Who Holds the Secret

“How many more have you killed?” The townsfolk yelled. They all shouted, continuously shouting. Their words were like drums pounding in my head, throwing my thoughts all over the place. I tried to come up with what I should say, what I had rehearsed in my head since I was a young man. I wanted to tell them that I was the man that they all thought I was. The son of the richest and most powerful man in all of our sick little town.

I was the one whom these few people used to come to for help, for advice. I was the one who donated to the sick, fed the poor, and went to our church every Sunday. I did all the little things while my father was always off on business, building new buildings and rebuilding homes.

Building the new home that my mother wanted. The home that was supposed to be built by both my hands and my father’s. Instead, it was now a tomb that was going to be burned to the ground. The boards would break and snap, falling onto the furniture inside. It would topple over the paintings my mother had painted, destroy our quarters, and spill all our secrets. The secrets I would rather die than let out. I couldn’t say anything to many of them.

Because even though I’d never say it, they were all true. I had killed that girl. The girl who had gone to me for help with a bullying problem. I hadn’t meant to hurt her. Then again, I hadn’t meant to hurt any of them. Still, I hurt them.

They were dead before I realized what I had done. The anger, so red hot that my skin was scorching to the touch. It could probably do worse than those torches they were throwing in my face. The rage would then disappear, and I would be stuck with a body lying at my feet. Men and women whom I knew that I had talked to and celebrated with. I had never once thought something bad about them.

Never once hated them. And yet I killed them. I killed them, and I can barely remember any of it.

“I don’t know,” I managed to respond. I couldn’t tell them if that was the truth or not. I couldn’t recall many moments of my life the past few years, especially when I walked out of the house. Surprisingly, my mind was calm there. It was almost like I was hidden. Hidden from the unstable rage, from the strange queasy feeling in my stomach. I didn’t feel like the world was about to burst into flames around me.

“I don’t know,” I said again. I don’t know for sure, but I have my suspicions. The calm that I feel, I can’t credit it to anything more than what was underneath my floorboards. The thing that I hope these townsfolk will never find out about. They were planning to destroy that house, the place I had to build after my father had gone missing. They were going to light it up and let the secrets pour out. I didn’t know if the flames were strong enough, but they were going to be enough to destroy my parents’ dream, my hard work, and my mistakes.

“She was my daughter!” A woman cried.

“He was my brother!”

“You killed them!”

“You’re a monster!”

“A monster!” They shouted. That was all that they started to chant. Again and again, they shouted that I was a monster. A terrible, bloodthirsty monster that was going to destroy them all. They weren’t going to let that happen. They were done wasting time about it, done listening to my poor excuse of defense. They took their torches, and they ran past me. They charged the long, root-covered road that I had meant to clear out before winter arrived. They trudged through the porch.

Some dropped their torches on either side of the large, black-painted house. Three of their tallest, possibly strongest men stood beside me. They were to hold me and keep me here while they destroyed my home. They held crosses as if I were some monster that defied God. Maybe I was.

As the anger, the fire, the screams started to rise from deep inside me, I started to wonder if I was the one to harm those men and women, or if it was something else entirely. I didn’t know what I was or what the excuse was, but I know by the time the sun rose, the streets were painted in red and I was able to leave this town. I was able to leave while my fathers skeleton sat buried in the rubble.

Another secret.

Another unknown.

I hope you enjoyed reading this short story!

Let me know what you think.