HIDE
By
Daniel Skye
Christian Powell hadn’t seen daylight
in as long as he could remember. Whiter than chalk dust, Christian wondered if
there had ever been a day where he soaked up the sun and breathed fresh air.
Ruth Powell told him to think of it as
a game. Just like hide and seek. Except this particular game consisted mostly
of hiding.
The same went for Addie and
myself. Mom named her Adelaide, but I always called her Addie. And she seemed
to take to it more than her birth name. And she called me Dina, which is my
name. But when she was younger she used to call me Dee-nee. That’s how she
would pronounce it. God, she’s adorable.
It’s not easy being the
youngest of three children. That’s why I always looked out for Addie. She was
more my child than she was moms. Addie’s the youngest. I’m the middle. And Christian
was the oldest.
A brooding child entering that
awkward stage of adolescence, Christian’s objective was to defy our mothers
every will and command. But she was adamant when it came to her rules.
The curtains stayed drawn, the
doors and windows remained locked at all times. That was the way it had been
since they had gotten to dad.
We all knew how father had met his
fate, but we never spoke of it aloud. The V word was expressly forbidden in
this house. In case you’re wondering, that V word is vampires.
Dad had gone out one night to gather
supplies against his better judgment. He never made it back. The vampires
snatched him in the night, drained him of every ounce of blood. At least that’s
the story mom had scared the hell out of us with.
Mom found the body and gave him a
proper burial. That was why mom never wanted us going outside. Day or night.
The vampires were always lurking, dwelling, waiting for a fresh bite.
Mom was the only one brave enough to
venture out once a week to gather food and supplies. Well, Christian had
expressed interest in venturing out on his own, but mom wouldn’t take the risk.
Christian had grown suspicious of mom
those last few months, questioning every motive. And also questioning the bittersweet
fruit punch she served us for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was never
store-bought, always homemade.
Then, one day, it boiled over
during breakfast. Christian was in a rotten mood and mom wasn’t having any of
it. Addie cupped her teeny hinds over her delicate ears to shield them from the
angry shouts.
“I won’t have you telling me
what to do anymore,” was Christian’s final argument. “I’m a teenager. And with
dad gone, I’m the man of this house. It’s time I start acting like it. And it’s
time I show everyone there’s nothing to be afraid of. There’s no vampires, no
monsters. It’s all in your sick mind.”
“Christian, please!” mom cried
as Christian marched towards the front door. I heard the lock snap and the
hinges creak as the door thrust open.
Christian stepped out onto the
porch, and the warm pleasant sun grazed his face. “See!” He shouted from the
porch. “Nothing to be afraid of. I don’t see any–” Christian’s word were cut
off by a sudden bout of pain.
The sun was making him ill.
It was killing him.
The exposed skin of his arms
and legs bubbled, cracked, and sizzled. Flames sprouted up from his chest and
back and in seconds, every inch of his body was lit ablaze. He was a human
fireball. His pale white skin transformed from raw-red to brown to charcoal
black.
Smoke billowed to the sky,
tainting the air with the stench of cooked flesh. The fire devoured him as he
sank to one knee and with his final agonizing breath, disintegrated. His body
reduced to a pile of smoldering ash.
Addie and I watched from the shadow of
the door, my hand patting her back gently as if this gesture offered some form
of consolation. It took a few seconds, but the tears came eventually. First for
Addie, then for me.
I realized that day what Christian
refused to accept. I realized that mom wasn’t crazy. Mom really was trying to
protect us. And she didn’t lie about the vampires either. She just wasn’t
honest about which side we were on.
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