Angela

If you're sensitive or if certain triggers affect you, please don't read this. This story is dark and the subject matter may be disturbing. Save yourself some trouble and move on to a nicer story. With that out of the way:

We called her Angel, our morning angel; just like that Juice Newton song. How she hated that. Looking back at what she went through, I can see why. Of course, none of us knew what hell she was going through at home. I’d like to think that we wouldn’t have teased her if we’d known. I’d like to think that we would have helped. At the time, it was funny. You know how kids are? They tease each other without mercy sometimes. Well, not much time has passed since she did it but I sure have grown up quite a bit.

Angela lived down the street from me. She always seemed so happy. She was one of those people who were always smiling and ready with a joke. The change came when her mom died. It was cancer. The light went out of her eyes and the smiles became more rare by the day. I thought at the time that it was from her loss. Seeing a loved one wasting away to nothing will do that to a person. That was part of it. I didn’t find out the rest until yesterday. That’s when I got the package in the mail. It was wrapped in plain brown paper. Inside was a diary. I don’t know why she sent it to me. Maybe it was her way of reaching out after the fact, of setting the record straight. Anyway, after reading it, I can’t sleep well. I can’t eat. I have to share it with somebody so I can get it out of my head.

June 6, 2015
Mom’s gone. What am I going to do? It’s like a part of me has been ripped out and this empty hole is all that’s left. Dad doesn’t seem to be taking it any easier. He’s been drinking a lot more than usual.

June 9, 2015
Sorry I haven’t been writing lately. Dad’s really bad off. It’s the damn booze. He hasn’t been sober since mom died and it’s gotten so much worse. What am I going to do?

June 15, 2015
This is hell. Dad’s a wreck. He won’t eat. He’s stopped going to work. He just sits there in front of the TV, staring into space. I’ve had to cook and keep the house from falling apart. I haven’t had time to sit and write. By the time night comes, I’m too tired to do anything other than fall into bed and sleep. I hope Dad comes out of it soon.

June 20, 2015
Dad’s started to look at me funny. He has for the past few days. It makes my skin crawl. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. It’s like he’s not really there. When I look in his eyes, it’s like something else is looking back at me. I know the alcohol is part of it. I try hiding the bottles but he always finds them. I dumped them out the other day but it didn’t help. He must have some stashed away because he was drunk again, worse than ever. Oh, no. I hear him stumbling around and yelling. I have to go see what’s going on.
Later: I think Dad’s having a nervous breakdown. As if being drunk all the time isn’t bad enough, when I went to see what the noise was about I found him shouting into the mirror. “You can’t have her! She’s mine! She’s all I have left, damn it!” Then he smashed the mirror. I must have screamed because he turned around. I looked in his eyes and he was back. I hurried and got the first aid kit. He sat in his chair while I bandaged him. He passed out by the time I was done. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

June 25, 2015
It’s so much worse now. When I went to change Dad’s bandage he put his hand on my shoulder and ran it down my arm. I looked in his eyes and that thing was there. “My sweet Angel,” he said, “You know I love you, don’t you? Give Dad a hug.” He put his arms around me and rubbed up and down my back. It made me so uncomfortable. I wanted to pull away but didn’t dare. I don’t know what he would have done. His touch felt like bugs crawling under my skin. The smell was the worst part. He smells like something that’s died. I took two showers afterward and still I feel it.

June 30, 2015
Oh, God, he touched me the other day. I don’t know if he meant to do it but he touched my breast. It was just a glancing touch but it made me feel so dirty and ashamed. He didn’t seem to realize that he did it. The looks he gives me are worse. They make me want to crawl inside myself and hide. As if that’s not bad enough, I woke up to him sitting on the edge of my bed last night. He didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at me in the dark. I tried to pretend that I was still asleep. It didn’t fool him. He reached out and ran his hand up and down my side. I lay there and shivered and tried not to throw up. It was like a corpse touching me. I don’t think there’s anything left of Dad in there because it talked to me. “Your mom’s with us, Angel. Your dad, too. Soon you’ll be with us as well when we’re ready.” It gave me one last touch and then left. I have to get out of here.

July 3, 2015
That’s not my father. That’s not my father. Dad would never have done that! I locked the door after that night but it still got in somehow. It was so much worse this time. He touched me! He touched me in a way no father should touch his daughter. When I tried to fight him off, he hit me and then he… I can’t, I can’t tell. This ends tonight. I found some gasoline in the garage when he was passed out. I’m ending this tonight.

That was the last entry. A week ago in the early hours of the fourth of July, Angela’s house burned down. Nobody made it out alive. The firefighters found two bodies in the wreckage. I cried for two days. I cried even harder when I got the package. I keep seeing her eyes the last time I saw her, so haunted. I saw the same thing in mine last night when I looked in the mirror.

Skid Mark,

Disturbing stuff. But, writing fiction means you can't always regurgitate the same happy go lucky, rehashed stories over and over. Good work. I feel like her dad was possessed by demons or something.

a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat
Thanks for the reply. You're right, sometimes fiction has to be disturbing. Stephen King and Clive Barker didn't get where they are not by writing comedy.

OH MY GOD SKID YOU ARE SO GOOD AT WRITING! Dang... I am a fan!

a reply to: geezlouise
Thanks. I'm glad that you liked it.

a reply to: Skid Mark
Skid, your writing always speaks to me. Amazing, even with the dark subject. BUT this is all I could think at the end

a reply to: Martin75
Thanks for the reply. That's a sad song. I can see how it fits the story, what with the alcoholic dad and the house fire.

Very impressive Wolfie! You did a great job in expressing the emotions and horror of this story!

a reply to: Night Star
Thank you. That was another one where it came into my head all at once. I'd been listening to that Juice Newton song and something clicked. What you read was the end result.