The Family That Slays Together...

She cut her thumb.

I guess I should have realized then that something was not quite right with my family. They gathered around and watched the red blood well up amidst the whirls of her fingerprint, each swirl a little river of blood.

She let it bleed, squeezed the sides and smiled as the blood thickened and flowed, dropping to the floor unheeded. I stared up at her in mild wonderment. I was seven.

That day, when my mother sliced her thumb and my father and brothers gathered close around her, I was the little sister, the secret was kept.

I didn't attend school like the normal children around our block. My brothers, there were four of them, always insisted that we were normal and the other families were confused and lost. I believed them.

I actually flourished with my studies, taking the time to curl up in the overstuffed couch in our massive library and read three or four books a day. Maria, our maid, would bring my food in there and I would only leave when nature required me to do so.

It was a dark haunting house that we called home. I grew terrified of the shadows and the darkness until I was sixteen and I realized there were greater things to fear than darkness. The day my friend died.

I was finally accepted in the neighborhood, finally invited places. My first sleepover was an experience I will not easily forget. Spin the bottle, truth or dare, popcorn and make-up. I still remember how well the five of us fourteen-year-olds got along that night.

We watched slasher movies and I lied about how much they scared me. That night, lying in the midst of four girls, I had my first night terror. I cringed beneath the thin blanket lent to me and tried not to whimper.

When the sun rose I watched it and thanked the morning for coming when I thought it wouldn't. The shadows faded and the others woke. I pretended with them that I was joyful and rested. I was anxious to leave.

Until the darkness ceased haunting me, I kept a candle lit in my room as I slept. My parents did not approve of night-lights but they thought the candle was fitting. I didn't understand that until much later.

Bella Farley was a dear girl, treasured by all her peers, including me. She had beautiful blonde hair, dark green eyes and pale skin. I ranted and raved about her to my brothers, who would laugh and scoff in reply. But I knew she was special, despite their inability to admit it.

I never invited anyone over to my house, never dared to open the large door and show the darkness to the world. I was unable to prevent the truth from awakening...in me.

It was raining.

It was as if the rain did not intend to stop. Ever. I watched the downpour from the large library window. It poured in buckets and night was hardly noticed as it fell beneath the cloud-darkened sky.

Bella came in crying, bursting into the library and startling me out of my melancholy thoughts. Her hair was matted and she was dripping.

"Help me, Shyreece." She said as she lurched forward and fell upon her knees before me.

"Help you?" I asked as I tried not to back away in horror. I had never seen her in such a state of disarray before. I looked at the door of the library and saw my father, looming as he always did, blocking entrance and exit. "Help you?" I repeated.

"Please...please." She wrapped her arms about my knees and I had to clutch the bookshelf beside me to stay upright.

"Dad?" I asked as I lowered my eyes to my friend.

"She doesn't understand, Bella." Dad said as he moved in, closer...closer.

"Help me, Shyreece, they are going to kill me." She said in a whimper.

"That is better." Dad said and I saw my mom and brothers moving into the suddenly cramped room.

"What is going on?" I asked as I helped Bella to her feet. I did not appreciate the jest.

"They're going to kill me." Bella repeated and I lifted an eyebrow.

"This isn't funny." I said.

"Indeed, it is not." Dad pulled a large knife from behind his back and I felt a scream tickling my throat.

"Dad?"

"She is going to be your first, daughter. Join us." Dad moved aside and mom stepped forward, holding a carving knife out before her.

"Stop this." I said, my voice shaking.

"Kill her, Shy, for never doubt who you are." Mom said.

"And who am I?" I asked.

"Family." My brother, Paul, said as he moved close to Bella. "She is a beauty."

"Save me. Help me." Bella cringed and I cringed with her.

"I don't understand." I said and I jerked my elbow backward, shattering the glass behind me. I turned then and shoved Bella toward the window. "Run." I told her. She froze. "Run!" I screamed.

She screamed.

The darkness took me.




"Shy, are you all right?" Mom sat upon my bed, her hair piled atop her head in a fashionable bun.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You failed your family, but that is all right. We shouldn't have picked a victim you knew so well." She spoke this as if she was telling me the time. I swallowed. "Next time will be different. It will be a stranger."

"A stranger?" That was what I was now. A stranger in my own house...in my own family.

"Eddie has already chosen him." Mom said as she brushed my hair aside from my forehead. "Your father is a little upset about the window but I explained. Too familiar with the victim."

"Where's Bella?" I asked as I pulled away from her.

"Dead." Mom stood then and Maria entered with a tray of food. "Of course, what did you expect?"

She asked that so calmly, so effortlessly. What did I expect? A family, maybe.

I sat and stared at the food on the tray and wondered what had gone wrong. Why was I suddenly the member of a family of killers?

It was then that I recalled the blood on my mom's thumb. It was then that I recalled my last name. Blackhart. Blackest of hearts.

I pushed the tray off my bed and winced as it clattered loudly to the wooden floor. I shut my eyes.

"What happened?" Erik asked me.

"It slipped." I said.

"You didn't kill her." He stated.

"No." I replied.

"Why not?" He hissed and the room felt terribly cold.

"Because I'm not a killer." I said. There was only silence to that remark and when I opened my eyes I was alone.




The days drew together with a frantic haste that frightened me. Bella was mourned and lost, I cried in my room. They wouldn't let me go to the funeral. They wouldn't let me go anywhere, not even to the library.

Finally, my dad came to me. His eyes were dark and his flesh pale. He reminded me of death and I shut my eyes.

"My own daughter will not look at me." He stated.

"I am afraid of you." I said.

"Good." With that statement I opened my eyes. He was holding the knife, the same knife that had killed Bella, the same that would one day kill me.

"Dad..." I couldn't breathe. I felt restricted, like the air wouldn't dare enter the lungs of the damned.

"It was odd, my daughter hesitating on the threshold of adulthood."

"What?" I was lost.

"It hurt that you didn't kill her. Didn't you envy her?" He asked as he and I watched the knife.

"Yes." I admitted.

"Didn't you want to be her?" He questioned.

"Sometimes." I said.

"Didn't you hate her?"

"No." I said.

"No?" He looked up at me then but I couldn't look away from the knife. I could see her blood though it was no longer there. "You must always hate. That is the only way to survive in this family. Do you want to survive?"

"I want to live." I said.

"Survival, daughter, is what holds this family together." He said.

"Truly?" I asked.

He laughed then, a mad laugh. "No. Killing is what holds us together." And he laughed some more.




The library is the same although I know the window was replaced. I sat upon the couch, reading the story of Tom Thumb and tried not to listen to the clock chiming in the foyer. I heard the door creak.

"Are you ready?" Dad asked and I smiled.

"Of course." I said as I stood.

"Always?" He asked as I tossed the book upon the couch.

"Always." I agreed as I took the knife from the tabletop and followed him into the hall.

You must understand. The reason I told you the story of my life is because you are not the first one I have killed. Bella died by my father's hand but your brother died by mine. You shouldn't have been snooping around the house.

I admit that you may have thought there was a chance you could escape. There isn't. This house harbors the dark secrets of my family.

What was that? The candle? Oh, yes. My father watched his father kill his mother by the light of a candle. By that same light, grandfather passed on our legacy.

I guess it is true...the family that slays together, stays together.

Now, scream for me. This will hurt...a lot.