Chapter 2: Before
I suppose I look like Dad, we share the same boring brown hair and slightly squinty blue eyes. I’m glad my hair isn’t thinning like his. I also have Mum’s nose and all I can say is thank God for that.
My parents have never loved each other. They got married because back in their days that is what you did when you reached a certain age or whatever. So when I saw them standing together in the kitchen, with actual real smiles on the faces. Let’s just say the warning bells went off.
“Isabel, your mother and I, we have something very special to show you. You know the adoption process has been…. Well, long” my parents had always wanted a sister or a brother for me. They were on a mission that had cost them thousands of dollars. If they went away on trips that was usually what it was for.
“We want to introduce you to a new member of our family” they stepped aside and revealed a little boy. No older than three, with big blue eyes and his thumb in his mouth. His hair was chestnut brown and curly. He was drooling a bit.
“Charlie, this is Isabel, she’s going to be your sister” I hesitated by the entrance way to the kitchen, for a moment I had thought that I had seen Charlie before somewhere. I made my third mistake, I dismissed that feeling without thinking any harder about it.
Charlie was going to sleep in Mum and Dads room, in a cot they had set up for their future son or daughter. Just until he settled in. You know, as excited as I was to see my parents happy. I couldn’t shake that niggling feeling, that something was wrong.
That night I lay in bed and tried to calm my thoughts, which were imagining all kinds of twisted images to do with the body from yesterday. The one I had spent all day convincing myself that I hadn’t really seen.
There was a thump from my parent’s room, and then a muffled cough. I made my last mistake. The mistakes, the four of them. They all led to the events that transpired over the next twenty minutes.
Please don’t be afraid to move on and continue reading. It’s not a nice story I know, but you have to understand.
In some way, in some form. A dark heart beats within every story. They might not all have a Charlie, but I can assure you. Every story is a horror story. Sometimes the horror is just buried.
I got up out of my bed, and went to investigate the noise,
And I forgot to bring the knife.