beneath him, without staining his clothes, somehow.
He did not have the urge to vomit now, he just stood there and witnessed until the man was done and the woman had an open skull.
He saw him stood up to his full five feet and eight inches, and slowly, and peacefully, leave the room leaving the door wide open.
Timmy waited. He waited to see what was coming next. The vision he had absorbed from the creature went as far as the woman getting her head cut open, and no more than that.
The father returned to the bedroom with the corpse of his child in his arms and threw him on the floor next to the mother. He stopped for a while and looked at them, eyes closed. Timmy was sure that in that particular moment the man knew he had made a terrible mistake, and was utterly sorry for what he had done. But instead of crying for his dead loved-ones, he turned around and left the room once more.
Timmy followed him to the hallway and watched him going down the stairs. Once again, he waited.
He could hear his footsteps downstairs, furthering away and then a door opened. He heard the sound of steps on stairs again and then he knew what the man was up to. Another door swung creaking, and after a while the scent of something very unpleasant retuned to him. It was a putrid smell again.
He saw the father climbing up the stairs to the top floor with something black and bulgy on his arms, like the way he had carried his dead child, but that was no child. That was no nothing, as long as he could describe.
Don't do it. Timmy pronounced with his lips but heard only in his head. Please, that's enough. Don't. Do. It!
The carried creature passed near him and into the bedroom. There he approached the soaked blood-red rug and laid the monster on the floor that slid over to the bodies. The round black ball that inflated and deflated started to grow a new arm out of the top of it, but just one this time. It swollen much more than last time and quickly covered the dead woman's brain and almost all of her head, only the bottom lip and the chin were left showing.
The green-like veins extended into this new swollen arm and they started to pulsate again, as the whole creature did.
Timmy watched it "eating" (or absorbing) her brain out and then he noticed the man lifting up the butcher's knife one more time. His eyes remained closed but his hand knew exactly where to go, and so it went. He started to gently slit his forehead, then chopping and tearing with the help of his left hand. By the time the man was over, the round black and animated beach ball was finishing with the little boy. The tall man fell on his knees and then his head hit the floor, missing the mat by an inch.
The screams of the snoring woman still echoed in his mind, and Timmy continued watching, for he had nowhere else to go, until something would wake him up.