This centers on a deranged woman's path to becoming a complete nihilistic and feral serial killer. Emma Woodburn was put in the asylum for eleven years after killing her own husband and ten-year old son, along with the aging mother of a detective.
...
"Well. I'm sorry to say this to you guys, but I guess the vacation's off."
At approximately 11:40, a loud chant of hooray filled the atmosphere and engulfed all ears of the next door house. Carl, spooked as hell, raced immediately through his petty hole. The dinner table vibrates and hurls its chairmen of plates, forks, knives, mugs and eatables soaring in midair then down to gravity. Austin, Timothy and Brianna began to bang their fists on the on the to the symphony of a song Mr. Summers swore he would never live to hear again.
Their annoying chorus was followed by the hectic pounding and drumming of beats and Mr. Summers could feel his veins and intenstines rip from their cords.
"Oh, shut up, will you?!", he barked ferociously, "This doesn't mean I'm not changing my mind any less sooner."
"Oh, I know what this means, dad," Brianna taunted, " I'm going to the best, supa dupa party with my boyfriend Keith, and now you have nothing to stop me with."
She vanished from the table at once, with Timothy and Austin giving her the grotesque stare from behind. Only Timothy, the wisest of the lot, showed his dear father the concern he deserved.
" What happened, dad? Why's the trip cancelled?", he asked but Austin shunned being inside this conversation and got up to his feet.
"It appears Uncle Sam and Aunt Kitty were......," he hesitated a little by swallowing and taking a deep inhale and exhale of breath before voicing out,"...one way or another, involved in an accident."
"WHAT?"
The shriek had come from Mrs. Summers emerging to the kitchen with faint speed. Austin, the dumb teenager, halted on the spot and he swore he could have heard his dumb sister from afar halt too.
"What happened, honey?", she went on, "How bad is it?"
"Relax. Relax," Mr. Summers replied calmly, " Toby called just in time to inform me that there were no severe injuries, just minor cuts and bruises. They're getting checked right now and they're alright."
"What happened ?!", both Mrs. Summers and Austin yelled out at him simultaneously in a competition of whose most heard. They were sorely vexed at the slow paced results that were hustling to come out of his mouth.
"Their gym exploded, alright?!", Mr. Summers imploded audibly, "Some asshole terrorist. I don't know, possibly those low-life Muslims again."
"Dad, don't talk about Muslims like that!", Austin verbally fought back, so pissed off he wanted to punch his father in the teeth.
"What're you blabbering about? Muslims are evil, godforsaken low-lifes who feel they can come to this country anytime they feel like and blow us to kindgom come, you know that."
"My girlfriend's a Muslim, dad!", Austin voiced again, finally making sense, "The fact that a building or theme park gets blown to pieces and people end up dead in this country doesn't mean the Muslims are striking again!"
"What the hell do you know, Austin?", Mr. Summers overvoiced again, "You think you know but you don't know the hatred these feinds have for our nation.
"Honey, I think that's enough racial judgments for the moment," Mrs. Summers cuts in at once, "Let's all focus on paying Uncle Sam and Aunt Kitty a visit and wishing speed recovery. And most of all, we should be thankin' God they're still alive."
But none of her words seemed to have sunk into Austin's membrane as he opened his trap to scold his old man one more time.
"People get shot at broad-day light, that doesn't mean all black people are the ones to blame, dad!" Austin roared again. So unexpected, Mrs. Summers was completely taken aback.
"I said that's enough, Austin!", she spat back randomly, and this time he felt her invinsible teeth sink into his neck like a starved vampire. He left the kitchen with his feet dragging the concrete floor in the similar way Mrs. Summers recalled during her fights with her mom. It had always ended with a nasty loud thud to the back of the head with a wooden roller.
Awakening herself and contemplating another flashback trance, she went on hitting the nail on her husband's head. Timothy was too stricken with panic to stay behind and listen.
"What do we do now, honey?", she spoke.
"Is that a rhetorical question?", Mr. Summers snarled as though on the verge of meltdown, "What? You think I'm not gonna be able to...."
He couldn't even man up and complete the sentence. The parasite called fear was clawing its way into his rib cage.
"Oh, for Godsakes! The past is gone, honey!", she beckoned him, "Aunt Kitty needs you more than ever and at this very moment, 'that night incident' is not what she's thinking of right now."
But Mr. Summers had been so disturbed by the way she quotated it. The night incident. The night incident of pure humiliation and the reason the gap between them existed.
"Wow. I like the way put it," he started cackling with hilarious sarcasm that didn't even sound sarcastic, " 'The Night Incident'", he repeated, " You mean the night I was humiliated in front of the world by that person whom I thought was my sister."
"I know deep down, you still care about her, hon," Mrs. Summers whispered to his ear as she brushed her fingers across his folded arms, forgetting entirely her Quentin Tarantino-looking husband was rid of his arousal for her.
"What she did was terrible. I'll admit it. But we can't keep on living with this grudge, can we?"
"You're sounding like my grandpa now," Mr. Summers muttered dim-wittedly, trying so hard to humor his way out of going to that flashback. He took off his glasses, placed it down the dinner table and took his seat as well. The anxiety parasite was now clawing it's way into his system just when the fear parasite was getting out. Mrs. Summers wasn't looking forward to sitting down and listening to another full hours of "I'm such a bad person, I don't think I can do this" talk.
"I'll hit the showers," she reminded him quickly, "If you wanna join me.....oh, forget it. You won't anyway." She walked away. But no. In reality, she was modelling briskly. Catwalking and moving her apple-shaped booty in the most desirable way she could but Mr. Summers felt absolutely no arousal. He gazed idilly, admiring the natural beauty of his wife's light brown-chocolate skin and the scent of the lotion that was on her dark & lovely, permed hair.
No arousel. No urge to just pounce on her from behind and grab those melon twins. At approximately 12:50, Mr. Summers could hear her take off that shirt and skirt, then bra and undies. Her ring and necklace still on, the showers were heard gushing down and splashing her face. It may have been just a fantasy, but Mrs. Summers was actually waiting for him. Believing that man would get up from the seat and magically appear right behind her dripping wet body.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
