It has been 20 years since the death of my parents. 20 years of sadness, regret, anger, and uncontrollable remorse towards the man that had killed them. It had taken 20 years to finally give up on ever finding the murderer... to move on. So why, after finally accepting this pain deep inside my heart and why, after gaining hope of seeing the light of day once more, must I once again be swept back to the memories of that tragic day? All the feelings came back as if it had been but yesterday, for the man who once murdered my parents- is standing right in front of me!
This wasn’t like the shock felt when a dog collides with a window. No. This was deeper. It was the sort of shock one felt after plummeting into ice-cold water - this shock which drags with it total numbness and helplessness. Cashew was standing on a busy street behind the row of flowers he needed to sell for that day. He had lost all control and feeling of his body- nearly causing him to hyperventilate as his shaking limbs poorly kept him standing. His pale-green eyes were dilated, unfocused, and down his forehead dripped a cold sweat. He was so shocked that if anyone were to look at the way he held himself right now, they could mistake him for a mad man. No, a madman was an understatement.
What had he seen that had caused him to go berserk like this? The answer is very simple. He was only a child when the event happened. It was a cold, stormy, and late-autumn night when his mother had hidden him in the cupboard, told him to stay quiet, and had given him an iron dagger as a farewell gift. They both knew she was about to die as they heard his father’s last, bloody cries sound from the room next door.
“Retched fiend!” She hissed under her breath. Through a crack between the cupboard doors, he saw two shadowy figures calmly enter the room where he and his mother trembled, “you will be cursed for the rest of your miserable existence!” She spat at them. That was the last thing she had ever said before the silhouette of a man effortlessly cracked her neck between his fingers. At that same moment, the moonlight had pushed its way through the clouds and shone down through a window, illuminating a strip of the room. Cashew saw the man’s expressionless, lean face, hollow red eyes, and neat, blonde hair stand over the corpse of his mother. The moonlight had disappeared nearly as fast as it had appeared, letting way to the stormy clouds once again... but that one moment felt like a sign. It was as if the heavens were telling Cashew to one day find this man and to cause him hell!
“Seems like that was the last one in this block”, the hoarse voice from the unknown man broke Cashew from his trance, “I don’t sense anyone else. My job here is done.” And with those words, he carelessly dropped the corpse in his hand onto the floor. Although this had brought a new surge of anger to Cashew, he dare not move and continued to watch with wide eyes and clenched teeth. The man stopped by the doorway for a few long seconds as if pondering on something and suddenly turned around to stare directly at Cashew’s direction in the cupboard. This sent an overwhelming surge of fear to spread over his small body since it was as if he knew that he was in there! It was as if the man’s gaze alone had the power to murder. Finally, it seems he didn’t notice him after all as Cashew allowed himself to let out a small breath as the man turned around and took an object out of the glass cabinet next to him, then he walked back into the room where Cashew’s father lay. The other shadowy figure hungrily approached his mother, with which Cashew could now make out as a woman. Cashew watched as she enthusiastically crouched next to his mother and leaned her face towards the corpse. What was she doing? Unluckily, this unordinary and sudden action had caused Cashew to draw in an unwanted sharp and loud breath, immediately drawing the attention of the second murderer.
She looked back quickly and sat staring at the cupboard door. A red glint could be seen in her eyes, which once again sent shivers down Cashew’s back and, the longer he stared into those eyes, the more he felt like some demonic power had overcome him and was pulling him towards the murderer. This spell cast from her eyes was extremely difficult to resist, but thankfully the man from next door broke it before it had time to fully posses Cashew.
“Mother and father are arriving, so feast up as much as you can now.” he said darkly “brother and I are satisfied and will leave now.” With what looked like a small smile on his lips, the man stole a last glance towards Cashew’s direction, sending yet another wave of terror to penetrate his heart. Then, as the sister nodded and dived back into her feast, the man silently squatted, took something out of his hand and pushed a smooth, metallic ring that went rolling across the whole room until it reached Cashew’s cupboard, stopping right where the crack opened. Then the man stood up and with a deadly smirk, finally disappeared completely. Cashew shakily picked it up but was shocked to feel a burning sensation flood from the touch. It took all his strength for his little body to keep hold of the ring and stay quiet at the same time. However, Cashew had the chance to do so as with the first murderer gone, the attention of the second one was once again back on Cashew.
“That’s strange, he didn’t sense any more humans in this house, but why does it feel like...” without another moments thought, and inhuman speed, the woman appeared right outside the wardrobe door and swung it open. She gave off a such a powerful, dark aura, that it felt like Cashew’s lungs were collapsing from merely being close to her. The seconds in which they had stared at each other in a sickening silence stretched out into eternity and he clutched at the ring tighter. Then, slowly, the woman’s lips curled up into a psychotic smile. She started chucking. “I can’t believe it... you don’t have a smell” she burst out into mad laughter. How dare she?
How dare she.
How dare she stand before the child whom she had just murdered the parents of and laugh? The last of his consciousness which he was trying to cling to finally went blank and the next moment he remembered was the laughter turning to a deafening screech as he found his own hands clasped around the iron dagger which was now firmly stuck in the stomach of the woman.
“Excuse... me?” The woman mumbled, looking down with shock at her stomach, “what... how is this... possible?” her voice was dying out quickly and, as she staggered back scarlet liquid gushed out from her mouth. A door opening suddenly sounded from the next room, which at the same moment Cashew felt someone’s hands coil around his own. “That’s right, my dear little one, you have proven yourself capable...” an unknown voice whispered into his ear, “now, excuse me for taking momentary control, but you understand and forgive me, yes? I’ll be taking back the ring but thank you for holding onto it- it was very useful in weakening them... There’s only two more left, so show me how much you want to avenge your parents!” Everything was happening so suddenly, everything was so overwhelming that Cashew’s mind was beginning to detach completely, allowing this strange entity to control him.
He was getting dizzy- he could feel himself losing consciousness.
“Excuse me!” A shout brought Cashew back to reality where he was standing behind the row of flowers on the busy street. In front of him, the man who looked like his parents’ murderer was standing and staring right at him. Despite the close physical resemblance and the same overpowering and intimidating aura around the man which felt like someone clasping at your heart, at a closer look, Cashew realised that he had some distinct differences to the killer from 20 years ago. His eyes were completely black, not red, and his hair, although with the same styling, was a dirtier shade of blonde and curlier. Along with the fact that the man looked to be the same age as Cashew, all clues pointed to him being the child of the people who had murdered Cashew’s parents.
“For the last time, what is the name of this flower?” He pointed, with a hint of irritation, at a sad bouquet of white, withering flowers.
“They are the last of our chrysanthemums” Cashew managed to force out a quiet reply.
“So you can talk! This is perfect.” The man gladly exclaimed, “in that case, my name is Monsuta, and I invite you to work for me in my mansion.”