The Hauntings

Chapter 28

Francis frantically sheds his blood soaked clothes, after recovering so much slower than he would have liked.

"YOU BASTARD!"

Oh shit. Oh shit he's coming.

His father's voice booms in the family house, rattling the foundations of memories brimming with the good times and the willpower to flee from the househelp.

Francis thought he could flash in and out silently. Oh, how wrong he presumed. He should have just stolen some new clothes from one of the human shops. Foolish man.

He shoves a shirt on top of his head hastily as well as pushing his feet in a pair of converses nearby that he rarely wears. These canvas shoes have the great potential in destroying his hard core image, but times like these his image doesn't matter. He just needs to get the hell out of here before his father finds him.

Micheal usually likes to walk, rather than flash about but this time he doesn't bother with the effort. He flashes right behind his poor excuse of a son.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH! WHAT PART OF KILL HER DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!" Micheal roars making Francis jump back and then freezes in place.

Before Francis can consider flashing out his father shoots his hand out, grabbing his son by the neck, propelling him against the wooden wall and keeping him there writhing.

"WHAT MAKES IT WORSE IS THAT YOU TOLD SCALRETT! YOU BLOODY TOLD HER! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! IF I KNEW YOU WERE A COWARD THEN I WOULD HAVE DONE IT ALL BY MYSELF!" He yells, spitting in his son's face.

Francis tries not to cringe back to portray he is not affected by his father's ill temper but his pale face gives him away. He thinks it's wise to allow the tsunami of anger and rage to pass so he seals his mouth. Best not to aggravate the monster further.

He desperately hopes that he hasn't pulled the last straw here and his father will spare him. That hopeful idea dwindles precariously in the passion and desire for this vendetta Micheal has against his own daughter and her family.

"I KNEW YOU COULDN'T DO IT, YOU BLOODY BASTARD. YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT. JUST LIKE YOUR WHINY BITCH OF A MOTHER YOU ARE. I THOUGHT YOU HAD SOME HOPE BUT NO, YOU ARE A WORTHLESS, HOPELESS FAILURE. YOU HAVE NO FRIENDS, NO FUTURE AND NOW YOU HAVE NO FATHER! YOU HAVE NO ONE, LIKE YOU DESERVE AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

Francis can feel the simmering wrath emanating from his father. Francis has ruined everything. They were supposed to be discrete about it all, well he instead decided to light a neon beacon and dance with it in the open field. The damage is irreversible.

"You know the best thing for everyone, is for me is to end you now. Not only will that be a blessing, it will be a massive favour to the rest of the world. And then after that, I will do what you were too weak to do.
Don't fret I won't stop there, I'll then go onto slaughtering everyone that they have some affection towards, whether that be on the original list or supernatural, I don't give a damn, their blood will be on my hands. I will kill the whole of the UK if I have to!" Micheal hisses, inching further, nose to nose.

Francis has to sink against the wall further in order to dodge the unsettling distance between his father and him. Their profiles matching perfectly but they can't be more different in that moment.

Micheal hand squeezes tighter, satisfyingly being able to feel the tendons and muscles in his son's neck. Micheal stretches the other hand towards a chair. Automatically one of the chair's leg splinters in half and flys to him, like steel to magnet.

He simultaneously tightens his grip around Franic's neck at the same as thrusting the sharp piece of wood in his son's chest. Francis gasps out a cry of pain. Involuntary tears slip down his face from the unatural forces exerted on him. He begins to suffer from tunnel vision and slacking muscles.