It's late when my papa comes stumbling into the living room. He reeks of vodka and smoke. Ever since mama died, papa's been spending his time and money at the bar. Before that, he spent most of his time under a different whore.
No wonder mama shot herself.
Papa bumbles around nosily in our small cramped living room.
"Tia?" A small voice whispers to me, frightened.
Great! Now he woke up Anya.
"Shh," I pull her close. "It's just papa."
Our little apartment is in a bad neighborhood. A few years ago, some men broke in while Anya and I were sleeping and she hasn't been able to forget it.
I sing her a lullaby to sooth her back to sleep. After she's back to sleep, I go to papa before he makes anymore noise.
"Come here, my sweet," he summons me in Russian, "come and put your husband to bed."
He has mistaken me for my mother. He does this when he's drunk.
"Papa," I reply sweetly, coaxing him into bed. Maybe this time he will go smoothly. "Come papa, it's time to sleep."
"Elena, come!" He grabs me and drags me down the hall.
"Papa! It's me! NASTIA!" I beg and try to get away. "Mama is dead. Elena is gone! Papa!"
He turns to me, anger glowing in his eyes. In one swift motion, he smacks me with the back of his hand.
The silver ring cuts across my cheek and I am dazed. I can barely see anything. I feel his big sausage fingers grab hold of my hair as he drags me into the room. His room. The door creaks as it opens and he's cussing at me for disobeying him.
"No respect in this house. Why must you always do this?"
I whimper, kick and scream at him. I don't want to be mama again. Not again! He smacks me again and throws me on the bed. Down the hall, I see Anya crying in our doorway. That's before he closes the door and I'm trapped with him again. Better me than Anya.
I cover my newest black eye in the morning. I make breakfast and get little Anya ready for school. We don't talk about what happened last night. We sit in silence and eat our cereal. We leave before he wakes up.
Anya tries to cheer me up with a stupid little nursery rhythm our mother used to sign to us. It works and I start signing along, in spite of myself.
By the time I drop her off at school, Anya has me dancing along with her in a fully choreographed musical number. She hugs me and kisses my bruised cheek.
"I love you, my sister" she whispers to me in Russian.
"I love you, my sister."
She runs into the welcoming arms of the teacher, but before she enters the building she turns and waves to me good bye.
Like she always does.
On my way to school, I have to pass by the college. I stare at a version of my future that won't happen. Youthful people going to school, making friends, having a better life, a life that doesn't end with beatings each and every night.
That could've been me! If mama hadn't been selfish and left us, I could've had a chance at a normal life. I would've gone to school, gotten a good job and taken care of Anya. Now I work at a "gentleman's" club after school with men as gentle as my dear papa. What kind of woman leaves her daughters with a man like Nicholi Serber? Then again, what kind of woman marries a man like Nicholi Serber?
YOU ARE READING
Legend of the Wolf People
HorrorEver since the beginning, man has fantasied about creatures that could change form. Werewolves, they called them. And they've come with many shapes and legends. From Romulus and Remus to shape shifting shamans, from lycanthropy to Lycaon. Stories of...
