The Family (VOL. 1)

Chapter 16

"Wake up, sleepy head... " a hushed voice and a gentle set of hands shook me out of my much-needed sleep. I peeled open my eyes, blinking them a few times until they regained their clarity to find Loretta hovering over me like some sleep paralysis demon from my worst nightmares.

 Holy- that's a face I wasn't expecting to see! She rarely ever comes into the basement; complains it hurts her knees to climb up and down the stairs. So, if she's down here it can't be good. 

"Good, you're awake!" she chirped, her temperament way too cheery for the morning.

"What-what time is it?" I asked, propping up on my elbows, my voice still heavily groggy with sleep.

"Well, I don't know exactly, but the sun is up and we've got too much to do for ya to be sleepin' like some lazy house cat "

Huh? What is she talking abo- Aw crap! The wedding! Gosh, darn it! I thought I'd dreamt it. Everything in me wants to roll over and go back to sleep; I really don't want to face today. Why couldn't it have all been a dream?! 

 I glanced around the room, but Bubba was nowhere to be seen which is unusual considering he's always here when I wake. "Where's Bubba?" I asked, sitting up and stretching my arms above my head.

"Out doing chores with his brother and taking care of some last-minute business." She slid into bed beside me and combed her fingers through my tangly chestnut locks. "I was thinkin' that we could spend today gettin' to know each other better considerin' I'm gonna be your momma now." 

My mother? Ha! More like my psychopathic cannibalistic captor. Try as she might, she will never be my mother. Tears prick at my eyes when I think about the panic my actual mother must be feeling. I can't imagine what my parents are going through. I know that gut-wrenching feeling all too well. I feel it every time I think of Matt.

"Sure, that'd be great. " I answered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. 

"Good!" Her entire face lit up as she clapped her hands together in front of her chest. "How 'bout we start with breakfast? I've prepared us a down-right feast."

I followed her through the dead silent house. The sun was peeking up above the horizon turning the sky into an orange and pink ombre. As she said, the boys were nowhere to be seen. It's almost unnerving to not have Bubba following me around like a lost puppy. I feel safer with him around.

"I thought we could take our meal in the kitchen today," she said as we crossed the threshold into the room. "It's more quaint, you know." 

Quaint is definitely not the word I would use to describe the kitchen. Actually, I'm not sure there is a strong enough word to describe it. Repulsive, appalling, grotesque? No, words like that don't do it justice.

One half of the room was full of your basic kitchen appliances and cabinets straight out of the 40s in need of a good scrubbing while the other half was lined with floor to ceiling shelves loaded down with pots and pans, old tins, empty beer bottles, and other random junk spilling out onto the floor. Looks like an episode of Hoarders: Buried Alive in here.

Bird cages, some empty, others occupied with skeletal remains of small animals dangled from ropes strung from the ceiling rafters. Alongside them, various cuts of raw meat stabbed through hooks were strung out to dry. Scarlet ribbons of blood streamed out and puddled onto the tile floor at our feet, running into the grout lines as if they were aqueducts.

"Mind grabbin' that pitcher of milk for me." She pointed towards a farmhouse table piled high with dirty dishes acting as a makeshift island in the middle of the room.

I walked over and picked up the glass jug from the tabletop stained with rust-colored splotches of old blood long soaked into the wood.  Deep gashes, probably from knives and other butchering equipment hacked up the surface; huge chunks from the table were missing in some places. It reminded me of an old tree stump used to splice wood that's been chopped at with the blade of an ax many times.