#albert shaw x oc

[anarchy-n-glitter]

Copycat

Summary: After receiving a mysterious offer, a police officer drives to a remote location in the middle of the night to trade the notorious Black Phone off to an unknown buyer.

CHAPTER 1

He could lose his job for this. That was all he could think as he stared out at the slick roads glistening in the glow of his headlights. The rain continued to pour without any signs of slowing, which was unusual for that time of year. Though he was lost in thought he kept a keen eye on the road, trying his best to see through the haze of the rain. Headlights glaring from the other side of the road helped him, as did the brake lights of the cars in front of him. They took it slow. He couldn’t afford to take it slow. 

He had to wonder what else could happen if he were caught. Would they charge him? Did this count as tampering with evidence even though the case was long over and solved? 

His foot unconsciously pressed harder on the gas pedal. His hands tightened on the steering wheel - his knuckles turning white as he sped through the worsening weather, weaving through traffic with little concern for those around him. It wasn’t the greatest choice he could make. He took a moment to glance at the clear plastic evidence bag on the passenger’s seat with a weary eye. No amount of money should be worth it to do this… yet there he was. 

The buyer, who simply identified themselves as “Charlie” in their voicemail, seemed like one of those true crime freaks. She seemed way too interested in the phone - that stupid phone that winked tauntingly at him under the street lights, like it knew he was anxious. It made him feel dirty. Guilty. 

That damn thing gave off the worst energy when he was around it, like something was attached to it and that thing wanted to hurt him. He was honestly surprised it didn’t ring while locked up in the evidence locker. His hands shook when he unlocked the locker, and when he collected the phone, frightened it would ring and give him away to whatever lurked in the darkness of the closed precinct. The cop couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would willingly go near it, let alone buy the damn thing. 

“Charlie” said she was a writer trying her best to understand the horrors of the Denver Grabber, and that explanation made enough sense and solved the mystery of the missing mask. She definitely bought it off of another cop, which meant he probably had nothing to worry about when it came to keeping his job. Getting rid of the mask and now the phone felt like a relief to the officer, who truly wanted nothing to do with the items now that the case was over, and giving them to a writer seemed like a better option than auctioning them off to some rich freak years down the line. 

The rendezvous spot was an old, decrepit building just outside of the suburbs. It was an old warehouse just off of the main road in the middle of what was now a blossoming field filled with long grass and most likely all sorts of snakes and rodents. Even further behind it was a forest with dark, looming trees that he wouldn’t be caught dead near. The warehouse itself was built in the thirties and quickly renovated into a factory to build aircrafts and such during World War II. Sometime in ‘65 it was converted back to a warehouse for a quickly sinking company, and then it was closed officially in ‘73 and never sold. The vandals and drug addicts got to it quickly, leaving behind broken windows and knocked down doors as well as graffiti mosaics on the concrete. 

And now the cop was driving up to it with an offering. He felt dirty. He felt guilty.

“Charlie” was leaning against a black 1972 Chevy Nova with her back facing the approaching vehicle. She was parked under the mostly intact awning in front of the dark maw of the building. The awning was leaking water through small tears in its fabric and it landed on her car, splashing in the puddle that was no doubt forming on the roof. She remained dry though, nonchalantly checking her watch even though she knew that the cop was there. The headlights cast large shadows across the concrete walls of the building. A larger than life shadow for a larger than life person. 

The woman herself wore a large leopard print coat with the collar pulled up around her neck, undoubtedly to combat the quickly dropping temperature. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. On her hands were black leather gloves that beckoned the officer to come closer. She hadn’t said a word, nor had she really acknowledged him besides the slight hand wave. In that moment he realized he was handing the phone over to a freak, regardless of occupation. 

This is wrong, the officer thought to himself, this is a murder weapon. He believed the monster got what he deserved in the end, but handing off the phone to the first person who calls and is willing to pay felt wrong. Not only was it a murder weapon, but it bore witness to the murder of several children, and he wasn’t sure how he could handle looking at the thing knowing that. He had to wonder if there was something wrong with this “Charlie.” She’s probably seen worse, he rationalized as he got closer to her.

“Are you Charlie Myers?” She still didn’t look at him. Her hand came up to her face before she spoke. 

“Yes sir, I am.” Her voice was higher than he expected, and it sounded a bit muffled too. He wondered if she truly was the person who left the voicemail. It made him want to stop in his tracks. 

“You have the money?” He continued on, holding out the phone as he inched nearer. Her shoulders stiffened for a moment.

“Oh yeah, give me a sec I’ll get it.” Her gloved hand reached into her handbag, sending nervous chills down the officer’s spine. He knew something wasn’t right. His hand immediately shot to his right hip where his gun holster sat. His instinct told him to turn around and return the phone - his instincts told him this woman was no good. 

“Actually ma’am, can you do that facing me? Can’t be too careful these days.” The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight as the woman froze. Her hand was still firmly inside the handbag. She slowly turned around to reveal a ghostly white, porcelain mask. Black eyes stared at the officer as he froze in fear, unsure of what to do now that his suspicions were confirmed. 

“Sure thing officer.” 

This was a copycat killer. 

He moved quickly to draw his gun, but he wasn’t quick enough. From her black clutch, the buyer produced a handgun and fired three times, hitting the officer in the shoulder twice before hitting its mark: his chest. The officer let out a groan and fell to the ground in a matter of seconds. Despite everything she still wasn’t entirely used to how quickly they fell. 

Calmly, methodically, the woman stalked over, giving a horrifyingly closer look at the mask she wore to conceal her true identity. Through blurry eyes the officer saw the familiar porcelain, with reddish-pink cheeks to simulate blush and long painted on eyelashes. The lips of the mask were small and black and curled slightly upward in an unsettling smile. It looked almost clown-like, though not overtly so. She could be seen as a doll. 

The woman stared silently as the officer wheezed, choking on his own blood as it filled his lungs and throat. She tilted her head like a dog observing a squeaky toy, listening to his suffering. Her gaze shifted from the dying man to the phone that laid a few feet from what would be his final resting place. She looked back at him and pointed the gun at his head as the officer began to weakly sputter out cowardly pleas, clutching his chest and panting. His face was wet with rain and tears. The rasp in his voice was disgusting to her.

She pulled the trigger to finally silence him. No more rattling. No more pleas. 

The patter of rain echoed louder in the suddenly still night, along with the running engine of the dead officer’s car. Her gaze was focused on the phone. That damn phone. He used to yell about it - about the ringing, about the voices. When she was allowed near it she couldn’t hear anything, and it didn’t ring when she picked it up. That damn phone.

It was hers. 

_____________

It was fall when they met. She remembered the chilling weather and dying trees well. She remembered the clothes she wore, how her hair was done. She often could recall trivial things like that, especially when it came to meeting new people. 

She knew Max, and he considered her a friend. He came to her after losing his job, and while she knew the reason for it, she actually didn’t mind. Max not having to work meant that she could be around him more often. Yet, her selfish desires didn’t stop her from helping him. She considered that to be her best trait - her fierce loyalty and protectiveness. If there was a problem bugging someone she cared about she’d fix that problem. 

Max was rambling on and on in an anxiety-induced stupor as he tried to figure out what to do. No one would hire him with the record he now had, and on top of that he had to go to meetings mandated by the court. All she could do was watch, wait, and think. He eventually told her that he contacted his brother, and while he still had to look for a job, his brother would be taking him in. His brother who lived in Denver. 

 Denver.

Those words weighed heavily on her. It sunk into her chest and weighed on her heart - it ached. She didn’t like that at all. 

He must have wanted to leave her, like everyone else did. She didn’t like that. 

“Denver? Denver? That’s like, six hours away. I can’t hang out with you if you’re six hours away.” She wondered if she came off too strongly. Her hands were sweating. 

“To be fair, I am going there to get better.” He wasn’t even looking at her. 

“And I can’t help you with that?” She asked, not caring about how she came off anymore. 

“Look, you’re my best friend and I do love hanging out with you but I think it’s best for me to start fresh for a few months and then see-”

“I thought you said your family was fucked up. You said you wouldn’t ever go near them ever again.” She couldn’t believe that she ever took him seriously when he said that. The concerned look on his face turned grim.

“They… you know who I mean when I say that. My brother’s helping me and I’m sure he managed to get help, unlike me.” She felt he was saying this to placate her. His demeanor had changed, and she didn’t like that. It felt like he was shutting down, growing colder as he shrugged off her comments. 

“What did I do wrong?” She couldn’t help but ask him. He furrowed his brow.

“What? Nothing, I’m just -” 

“If I didn’t do anything wrong then why are you leaving me?” She raised her voice slightly, feeling her heart ache and race at the same time. “I thought you liked me!” 

He wasn’t sure how to respond. He did like her, she was his best friend. She had been there for him even at his lowest. She was sweet and kind but at the moment she was scaring him. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t upset her further. The look on her face was reminiscent of a madman, and part of him was afraid of what she’d do next. 

“You can drive me there if you want, come see the place and help me move in.” He offered, hoping that would be enough to make her feel better. Her expression softened for a moment, but she was still worked up. 

“Let me come with you. For the whole time. I’ll look for a job there and an apartment. Don’t cut me out Max, I’ve seen what you do. You just leave people behind and I won’t let you do that to me.” He nodded along, letting her get her thoughts out, hoping she’d calm down soon. He’d seen her worked up before but not like this. 

“Sure, we can do that.” He agreed half heartedly, watching her calm down at his reassurance. 

She remembered the day she met him, it was fall. She drove him to the small suburban home in Denver, brought his boxes of various items inside, and for the most part it seemed she wouldn’t be meeting Max’s brother.

Then he stepped out of the basement. 

He was tall, with shaggy, greying hair that dusted his shoulders. She wasn’t sure what to think as she froze in her tracks. He didn’t seem to want to speak with anyone, and as he avoided eye contact with her as he made his way down the hallway she thought she had gotten the hint.

“Oh, you must be Max’s brother.” She mused in a tone that hid her anxiety. Dark eyes stared at her for a moment. His lips were thin and a look of seriousness was chiseled into his features, as well as tiredness. His eyes, though. His eyes seemed to hold some sort of life. He looked as if he were sizing her up, waiting for her to make a move or say something. She shifted the box around in her arms, freeing one of her hands as she held it out for him to take.

“I’m Tanya.” She introduced. Much like moments earlier, he stared at her for a moment before gingerly taking her hand in his. Tanya wasn’t sure what to think just yet, but he was able to take Max in, and while he was a bit weird she was sure he was a good person. 

He glanced over Tanya, as if looking out for something, as he muttered his own name. “Albert.” His voice was much higher than she expected, and softer. She smiled, ignoring the changing expression on her new acquaintance’s face. He hadn’t let go yet. 

Albert wasn’t exactly thrilled about his brother coming to live with him. He didn’t care about the drugs Max would undoubtedly bring into the house, nor did he really care about what happened to Max. He cared about who Max might be bringing around. The girl in front of him could have been a good solution to Max’s problem, and even then he didn’t know why Tanya was there. He watched her with a distrustful eye from the basement window as she brought each box inside from her car. He wanted to know who she was and why she was there. She obviously knew about him, so what was she hiding?

“Sorry about this being kinda last minute, Max didn’t even tell me he was doing this until yesterday but… it’s really cool that you’d do this for him.” He tugged her forward by the hand she so graciously offered, causing her to drop the box of clothing. The pull itself wasn’t that hard, she was caught off guard by it. The noise it made was loud - loud enough to draw attention to what was happening assuming Max wasn’t outside. 

Even a mere inches from his face she was unafraid, still staring into his eyes unyieldingly as her breath caught in her throat. She felt her nerves building, unable to break the feeling she had earlier when she first set her sights on him. It was a familiar feeling she felt before, one that had her cancel plans to drive Max out there in the first place. She could feel the way her heart shifted, the way she felt about Max changing in an instant. 

She couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t throw everything away like that again. 

“He couldn’t stay with you?” He asked, whispering the question in her ear like it were a dirty secret. Tanya snapped out of her thoughts, taken off guard. 

“No… we talked about it though, tried to make it work.” She answered truthfully and out loud, though she made no effort to hide her displeasure with the situation. Her new, oncoming fixation with Albert wouldn’t erase the hurt and betrayal she felt from Max moving anytime soon. His grip on her hand tightened for a moment as he scoffed. “Again I’m sorry if it was last minute, I know he does stuff like that and-”

Albert backed away, suddenly smiling. She wondered if Max was behind them and checked over her shoulder, only to see no one was there. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Tanya.” Her heart fluttered at the sound of him saying her name. He crouched down to pick up the clothes that slipped out of the box when she dropped it, and all she could do was watch. 

“Thanks.” She muttered, trying to take the box back from him.

“I got it, don’t worry. You should get going, it’s a long drive back to Durango.” She couldn’t help but furrow her brow at that. Did he know how she felt? Did he know she hated the idea of living that far away? She brushed a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. 

“Oh I’m actually moving to Denver soon. I want to keep an eye on him.” That wasn’t entirely true anymore. Six hours was a long drive to come out to see someone she barely knew. He nodded halfheartedly. She wondered if he was actually listening to her. “It was nice meeting you too.” She continued, hoping to get a bigger reaction out of him, but she was met with nothing but his back walking away from her. 

“I see you met Al.” Max said, startling Tanya. She looked up at the face of the man she’d loved for months, and found her obsession was fading. He was a good friend. 

“Yeah, I did. Seems like he’ll be a good influence.” She remarked almost coldly. Her heart was set on someone else now, that much she couldn’t deny. He was odd and cold, but that never seemed to stop her before. She couldn’t do it again. 

She couldn’t do it again.

She knew she would do it again, and she was ready to sacrifice anything to get close to him. 

[funnyexel]

Short Stories

A little cuddle session (Gender/Sexuality Friendly)

Potential Yandere x Abused Fem!Reader

Quiet Tsundere x Reader

Yandere Villian x Identified Female Reader 

I’ve Missed You Beloved (Jack Sparrow x Gender Neutral Reader)

Newt Scamander x Black Female Reader (Oneshot)

Afraid of My Words (Request : Billy Loomis x Black Female Reader)

Give Yourself To Me (August Walker x Black Female Reader)

Second Chance (Gally x Black Female Reader)

Lets Play a Game (Albert Shaw x Black Female Reader)

A Routine (Brahms x Black Female Reader)

Yandere Blurbs

he's obsessed (yandere blurb)

loves you. hates them. (yandere blurb)

a thrill ride of obsession (yandere blurb)

its the stalker (yandere blurb)

missing items (yandere blurb)

what if your stalker loses the remaining piece of human decency he has left (yandere blurb)

imagine clark as your coworker (yandere blurb)

[stupidbeemeen]

⚠️NSFW: OC x Cannon⚠️

Arthur Harrow x OC

.

.

.

My first NSFW work 🥺✨

Full pic:👇👇👇

[ink-and-blood-goddess]

List of Characters Fanfic Requests III

ATTENTION ALL FANFIC READERS! I REPEAT, ATTENTION ALL FANFIC READERS!!!

My third list of character fanfic requests and request inbox is now opened. My other two fanfic lists are still open for requests, so please send them in.

List of Characters I

List of Characters II

I take my time into writing requests, since I’m busy with my job most of the time and writing my stories, so the request box will be opened and closed from time to time so that I can catch up.

And as a side note here, I DO NOT write for Character x OC fanfic requests AT ALL. I write Character x Reader fanfics ONLY...

List of Characters III

Marcus Corvinus-Underworld Evolution 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Michael Corvin-Underworld 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Lucian-Underworld 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Albert Shaw/The Grabber-The Black Phone 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Legolas-Lord of the Rings Trilogy 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Thranduil-The Hobbit Trilogy 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Aziraphale and Crowley-Good Omens 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Albert Wesker-Resident Evil 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Shadow Moon-American Gods 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Mad Sweeney-American Gods 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Technical Boy-American Gods 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Mr. World-American Gods 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Michael Kenmore-Stargate Atlantis 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Todd the Wraith-Stargate Atlantis 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Lestat de Lioncourt-The Vampire Chronicles 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Warlock-Warlock and Warlock the Armageddon (With Julian Sands) 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Bo, Vincent, and Lester Sinclair-House of Wax (2005) 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Symbols:

🌸-Fluff 

❤️‍🔥-Smut 

👐🏻-General 

 💐-Dating 

 💘-Romance 

🖤-Angst 

🔪🩸-Violence 

 🔞-NSFW

Citrus Scale:

🍑 (Peach)-No Sexual Interactions 

🍎 (Citrus)-Romantic hug/or kiss 

🍊 (Orange)-Romantic hug/or kiss with a hint of sexual interaction 

 🍈 (Lime)-Heavy making out with light groping 

 🍋 (Lemon) Actual Sexual Intercourse

[findroleplay]

hi! 21+ rper searching for 18+ writer searching for the following rare / toxic ships. most of these ships are dead dove themed, so please be aware of this. bolded char is who i’d write:

yennefer of vengerberg x tissaia de vries (the witcher)

cirilla of cintra x emhyr (the witcher)

jj x aaron hotchner (criminal minds)

jj x emily prentiss

alicia clark x victor strand (fear the walking dead)

beth greene x daryl dixon (the walking dead)

tris prior x jeanine matthews (divergent)

katniss everdeen x alma coin (hunger games)

bella swan x aro volturi (twilight)

abigail hobbs x will graham (hannibal)

emma swan x regina mills (ouat)

hermione granger x severus snape hermione x lucius malfoy (harry potter)

sam winchester x chuck shurley (supernatural)

sam winchester x dean winchester

sabrina spellman x lucifer (chilling adventures of sabrina)

sabrina spellman x chuck shurley

female oc x albert shaw (the black phone)

clara oswald x 10/12/13th doctor (doctor who)

padme obidala x obi-wan kenobi (star wars)

harley quinn x batfleck (dc)

wanda maximoff x stephen strange (marvel)

kate bishop x clint barton

peter parker x quentin beck

natasha romanoff x bruce banner

carol danvers x yon-rogg

irene adler (megan fox fc) x sherlock holmes

female oc x john watson (bbc sherlock)

daenerys targaryen x jorah mormont (got)

sansa stark x brienne of tarth

daenerys targaryen x thranduil/or elrond (got x lotr crossover)

alison cameron/female oc x dr. house/dr. wilson (house md)

i have more but this is getting long lol. i don’t do doubles. i love smut but am looking for smut with plot and a bit of angst. i prefer to write bratty / power bottoms. i’m a novella writer (around 3-5 paras at a min.) and a slow replier, sometimes i get 3-5 replies a week, sometimes 1 or none for a few days, i'm looking for someone who is patient as i am very chill with reply pace.

will ask for a writing sample as well as i want to make sure i’m finding the right partners. pls like this and i’ll reach out ❤️

-

[mandowifey]

General Disclaimer + Do's and Don'ts. [Please Read]

I wanted to make a proper post so people can refer to this regarding my work. I'd like to start off by saying that if you are under the age of 18, please (for your sake) do not interact with my work. On that note, ALWAYS understand my x reader content contains an 18+ reader. I would also like to formally state that I am a human being and fully aware of rights and wrongs, and things that exist in fiction should remain in fiction. Some of my content contains dark material (dubcon, noncon, affairs, infidelity, murder, suicide, etc). I will always put a warning before my readmore to avoid any surprises. If something has the phrase 'dead dove', please understand this is my catch-all for the aforementioned content.

I need people to know when I am writing for characters such as Albert Shaw, for example, I understand the source material and am adjusting it to avoid certain issues. This goes for a majority of unsavory characters I write for and want to remind you (the reader) that fantasy does not equal reality. While this writing is meant for all kinds of people to read and experience, I ask you to understand that once you click 'keep reading', you are an adult and aware of what content you will be subjected to.

• • •

What I will Write:

Dubcon, Noncon, Murder, Homicide, Size play, and other light kinks. Infidelity, affairs, and generally married characters cheating on spouses. Serial killers, kidnapping, obsession, drugs, suicide, self-harm, breeding, dom/sub, A/B/O, monsters (werewolves, etc), Oc x Canon, Canon x Canon, Canon x You, Daddy kink, Lactation kink, pain and sadomasochism, light BDSM, bondage, restraints, horror, fear and general scary and uncomfortable vibes, power dynamics (imbalanced), pet play, vore aspects, masturbation, cannibalism. All Genders and Spectrums of Identity, Xenophilia, Teratophilia, Oviposition.

What I will NOT Write:

Hate speech, Genocide, anything glorifying facism, incest (direct family, siblings, cousins), extreme kinks (scat or hyper inflation) , you x youtubers, anyone under the age of 18, and I will NOT take a CANON gay/queer/LGBTQ character and make them straight for a fic. That is a big nono. If I take a character and make them x someone of the opposite gender, it will be under the assumption they are straight/bi/etc, or I am taking a preexisting queer character and writing for them with their preferred gender match. (IE Blanc from Knives out x Male/TransMale reader would be totally fine with me. But him x Fem reader I will not do.) This is not me shading anyone. This is simply me saying I will not write for that specific thing. Do not ask me to age up minor characters. If they are 17 and under, I'm not writing for them.

• • •

This will be updated regularly, I am more than happy to answer questions if this catches anyones attention. I hope this is transparent enough to make sense to everyone! ❤️

(PLEASE note that my will write for list can be updated, dont feel discouraged if you don't see something there. As long as it isn't in the will not list, you can always shoot me an ask!)

[girlwithwolftatoo]

The Devil and the Flower -chapter 9

The Boogeyman's tale

Albert flashback

Words: 2893

Nothing inspired him to live, it seemed to him that existing was a kind of premeditated punishment, a contest run by an unjust and cruel god who sought to test a bunch of beings to fight for a hypothetical paradise, because Earth was definitely hell. He learned that from a young age, and his father, his damn father, made sure he never forgot it.

His mother became very sick and weak after Max was born, he remembered seeing her constantly in bed, nursing the newborn, and holding out a hand to ask him, silently, to come closer; the baby had thin but black hair, just like her, on the other hand he had inherited that sad coppery hair possessed by the father, a big, grumpy man, who swore to everyone that he served his country and even had a medal to prove it, although many years later he would learn that he was only in the reserves at a base within his own country. 

He loved to feel his mother's fingers stroking his hair, loved to curl up next to her and sleep to forget the horror that came with Mr. Shaw. He hated everything about him, on the other hand, his baleful eyes, his thick hairy arms that he always uncovered up to his forearm, his crooked teeth that he showed in smiles that made him think of those African dogs, hyenas he thought they were called, and most of all he hated that she insulted him for preferring to be with his mother. 

Pansy, Miss Nancy, waste. He was going to make him a man whether he wanted to or not, and what exactly was being a man? Not crying when he got hit, standing up and punching back at boys who picked on him, having ice in his heart. 

He thought with great relief that his mother was on the mend, when at six months old Max saw her get up and go about her life as usual. But he was wrong, what Albert witnessed was the last burst of a star about to burn out. Mrs. Shaw passed away a few months later, no one knew why.

The father became even more tyrannical, he had been left alone with a baby and (in his words) a pile of a brat. As Max was still very young, he was forced to hire a nanny, and then another, Albert counted about five nannies in just two years, and they were all leaving because they couldn't stand the damn man. Mr. Shaw then decided that Max, at three years old, was old enough to be left alone with his brother, and so the teenager became the accidental lord and master of the house. While his father worked, Albert looked after Max, cleaned, cooked, did everything as he remembered, with great regret, that his mother once did, but his father had only words of contempt for him.

"Not bad" he said, stuffing himself with a mixture of beans and meat as he gave him a sly look "for a sissy."

He had to drop little Max off at kindergarten and then head to high school. No one asked about his black eyes or his chapped lips anymore, the teachers looked at him with pity, but Albert shunned them when they tried to help him, they weren't his mother, they didn't matter to him. Mr. Shaw had an accident when he was almost sixteen, and that meant only one thing:

"You're going to work in the evenings, you won't eat here unless you contribute." 

He saw his father lying on the couch, with a broken arm and dislocated hip, and began to fantasize about waking up one day to find him there, dead. 

Happiness translated into the few moments he could share with Max, accompanying him to his friends' houses (how envious, that little boy with bulging eyes and black hair did have friends who were interested in him) and greeting the other little ones with equal affection. It then occurred to him to learn a rather simple magic trick he saw on TV, to amuse the kids, and Max and his buddies clapped their hands until they were red. Albert was the best big brother, they thought, their older siblings usually ignored or sometimes mistreated them.

They were good kids, why should they get such unfair punishments? And he, hadn't he ever been a good kid? Every time he passed into the kitchen and saw the cellar door, he shivered, there was never day or night there, the silence was only broken by his own moans and the squeaks of a few rats.

He barely finished high school, at eighteen he was the only one at home who worked, his father began to collect a pension, and he constantly heard him complaining on the phone, demanding more money. Albert didn't like the phones, whenever they rang they always brought bad news, and when they didn't ring....

One day, after entertaining the not-so-young Max and company, he had to go down to the basement. Old man Shaw was napping on his couch, snoring like a damn asthmatic pig, and saw the phone hanging lifelessly on the wall; as a kid, he came to think that if he stayed quiet long enough, he'd hear voices on the other side of the speaker, the only problem was that those voices didn't exist, at least not on that plane. 

"Why does Dad have that phone there?" asked Max sometime. He was old enough to go back and forth on his own, and had saved up to buy a comic book that he read face down in his bunk.

"Maybe it worked during the war," Albert reasoned, "Because of the bomb shelters and all."

"Will you come with me to the movies? It's the grand opening, they say they're giving out free popcorn."

"I can't, you know that" sighed Albert. The fun was something he couldn't remember ever experiencing. 

"Oh... Well, I'll save you some popcorn, I'll go with Will and Terry."

Old man Shaw didn't just veg out alone because of his disabilities, sometimes he would leave the house, limping because he refused to use a cane, and Albert would have to fetch him from the bar or from the home of one of the few individuals who tolerated his presence. On one of those endless nights, when he was twenty-five years old, he came across a group of girls. Their hair had an artificial curl, their lips were an outrageous crimson, and they were smoking on the park bench, taking advantage of the solitude. 

"Hey!" some of them shouted to him, waving their hands at him, "Yeah, you, come on!"

Albert planted himself in front of the bench, counted five girls in all. He had never been conscious of their appearance, and it puzzled him to see those beauties who must have been at most in their early twenties ogling him.

"We're out of fire" said one with a pout "You wouldn't happen to have a lighter?"

"Sorry" he apologized awkwardly.

"You look very old" said another, smiling at him "And very handsome. would you mind buying us a lighter?"

"And something to drink" jumped a third "To share, of course" she added winking at him.

"I don't have much money" replied Albert. The girls wailed under their breath.

"Never mind" said one, who had bright red hair "Let's see... I have two dollars still" she pulled a bill out of her purse, looking at her friends "Come on, don't leave me down!"

Altogether they scraped about ten dollars, and went in entourage after Albert to get him to buy what they needed to continue their night's party. He didn't know at what point he ended up in the park, drinking just to please the ladies and letting a couple of them snuggle up against him. As it passed midnight, he remembered what he had gone out for, and had a hard time disentangling himself from the girls.

"Wait" the redhead took him by the hand and handed him a piece of paper on which she wrote a number in lipstick "Call me later, will you? We've had a lot of fun and... we could do it again."

Albert froze for several seconds with the paper in his hand. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked to a girl, and suddenly he had an explicit request from one of them for him to look her up. Maybe it would be good, he thought, part of being a man was proving himself to the ladies, and he...he was still a virgin.

Max was a trouble magnet, and often came home from school with traces of fighting, or rather getting beaten up. He was also a bit slow in class, but surprisingly possessed a privileged brain for board games, and could beat the best chess player in high school in minutes; Albert stopped paying attention to him when he started dating Fanny, which was the redhead's name. He wasn't really attracted to her, but taking her around by the arm or waist gave him a new sense of power, and when he finally got the courage to sleep with her, he discovered a new feeling: self-loathing.

If his interest in Fanny was minimal, after the sexual experience it went almost downhill. He went out with her out of habit, uninterested in going further, and found that he felt repulsed towards her, with her red-haired curls and cigarette packs, and that she was trying to drink more and more. One certain weekend, he almost dragged her home because at a party she had overindulged in drink, taking advantage of her parents' absence, and decided that the end had come.

Until he met her.

The first thing he noticed was her hair, black and short, so short that it looked like it had been shaved a few months before; the eyes were big, blue and lively, and he thought how similar they were to his late mother's eyes. But the body was an enigma; they were wearing a large, baggy shirt that came down to his thighs, and worn jeans; not even the voice gave him a concrete clue.

"Fanny!" the creature exclaimed, making way for the grown-ups. "Mom's going to be mad when she gets back!"

"Oh, shut up, Gina," growled the redhead.

"Who is it?" asked Albert, not taking his eyes off the little girl.

"It's my sister, Virginia" Fanny hiccupped, smiling teasingly at him "Forgive her looks, I think she wants to be a boy" and laughed at her own joke, which found no echo in Albert.

He visited Fanny several times that weekend, as an excuse, and then chatted a little with Virginia. The little girl was only thirteen, and so different from her sister that Albert did not know exactly how to treat her; so he tried the only magic trick he knew how to do, and seeing the sincere smile on that innocent face his heart swelled with a happiness he thought dead. 

"I don't want to be like Fanny" she confessed to him once, when he agreed to accompany her to buy sweets while the redhead languished her long hangover "Nor like her friends, they're all silly..." and she began to imitate them, mockingly, moving her petite hips with exaggeration and laughing with an annoyed tinkle "I want to be a scientist, a cosmonaut, that would be great, wouldn't it? A cosmonaut girl"

"So it's not true that you want to be a boy?"

"No! Well... boys are a lot of fun, they do a lot more than make up and do their hair, I like that"

Virginia was right, Albert thought, boys were much better than girls, it amused him to see the little ones running out of school, playing in weekend baseball games, getting grossed out by catching a frog when the rains came and the gutter overflowed, wreaking havoc to nearby houses and forcing a slow but inexorable permanent move. And when he saw her there, with the kids, he knew then what it was to really love someone.

It could not be said that he broke up with Fanny, rather they drifted apart so gradually that neither felt like fighting with the other, but Albert kept looking for ways to frequent Virginia and the boys with whom she played. She was kind, cheerful, and would accept him escorting her to the corner of her house.

"I don't want your sister to know..." he explained, chagrined "She'll think I'm using you to find out about her or something."

"Never mind" the teen shrugged, that afternoon she had a cut on her cheek from trying to play soccer, to the horrified Albert who narrowly missed screaming as he saw her rolling on the ground "I think she's dating another boy...Stanley or something, they're not going to last long either."

"I'm glad you don't think about such things" Albert blurted out without thinking. Virginia laughed, giving him a friendly pat on the arm before walking away. If only he had known it was the last time he'd see her....

Mr. Shaw did one last mean thing to his son, falling ill the same week Virginia's family decided to move to another state. Albert tried to get Max to fill in, but now he was the one working, or at least trying to, because the allowance would not be enough to cover hospital expenses. When he finally got out of it, he rushed to the house and found that it was alone, except for a "For Sale" sign.

Albert cried, screamed, pulled his hair and cursed his father. He went back to the hospital that night, and several times he found himself staring at the man lying in bed, daydreaming of a hundred cruel plans to get even with him; at one point he got up and looked at him, anxious, fingers twitching. How bad would it be if he took the pillow from him and pressed it over his old, hated face? He could tell him how much he loathed him as he died, express to him what happiness he would get once he was in the ground, that he would spit on his grave, that he deeply wished hell would swallow him up...

But Mr. Shaw died without his son's hand having anything to do with it, a couple of days later, in rales and shakes of pain that even morphine could not overcome. He was buried in the local cemetery, and very few attended the service, the brothers including themselves. 

Life then became an ocean of passing dates, meaningless, purposeless. Max left and returned home several times, and discovered his fondness for substances stronger than alcohol or nicotine, which Albert despised forever. He got a job at the hardware store when he was in his forties and, with his salary and his father's sad inheritance, bought a second house, intending to rent it. But in that shitty town nothing changed too fast, except, it seemed, what made him happy.

He watched generations of children grow up and fade away, and with each one he felt a part of his heart die too. He remembered that love he once professed for magic, and he struggled to learn a few tricks, and finally made his debut at some little party as a part-time magician, with the unimaginative name of Fantastic Al; the applause and surprised faces of the little ones gave him a little of the encouragement that normal life did not provide, and though the pay was poor, he was content with that.

Little by little, his mind became confused, those fleeting moments of happiness were not enough for him, and the loneliness and silence of the house was increasing, because Max could go for more than a year without showing up there; he was a hopeless idiot, but in a way, his presence gave him reasons not to think about dangerous things. Without him, he was a drifting boat, or rather a flame that only needed a bit of dry grass to create a fire.

He remodeled the basement, threw out everything in it and sold the little that possessed any value, except for the telephone, which sometimes still picked up and he thought he heard someone on the other end, sighing, or crying perhaps. The walls were lined in such a way as to drown out any sound, and he bought a bunker door which he then, with the knowledge gained at the hardware store, made suitable for sealing off the lower part of the basement. He didn't even know why he did it, the horrifying ideas swirling around in his head were incomprehensible most of the time, but when he was done, he was proud.

Then in the fall of '77 the basement received its first tenant. It had been so easy to get him there, he was quite small and thin, and he was alone...alone in the rain, kicking a soccer ball with a dreary expression. Why was it that the good kids were the ones who met hell?

That same year, a woman named Alma Gilles was sentenced to fifty years in prison for the murder of her husband, and a little girl, named Violet, began her own journey through the storm.

[cherryskyies]

Could you do hcs for the grabber x gn reader who has frequent depressive episodes pls?

The Grabber with an s/o who has depressive episodes 

warnings are obvious, enjoy <3

Masterlist || Navigation || Ao3

You were doing so good. Once you had adjusted to your new life it was like the sparkle in your eyes had come back and you were content, until now.

It was a steady decline, slow enough that The grabber hadn’t noticed it the first week, assuming you were just more tired than usual and were getting bored of the eggs he served for every meal. The untouched plates and simple responses had angered him more than worried him. To him, this was a tantrum.

But as more time passed and you looked up at him with dead eyes, he knew it was more than a tantrum, so he racked his brain for hours, desperate to remember what he could have done to hurt you and nothing popped up.

“Doll,” he starts, a whisper in your ear as his warm hand caresses your face. “I need you to sit up for me, I need to ask you something.” There is no malice in his tone, instead worry glazes over his features when you barely push yourself up against the wall in a sitting position. 

The grabber is hesitant, a rare occurrence. “Have I done something to cause this behavior change?” His voice remains calm and steady, but you can hear the desperation slipping through. “Why are you so sad, my dove?”

It was hard for you to explain properly, stressing the fact it wasn’t anything he had done, but that you had a chemical imbalance and sometimes it hit hard and made it hard to breath, let alone be productive.

I see The grabber being a little upset that you hadn’t come to him about this sooner, but also relieved it wasn’t something he’d done. 

During these episodes, he is more gentle and spoils you. Instead of eggs, he makes your favorite meals in an attempt to cheer you up. If you’ve been good enough, he might even offer to get you a little companion, preferably a cat, but he’d do anything to make you smile; he’s your provider after all.

[myers-meadow]

Attention, Grabber x reader enjoyers

If you write Grabber x reader or Grabber x oc, I love you. Thank you for taking time out of your day to write and share your stories with us.

If you've gotten hate for what you've written, I love you. Reach out to friends if you need to, and take care of yourself. You know yourself better than random ppl on the internet.

If you just share your stories with close friends, I love you. There's nothing better than that feeling of connecting with friends over a shared piece of media.

If you enjoy reading Grabber x reader or Grabber x oc, I love you. I hope you have lots of fun in the fandom, reading and reblogging and being able to connect with others through fic.

The character of the Grabber is complex and interesting and the way Ethan Hawke portrayed him gave such depth to his character. There is a lot to be explored through fanfic. It doesn't matter what your motivations are to write for him. Horror can be horror for horror's sake, erotica can be erotica for erotica's sake. We don't always have to analyse each little bit of what we like or to feel guilty for enjoying the things we enjoy. I love you. Remember your worth lies within you as a person, not in other people's perception of you. Drink enough water, take care! 💟

[smile-in-the-dark]

He’d have me on a silver platter.

[stupidbeemeen]

OCxCanon!!!

Merry Christmas (I know, I’m late.) and Happy New Year!!!

And I didn't forget the request about Albert. I will do it soon 😁

[mariacedano-blog-blog]

Classic Shingle Home Design Ideas Located in Cape Cod MA, this classic shingle home was originally built in 1895, completely renovated in 2016. This 6 bedroom,7 bath house has water views from almost every room that are sure to inspire. Lewis & Weldon Custom Kitchens worked with the clients to create spaces throughout the home that looked like they had always been there, from the custom kitchen to the built ins throughout the house —every room was thoughtfully considered. One of the highlights of the house was the original staircase newel posts that the designer replicated in their custom mill shop so the original character remained. Take notes on sources shared and make sure pin away this home. This is a home you want to remember. Classic Shingle Home Design Ideas I needed to start with this impressive kitchen! This classic white kitchen features some ideas that will inspire you. Appliances: 48″ Wolf Range, 42″ Sub Zero Built In Fridge. Classic Kitchen Elements Kitchen Island Dimension – 94″ x 42″ Wall Paint Color: Benjamin Moore Grey. Barstools are from Pottery Barn. Kitchen Windows Who wouldn’t love to cook with a view like that?! Sink Kitchen Farmhouse Sink: Shaws by Rohl. Kitchen Faucet Faucet is Newport Brass. Countertop Kitchen countertop is Super White Quartzite. Edge Profile The island countertop has 2 1/2″ thick build up of Dupont over eased edge treatment. The perimeter countertop are eased edge. Edge Profile Close-up Classic and elegant edge profile. Hardware The cabinet hardware is Schaub in Polished Chrome. Schaub Knobs – Schaub Pulls. Lighting Lighting is from Pottery Barn. Cabinetry Kitchen Cabinet Details: Custom cabinetry with recessed panel, beveled inside edge detail Maple. Pot Filler Pot filler is by Newport Brass. Cabinet Paint Color Cabinet paint color is Benjamin Moore, PM-2 White – this is a true white, perfect for a crisp look. Bookcase This is a great idea to keep your cook books handy and organized. Appliance Cabinet Pulls Appliance hardware is Schaub in Polished Chrome. Hutch Cabinet This hutch add a seamless elegance and some extra storage to this kitchen. I am loving the glass cabinet doors. Backsplash Tile Tile is a 2″x 8″ hand-crafted glazed grey subway tile backsplash – East Coast Tile Stone Panè, color smoke. Hardwood Flooring Flooring is hardwood – Oak. Breakfast Room Built-in A built-in butler divides the living room from the dining area. Countertop on buffet is white oak with espresso stain. Open Feel This entire space feels connected to this amazing view. Wall paint color is Benjamin Moore Wickham Grey. Round Table – Restoration Hardware Outlet (similar can be found here or here). Ceiling Treatment Ceiling treatment is White Oak, espresso stain 4″ v-groove. Paint: All trim in home – Benjamin Moore, PM-2 White. Built-in Cabinet Cabinet paint color is Benjamin Moore PM-2 White. Family Room The simple and neutral decor don’t compete with the beautiful outdoors. Formal Dining Room The dining room feels casual and elegant at the same time. Sliding glass pocked doors bring a sense of intimacy to this space. Walls are covered in a grasscloth wallpaper. Lighting – Shades of Light – Trellis Cage Ceiling Chandelier. Similar farmhouse table can be found here. Great Room Paint Color Benjamin Moore OC-20 Pale Oak. All trim and built-ins are Benjamin Moore PM-2 White. Decor Furniture is from Ethan Allen. Lighting is from Restoration Hardware. TV Room Paint Color The paint color here is also Benjamin Moore, OC 20 Pale Oak – a soothing neutral often recommended by interior designers. Mudroom The mudroom features durable flooring and custom built-ins. Main Floor Bathroom The cabinetry features recessed panel, beveled inside edge detail- Maple, painted Benjamin Moore PM-2 White. Countertop is Fantasia Brown Granite. Wall paint color is Benjamin Moore OC-13 Soft Chamois. Hardware – Brushed Nickel Pulls. Faucet – Moen. Shower This tile combination is perfect for a beach house. 1st Floor Guest Bedroom The main floor guest bedroom opens to a waterfront deck. Dreamy! Wall paint color is Benjamin Moore OC-52 Grey Owl. 1st Floor Guest Bathroom Isn’t this custom vanity adorable? Wall are Benjamin Moore Grey Owl. Hardware – Top Knobs – Polished Chrome Faucet – Kohler Countertop Countertop – Super White Quartzite Hall A hall built-in is always so handy! The wall paint color is Benjamin Moore OC-13 Soft Chamois. Lighting – Pottery Barn Hardware – Brushed Nickel Pulls & Knobs. Staircase The original staircase was completely refinished. Paint color is Benjamin Moore, PM-2 White. Stair Runner The staircase features hardwood and a trellis runner. Paint Color Wall paint color is “Benjamin Moore OC 13 Soft Chamois.” Lighting can be found here. 2nd Floor Bathroom The wall paint color is Benjamin Moore CW 710 Bruton White. Countertops – Caesarstone Linen. Hardware – – Brushed Nickel Pulls. Faucet – Moen. Shower Shower tile is 3×12 hand-made white crackled tile from Dal Tile, Artigiano – Italian Alps. Grey Guest Bathroom Paint color is Benjamin Moore 1583 Silver Crest. Countertop Countertop is Iceberg Marble. Hardware – Hardware Resource: Polished Chrome Faucet – Kohler Bedroom This bedroom features traditional millwork and window-seat with a gorgeous view. Master Bathroom The master bathroom features a combination of grey wallpaper and Carrara marble tile. Classy and timeless. Bathtub Tub is Victoria Albert. Shower This bathroom also features a spacious walk-in shower. Tile Combo The shower combines many different sizes of carrara marble tile from floor-to-ceiling. Wallpaper Grey wallpaper is Thibaut Stanbury Trellis, color Grey. Countertop – Carrara Marble Hardware – Crystal Knobs. Walk-in Closet Walk in closet cabinet paint color is Benjamin Moore PM-2 White. Cabinetry is custom with recessed panel, rounded inside edge detail. Wood is Maple. Laundry Room This is not a big laundry room but the cabinet layout, together with a sink, offers practicality, lots of storage and a great folding area. Washer/Dryer – Electrolux. Laundry Room Countertop Laundry room countertop is quartz, Silestone, color is Steel. Exterior What a curb-appeal! The exterior of this shingle beach house features clear bleached shakes. The trim paint color is Benjamin Moore White. Interiors: Lewis & Weldon. Instagram – Facebook. Builder: Bass River Builders Exterior Photo: Dan Cutrona. Posts of the Week: @cottonstem: Beautiful Homes of Instagram. Tuesday: Before & After Kitchen Renovation on a Budget. Trending on Home Bunch: Open-Concept Family Home Design Ideas. Popular on Pinterest:Latest Interior Design Ideas. Fall Decor Newest Fall Post: Instagram Fall Decorating Ideas. Follow Home Bunch on Pinterest, Facebook and Instagram. You can follow my pins here: Pinterest/HomeBunch See more Inspiring Interior Design Ideas in my Archives. Popular Paint Color Posts: The Best Benjamin Moore Paint Colors 2016 Paint Color Ideas for your Home Interior Paint Color and Color Palette Pictures Interior Paint Color and Color Palette Ideas Inspiring Interior Paint Color Ideas Interior Paint Color and Color Palette New 2015 Paint Color Ideas Interior Paint Color Ideas Interior Design Ideas: Paint Color Interior Ideas: Paint Color More Paint Color Ideas Hello, everyone! How are you today? Isn’t this home incredible? I feel more relaxed just by looking at it and that amazing view! I hope everything is wonderful with you – I hope you’re feeling healthy, loved and whole. The older I get the more I try to live my life focusing on what truly matters to me and I try to leave the things that can’t be changed behind. Living with more love and less stress is what truly brings happiness to our lives. Focus on that. We’ll talk again tomorrow! with Love, Luciane from HomeBunch.com Follow @HomeBunch: Contact: “For your shopping convenience, this post might contain links to retailers where you can purchase the products (or similar) featured. I make a small commission if you use these links to make your purchase so thank you for your support!” Save

[findroleplay]

hi! 21+ rper searching for 18+ writer searching for the following rare / toxic ships. bolded char is who i’d write:

tris prior x jeanine matthews (divergent)

katniss everdeen x alma coin (hunger games)

bella swan x carlisle cullen bella swan x aro volturi (twilight)

hermione granger x severus snape hermione x remus lupin hermione x lucius malfoy (harry potter)

female sam winchester x chuck shurley fem sam x lucifer (supernatural)

sabrina spellman x lucifer (chilling adventures of sabrina) sabrina spellman x chuck shurley sabrina spellman x albert shaw (demon au)

clara oswald x 10/12/13th doctor (doctor who)

rey skywalker x luke skywalker (star wars)

padme obidala x obi-wan kenobi (star wars)

harley quinn x batfleck (dc) harley x negan (twd x dc crossover)

wanda maximoff x stephen strange (marvel) wanda x clint barton

peter parker x quentin beck (marvel)

natasha romanoff x bruce banner (marvel)

irene adler (megan fox fc) x sherlock holmes

female oc x john watson (bbc sherlock)

beth davenport x mr. grieff (inside man) OR lydia west x dracula ( bbc dracula)

daenerys targaryen x jorah mormont (got)

alison cameron/female oc x dr. house/dr. wilson (house md)

i have more but this is getting long lol. i don’t do doubles. i love smut but am looking for smut with plot and a bit of angst. i prefer to write bratty / power bottoms. i’m a novella writer (around 3-5 paras at a min.) and a slow replier, sometimes i get 3-5 replies a week, sometimes 1 or none for a few days, i'm looking for someone who is patient as i am very chill with reply pace. i’m open to ocs and discussing wanted plots and FCs. i have a lot of fcs and tropes i'd be willing to discuss!

will ask for a writing sample as well as i want to make sure i’m finding the right partners. pls like this and i’ll reach out ❤️

-

[mandowifey]

Self indulgence is doodling your insert/reader getting snatched up by a nasty killer boy.

[girlwithwolftatoo]

The devil and the flower -chapter 8

Violets have no thorns

Warning: torture, death

Words: 3346

Suddenly, the town was abuzz with gossip as the local newspaper revived its former glory, some were sympathetic, lamenting the misfortune that seemed to befall that shattered family, others were discussing theories each one more insane, and when they least expected it, they were already pointing the finger of blame, the victim herself included among some who boasted of being reasonable.

And in the midst of that chaos, a little girl who had suffered the two most important losses at an early age, dreamed of the strange man with the black balloons, who reached out his hand and took the hand of a person who walked, their face covered with a thick red veil, beside him down the street.

Gwen Blake was sure that the Grabber had made a mistake, or perhaps, since his last hit, he had changed his tactics to mislead. After all, what other motive would a monster like that have for disappearing a young girl?

She, of course, didn't discuss her doubts with anyone, and on the other hand, she heard a lot of rumors wherever she went. It wasn't that the town cared about the safety of one girl more than that of its children, it was because it was young Gilles, the daughter of the murderess.

"Maybe she's gone" opined a man in line at the mini supermarket "I wouldn't put up with living in a town where everyone's talking about me."

"You think so? She couldn't have left alone, for God's sake... maybe a friend helped her".

"Yeah, sure, they say she spent her afternoons with boys..."

"What would you expect from that poor girl?"

Things escalated from one day to the next, an anonymous source (Rutheford, the only one who had shown concern from the start) told the police how, on the night she disappeared, Violet was being harassed by a boy named Edward Preston. 

Edward received a visit from the police, and later, Mrs. Betsy received a call.

"We have a possible suspect in your granddaughter's disappearance," the detective explained.

"Don't say, and do you need me to identify him?"

"No, that won't be necessary, he's being questioned right now -"

"Then carry on, and please don't call me unless it's for something really important, good afternoon."

At the police station they weren't sure what to think of the boy, he had no record in town but he did have a couple of brawls in California, and what was more, he was proven to have consumed more than alcohol the night Violet Gilles disappeared; but on the other hand, Edward insisted on his innocence.

"I told you I didn't do anything to that bitch!" he bellowed after being locked up for over two hours "Hey you can't do this to me, I had nothing to do with that girl, I don't even know her!"

"We have witnesses that you chased her, that you harassed her" replied the detective.

"No!" but Edward's voice betrayed guilt, and he finally agreed, when on another side of town, Violet was being returned to the basement with the threat of whipping.

Edward Preston was not prosecuted at the time, but doubt was sown and by Thursday morning, everyone was talking about him being a suspect.

"I'm sick of this shit!" shouted the boy near the soda fountain "I've been explaining a thousand times to those assholes that I only hit her, and that was enough for them to let me have a warrant for my arrest if I try to leave here."

"Why do they care so much?" commented a friend of his, who was drinking a can of beer camouflaged by a paper bag "I hear her grandmother is still doing her thing without mentioning anything about her"

"Has it crossed your minds that the Grabber might have taken her?" hinted another "I mean, maybe he mistook her for a boy, with that hair and that face..."

"Well I wish he had" Edward spat "I wish he took her and tore her to pieces, I'm not going to have my life ruined by some stupid bitch."

The three continued with less sinister chatter as, in the establishment next door, the door was slowly closed by the hand of a worker.

In other circumstances, Edward would have taken advantage of the weekend to have some fun, go out and play a little basketball and let the girls admire him, but with so many fingers pointing at his back he preferred to retire early, when it was just starting to get dark. He hadn't gone past two or three blocks when a black pickup truck pulled up next to him, making him jump.

"What the fuck...?"

A man stretched outside the window, grinning at him.

"I'm sorry, did I scare you? I didn't mean to" Edward however looked at him suspiciously "Hey..." the man's smile faltered, he seemed suddenly unsure "You look kind of worried."

"And what's it to you?" the boy jumped.

"Well, if that's the case I think you should..." the man stretched out a hand, showing him something he held in his palm. Edward couldn't contain his curiosity and walked over, in a tiny plastic bag were five or six pills "relax".

A sudden offer, but tempting, certainly the boy had not slept well.

"What do you intend?" he asked, glaring at the van driver.

"A deal. If you're interested I can sell you one for...ten bucks, how about it?"

"Is that all?"

"I have... other stuff, but not here, I can't carry that many products, it would be weird" the man laughed "Anyway, if you don't want it's okay -" he had already started to reach in when Edward approached him.

"Wait..." he reached into his pocket, he found only six dollars "What can you give me for this?"

"Oops..." the man clicked his tongue, as if disappointed "A little weed, maybe half an ounce, the problem is I don't have it here... unless" he quickly added "you don't mind joining me, I have everything in a house next to the dam, no one ever goes by there and so I don't have to worry if the police come to my house." 

The boy's mind was swift and cruel, he could take him up on his offer, yes, accompany him, see exactly where the house was and... then ransack it. Served him right for being naive enough to say that to a stranger.

"Okay... hey" he added quickly "I don't want any tricks."

"Too bad, they're my specialty" the man pointed to the sliding door of the van, there was a printout there that read "Abracadabra, magic supplements". Edward let out a sarcastic snort, and agreed to climb in as co-pilot; his stupid dealer was a middle-aged man, he wore a polo shirt that read something from a hardware store, and generally looked a bit silly. On the dashboard he carried some delicate flowers wrapped in crepe paper, the boy raised an eyebrow, apparently the loser had a wife.

"What's your name, kid?" the driver asked as they pulled into the long street that led to the dam bridge.

"Everett" he lied, hoping he wouldn't recognize him.

"Nice to meet you, Everett" replied the man with a faint smile "What awful days these have been, haven't they? I feel like it's getting colder every year in the fall, and the rain last night... ugh!"

"It's a shitty town." 

"Yes...a shitty town...they let their most beautiful flowers wilt before their time..." his fingers brushed the petals of one of the roses in the little gift "Have you noticed, Everett? Roses and violets are the most given flowers in the whole world, but only roses have thorns, and florists must pluck them so they won't hurt."

The van stopped near the bridge, and the man pointed to an old house that had in its front yard all kinds of weeds that had even eaten away the "For Sale" sign.

"Is this it, do you mind waiting outside?" he asked Edward as they both got out of the car.

"I really wouldn't want to be in sight for too long" replied the boy.

"Yes, yes, I understand...I won't be long, I promise."

"How about if I walk you at least as far as the garden?"

The dealer agreed, resigned, visibly interested in not losing his sale. The two walked to the gate, and the man put his hands on the timbers before laughing.

"Wow! This is something new!" 

"What's the matter?" spat Edward, nervously.

"Look at that!" the man pointed to something among the weeds "It's...I'm not sure, a possum, I think...it's giving birth!" and laughed again. 

Edward moved closer, not because he was interested in the possum or whatever, but to demand that his fastidious companion give him what he promised, however, a second later he fell dazed to the ground when something hit him on the right side of the face with all its might, a huge body jumped on him and wrapped an arm around his neck, rendering him helpless in a matter of seconds, and then Edward Preston collapsed and lay limp on the pavement.

The supposed dealer hurried him into the back of his van, and drove over the bridge, looking longingly at the wooden railing that protected cars and pedestrians from falling over the edge; he drove and drove into the grove of trees surrounding the dam, until the lights of the town could no longer reach him. He yanked Edward, who was navigating between lucidity and unconsciousness, and threw him face down next to a tree and immediately tied his hands behind his back. 

"Hey..." heard the boy in that gloom that was only fought by a flashlight "Are you awake? That's good... One thing I can't stand is lies, they... put me in a bad mood, do you understand, Edward Preston?"

The voice sounded somewhat hollow, but the boy almost returned to normal when he heard his name. The figure above him squinted, and he could see that he was wearing some sort of mask.

"Who... who are you?" he stammered.

"Violets don't have thorns, Edward, they can't defend themselves, when the florist sees them, he just cuts them off, zap!" something glowed next to the boy's face as the masked man waved his hand sharply in front of him "Poor things, it's unfair, don't you think? But fortunately..." he leaned in, now Edward could make out the mask, a horned face with a cruelly twisted mouth "I'm here to protect them"

The piercing scream was lost in the forest as a knife plunged into his crotch. The weapon went in and out several times, into his arms and legs, as if its intention was not to kill him but to wound him, to torture him until he bled to death. 

"I should cut off your hands for what you did" growled the masked man angrily "and leave you here for the vermin to eat your remains, but I think it will be better if..." and he turned him face down again, sitting over his kidneys. Strong hands took hold of one of his fingers and squeezed it hard, twisting it, until it snapped.

"Stop it!" Edward pleaded as he felt his torturer take another finger "Stop it, please, I beg you!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears, and a second finger snapped off under the man's iron strength. The pleasure was indescribable, insane, almost as delicious as it was to slit the throats of his precious toys after leaving them crawling on the floor, weeping, weak... it was all their fault, it was Edward's fault, he had been more than a naughty boy.

Violet felt the brush of a large, crooked finger on her cheek and woke up, startled. Albert was right next to the mattress, and retracted his hand as the young woman snuggled against the wall.

"What do you want?" she asked sharply. That annoyed him a little, and he showed her what he had brought with him: a blanket and pillow, which Violet took slowly, looking into his eyes "Thank you, I was freezing to death."

It was true, he thought, the basement was freezing as soon as autumn started, and besides the dress didn't look very warm, he could tell by the bulge the hardened nipples made under the garment.

"Violet, if I were to let you out of the cellar for a while..." murmured Albert, and the young woman's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Get out?" she repeated "What for?"

"It's just an idea I had. But I don't want you...to think you can leave whenever you want, I was thinking more like...you were up there...with me..."

Considering all he was and could do, it was surprising how eager he sounded with those words, Violet almost thought she saw a slight blush behind the smiling half mask. 

"What do you intend?" she asked "Have you decided what you're going to do with me yet?" 

The last thing she expected was a straight answer, but the man's eyes bore into her face and then, he mumbled:

"Yes."

Violet's hands latched onto the blanket.

"And... will you tell me?" she kept her voice as serene as she could. Albert narrowed his eyes.

"You told me you never saw your mother again" he said suddenly "You were left alone as a child. I... well, I was left very soon without my mother too, and my father..." he shrugged "I think the best thing he ever did for me was to die. That loneliness suited me much better... for a while."

"And... didn't you have any other family? Uncles, perhaps?" ventured Violet. Albert shook his head and suddenly stood up.

"Tomorrow I'll come for you and you'll get out of the cellar, but if you scream, or try to escape or try anything, I'll cut your ankles off." 

After that warning, Albert left the cellar, and Violet huddled between the blankets, nervous. 

The next morning the Prestons were shouting angrily to the police, demanding to know the whereabouts of their son, and Gwen Blake woke up after a horrendous nightmare of a man in a top hat chopping something to pieces in the middle of the woods, but for Albert it was the perfect day, the sun was warming the gloomy autumnal atmosphere a little, he didn't have to go to the hardware store, and he shopped with a huge smile, accompanied by Sampson who waited outside, tied up and muzzled to the horror of passers-by. When he returned, he listened to the radio as he dusted off a recipe book and entertained himself with great pleasure as he chopped and cooked the ingredients.

Take my hand, take my whole life too

For I can’t help falling in love with you

The cellar door opened at dusk; Violet, curled up on the mattress, sat up with a start, still in disbelief. Albert was wearing the top half of the mask again, and looked a little more dressed up than usual, with a satiny black shirt and underneath, a curious deep red turtleneck. 

"You didn't think I'd come, did you?" he asked, tilting his head. Violet didn't answer, sitting up. With a sigh, the man approached, holding out a hand "You needn't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you, as long as you behave as you should."

No shouting, no running away, these were simple rules and ones she was willing to follow even though she was still wary that something bad was going to happen. But she let herself be led, like cattle to the slaughter, up the stairs she had climbed only once.

"How's your ankle still doing?" she heard him ask her. Violet looked down at her feet, not paying much attention to its condition lately, perhaps more concerned with the wounds inflicted by her captor.

"Better, I think."

They entered the kitchen, which was already familiar to her, accompanied by someone's crooning on an old record player. In the middle of the kitchen, a square folding table had been set up, and on it, there were two plates of food and two glasses with water. Violet looked now at Albert, now at the table, if it was a trap, he had gone to a lot of trouble to make it.

"Sit down" he instructed, leading her to one of the chairs. The plate was overflowing with pasta with ground beef and cheese, and Violet couldn't help but notice that, unlike Albert, she had a plastic fork. 

Albert sat down across from her and cleared his throat to get her attention.

"I hope you like it..." he murmured, poking at his own food "I haven't made Italian pasta since... well..." 

Violet stirred the pasta with her ridiculous fork, and looked sideways at him.

"What's in it?" she asked.

"Well... pasta, tomato sauce, mozzarella..."

"Anything else?"

Albert set his fork down on the plate, again looking at her squarely and his voice deepened.

"If you think it has drugs or poison in it, you're very wrong. I don't need that to keep you here, in fact..." he lifted his fork, the tomato sauce on the prongs was very evocative "I think you're not stupid enough to try to elope."

Albert kept looking at her, she suspected he wouldn't stop until she took at least one bite and, resigned, she did. She chewed slowly, the flavors mingling in her mouth were quite delicious, the first proper meal she'd had in, what, five days? 

"It's tasty" she confirmed, and took another bite. Whether it had poison in it or not, her stomach was begging for food, and she found herself hurriedly dispatching her dinner.

Albert reached a hand behind his back, toward the dishwasher, then held out something wrapped in crepe paper. The girl found herself with a sprig that must have had no more than seven or eight flowers in all, some roses but mostly vivid blue blossoms that she recognized at once.

Violets.

 The hand holding the bouquet trembled slightly, Albert didn't seem to know which way to look and his lips were pressed together in a rictus of tension.

"They're... for you" he stammered "It's for... well... things haven't turned out the way they should..."

Her mother had always told her that, as a little girl, she dressed her in all the blues she could get her hands on, little light blue dresses to palliate the summer heat, blue striped overalls though her father thought they were too masculine, an indigo hat decorated with a fake blade of wheat. She really was Violet-as-the-flowers... and she thought of the boy who had named her that, and horror settled in her breast again.

"Why am I here?" she asked, pressing herself against the back of the chair, as if she could thus keep a safe distance from the man "What do you want from me?"

Slowly, Albert set the bouquet down on the table, his fists were clenched nervously, and Violet began to regret asking him that question. 

"It's hard to explain" he finally blurted out "If I could tell you..."

He brought both hands to his head, tugging at his hair. It was so disconcerting to see it break so easily, those cruel hands that tortured and murdered innocents now doing the same to their owner, and Violet noticed that he seemed to want to dig his nails into his scalp.

Suddenly, he sat up so abruptly that Violet jumped, startled. Albert took her by the arm and, without another word to her, led her back to the basement without her having finished dinner, until he pushed her against the mattress. 

"Why?" exclaimed Albert to the girl's bewilderment "Why did I have to...find you...?" 

He turned and walked out of the basement, whimpering as he continued to pull his hair. The thud of the door closing drowned out his crying after he returned to the kitchen, where he sat still, caressing the flowers and humming along to the music on the record player.

[girlwithwolftatoo]

The devil and the flower -chapter 7

The devil's smile

Words: 3784

TW: Family abuse

"I want to play another game."

Albert narrowly missed dropping the tray when he heard those words welcoming him the next day. Again he wore the full mask, the one with the angry or sad face, but when Violet spoke to him he instinctively brought a hand to his face, unsettled.

Like other times, the man planted himself at a distance, sitting with his back against the wall and his eyes fixed on the girl, who was eating strips of bacon. 

"So what do you want to play?" he asked. Violet finished chewing.

"I want to play Liar," she said. She tilted her head slightly, not sure if the other was paying attention to her "Can you play it?"

Albert tilted his head too, and squinted his eyes. He had been thinking about one thing all morning, and his mind was a little slower than usual.

"Show me," he asked, interlacing his fingers. 

"Well... a person tells two stories, one is true, and the other is not" Violet explained "If the other player guesses the one that is true, they earn a point, and when they collect a number of points they can demand a prize... which the other cannot deny them" she added, with a tremor in her voice. She couldn't just rely on her good luck, last time it was a miracle to have won, otherwise she'd still be crawling to the toilet every time she needed to.

"Hmmm..." growled Albert "And what kind of stories must you tell?"

"Whatever they are, but you mustn't cheat" added the girl "It's very important... to tell the truth in the end."

Those words sounded almost like an epiphany, a bridge rising between them and uniting them under the same idea. Silence reigned for a few seconds, tense, icy, and finally Albert sat up, taking a couple of steps towards the mattress.

"And what are you going to ask me if you win, Violet?"

"Well..." she looked at the tray, food was not something that satisfied her, she consumed it only out of necessity, for survival "I don't know... how about a blanket? It's cold down here."

The man cocked his head to the side.

"Done" and went to the door.

"What will you ask for?" asked Violet at the drop of a hat. Albert didn't answer, closed the door (this time all the way) and silence once again devoured the basement.

Violet finished her breakfast and immediately, picked up the phone. She dialed, as if that was the key, the number she found carved into the wall, and waited while silence was the only thing coming from the speaker.

"Vance? Bike boy? Paperboy?" she asked, nervous "It's Violet, the one in the basement...with the Grabber." 

Nothing. 

"Please, I need someone to help me, if you know something about the Grabber that I don't..." her hand began to tremble "Please don't leave me alone..."

She was beginning to lose hope, she was very stupid if she believed that those dreams, or visions, or whatever they were, would be there for her....

"Alone."

"Alone."

"Alone."

The communication was garbled, voices running over each other against static and a waiting beep. Violet made one last attempt:

"This is Violet Gilles, I'm in the Grabber's basement, if you can hear me I beg you to help me."

"Alone..."

"You are alone..."

"You are not alone..."

"Violet Violence!"

"Vance?" she shrieked "Vance! Can you hear me?"

"Violet like-the-flowers..."

"Violet Gilles..."

"You're not alone."

"He doesn't like to lose"

"He listens to the phone"

"Violet Gilles..."

"My father said that..."

The beeping wounded her eardrum, and Violet let go of the speaker, eyes closed as she emitted a groan of pain. When she opened her eyes again she found herself in the basement, only the roof was gone, and down it fell the black-flaked snow. 

After getting up from the mattress, she picked up the speaker again, looking around.

"Hello?"

The whisper of static was cut off by a new voice.

"Are you Violet Gilles?"

"Yes... who are you? Why can' t I see you?" she asked, searching with her eyes for her caller.

"Sorry, I still don't know... it's complicated, you know? I mean, I see you, but... it's really weird."

"Do you remember your name?"

"I remember... my sister" the voice continued. Of all the ones she had heard so far, that one was the saddest, disappointed "I thought she might find me, because her dreams...showed her things..."

"You had a sister..." then Violet paled. She already knew who the boy on the other end of the phone was "My God...Finney Blake?"

The poor boy had disappeared a few weeks ago, she still remembered the scandal. The Grabber had been very active since early fall, and two boys had disappeared in the span of five days.

"Yes... Finney..." muttered the voice "My father said that... the Gilles were bad people..."

The hand holding the speaker tightened.

"And you believed him?" she asked, a little resentfully.

"I don't know... I never met you, I mean... I never talked to you, but the kids at school... Robin talked to me... told me you were nice... that you didn't seem bad..."

"Ah, well...never mind. Finney, do you know anything about the Grabber that might help me?"

"I never went out, I was close...the phone helped me."

"Yes, yes, I'm in the same circumstances, but if you were close..."

"My sister dreamed about you" Finney interrupted her. Violet frowned.

"I beg your pardon, your sister...how do you know?"

"Sometimes she and I...talk to each other...like you and me now...It's all gray and ash is falling..."

"Ash?" Violet understood then, that wasn't black snow "Yes... it's the same here."

"I wish I understood, surely Gwen would know."

"Well but, you said your sister dreamed about me, did she tell you what she dreamed?"

"Yes... well, she didn't mention you, she mentioned a girl..."

"And how do you know it was me?" 

"Because she looked just like you." 

The girl tilted her head, at her feet was not the tray, but the cord connecting the speaker to the phone, long and stretching all over the floor, like some sort of plastic snake.

"Finney, what did your sister say about me?" she asked, nervously. There was no answer. "Finney, you have to help me, if the Grabber wins I don't know what he'll do..."

"Violet, I..."

The place shook, as if hit by a tornado, and the girl nearly tripped.

"Finney, please!" she pleaded.

"On the wall there's a series of numbers..."

"I saw it, it's from a bike lock, so what's that?"

"It's the one that locks the front door..."

"No! I'm not going out again!" a second tremor caused the front wall to fracture. "Anything else?"

"I'm sorry, I can't think of..."

"Please! I don't want to... I don't want to die! I don't want to end up like...!"

She interrupted herself. Blood was gushing from the cracks, so dark and so repulsive that Violet covered her mouth and nose with her free hand.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" she concluded "I'm going to die here."

"We all thought so" Finney muttered, sounding more and more distant "I was close...I thought it would be over...when... he...found me...and then...killed him..."

"What? Who found you?" Violet began to bellow against the speaker "Finney! Who found you?"

"The man... he was looking for... the children... his brother... Max..."

The call cut out, Violet found herself with her back pressed against the wall next to the phone. Her legs ached from the awkward position she had been left in, and she rolled onto the mattress with a groggy mind. 

Blue.

He unhooked the garment and passed it between his fingers, hesitating. It could be cotton, or maybe polyester, it was a calm, heavenly blue, without any pattern, with blue buttons down the front and the skirt with a slight flounce, feminine, demure, but jovial, and he stroked the edge of the skirt for long seconds before continuing to walk down the aisles. As he passed by the underwear, he grabbed a pair of panties on the fly and hurriedly hid them in his pants pocket.

After paying for it, he placed the dress on the passenger seat of the van, well stretched out, and drove back home while his mind involuntarily created beautiful scenes; it was a beautiful dress, and very practical too, it could be worn to church for mass, although he never attended such things, it could be shown off on a walk in the park, at an outdoor party....

Yes, she would surely like it. It was a good dress.

The door opened as the sunset lights streamed in through the small reinforced window, and Violet straightened up on the mattress, just to denote that she was alert. Again, the smiling half of the mask covered Albert's face, exposing his forehead and eyes.

"I... brought you something," he said, moving closer until he was a few steps from the mattress and tossed a sort of little square package. Violet unwrapped it, glancing sideways at the man, it was a short-sleeved, round-necked dress with buttons down the front, simple but pretty. 

The gift puzzled her, and for several seconds she contemplated the garment without knowing what to say.

"I saw it and thought... it would look good on you" Albert was still in the same place, clasping his hands. The girl looked at him again, what kind of man was that? 

"Thank you" she mumbled for saying something. She noticed then that, on the mattress, rested another smaller, pearl-colored garment, which turned out to be a pair of panties. Albert looked away as soon as Violet took them.

"Don't think wrong, I figured you'd need them."

"So...what happened to the others?" she asked. Albert didn't answer, in fact he remained with his eyes conveniently fixed on the window.

"You said..." he commented suddenly, as Violet placed the dress on the mattress, carefully folded "that you wanted to play. Let's do it, shall we?"

Before Violet could say anything, Albert sat down opposite her, his legs stretched out in such a way that it was almost comical, and the young woman had no choice but to imitate him.

"Well, shall you start?" he asked. Violet sighed.

"My first story..." she said, turning her imagination a little "is that one day, on my way to school, I came across a white rabbit. I bent down to pick it up, and when I did, another rabbit appeared, and another."

"Really?"

"Turns out a magician had crashed nearby, and all his rabbits had escaped from the car."

To her surprise, Albert laughed, it was a disturbing, almost painful laugh.

"That can't be the real story" he concluded between chuckles "There are no magicians in this town."

"Maybe he was just passing through, and you can' t cheat" Violet pointed out "You have to hear both stories before you choose"

Albert snorted, but didn't look angry.

"Okay, Violet."

"My second story is..." several memories popped into her mind, none of them were entirely happy "one Christmas, when I was little, my father's family came to have dinner with us, and Grandpa brought a cut of meat, the biggest I'd ever seen, and it was fresh. When we asked him where it was from he said, 'It's reindeer! We ran over it on the way over.'"

This time Albert didn't laugh. Violet folded her hands in her lap.

"Well, those are my stories," she concluded. 

"The second story must be the real one" Albert said without hesitation "Too bad about the reindeer."

"That's right" the girl nodded "Now it's your turn."

"Ah, let's see... My first story is that when I was a teenager, my sister caught me stealing her beauty magazines. She wanted to accuse me to dad calling me a pervert, but I was just using them to sell to some boys at school" he gave out a sort of cough that simulated a laugh "My second story is that the first time I drank, I ended up so drunk that I reacted two days later and I had arrived in Wyoming. Okay, that's it, what's the real one?"

She could feel the blue orbs riveted on her, on her face, it was uncomfortable, as if at any moment, if she said the wrong thing, he might jump on her and rip her to shreds. She pretended to think about it, just so she could shy away from his gaze.

"I think the real story is the second one." 

"Really? Why?"

"Because you don't have a sister."

She said it without thinking, and when she realized her words, she paled. Albert tensed as well, and his body leaned forward, menacingly.

"How are you so sure of that?" he asked in a low, leisurely voice. Violet moved back a little.

"I..." she stammered. Damn it, her brain wasn't capable of making up any lies, and for a time that seemed like forever, Albert remained in that same position, lurking. Finally, however, he backed away with a sad sigh.

"Yes, I don't have a sister, never did" he repeated, playing it down "You don't have any siblings either, do you, Violet?"

"No, sir."

"You live alone, with your grandmother" he added, squinting. Violet cocked her head to one side.

"How do you know?"

"Guess."

It almost sounded like a dare. The girl decided to go for the most natural.

"You read it in the papers."

Albert nodded. She was thoughtful, she didn't remember hearing anything concerning her new whereabouts two years ago, when the local paper made her and her shattered family their main course, but she could always have been wrong, she stopped reading them after all that....

"Tell me, what happened to mom and dad?" asked Albert. Violet hugged her knees, uncomfortably.

"Why does that matter?" she replied, defensively. As usual.

"I guess something happened to them to not being here, searching for their little girl..." 

"Is this some kind of joke? Everyone knows" she spat "The big story in this damn town before you..." she interrupted herself, it wasn't a good time to try her luck again "I mean... before all those kids disappeared"

Albert nodded, ignoring Violet's mention of his actions.

"Well, newspapers sometimes get things wrong or hide things" he inquired "I was just wondering if... you'd tell me the whole truth, Violet?"

Why did those words make her feel threatened? Was it the way he said it, in that falsely calm voice, or those eyes that didn't accompany the fake smile on that frightening mask? Violet looked at her arms, hidden by the thin fabric of her nightgown, having already lost count of the scars that once marked them, and sighed.

"Death brings grief to people" she said "When someone departs, the living carry the grief, and share it with others. But it's not always like that, no one feels sorry when a drug addict, or a criminal dies. And that's what my father was."

She remembered with contempt the psychologist she was forced to visit, until old Mrs. Betsy decided on her own to ask the woman to cancel future appointments, claiming they had no case; that was one of the very few times Violet agreed with her, reliving horrible moments didn't make her feel better, much less when that smug woman behind her desk was trying to convince her of something that wasn't true.

"Maybe people would think he was a good man, he worked hard and we lived without lacking anything, but when he was at home, it was hell. He would get mad about everything, when things weren't just the way he wanted them, if I got a word wrong on my homework, if I forgot to put the slippers away on the right shelf, if mom served his coffee too hot or colder...and then he would scream"

She could still hear it, because it was always the same: something would happen, something that no one would have given it more importance than necessary, and then Mr. Gilles would stand up, looking at Violet, or at her mother, a gloomy face that preceded the storm, and then he would start insulting them endlessly, as if he only knew words of hatred for them. And then the silence, not the silence of peace but the silence of punishment, one that Violet suffered most often, and which led her to hide in that corner of her house to cry and dig her nails into her flesh, hating herself for being a bad daughter.

"Mom and I would do everything together, so he wouldn't get upset, but it was getting harder and harder. He would get angry about everything, even if we got sick. Then he started going out with his friends, every Friday after work, and he would come back on Sunday afternoon, that's when we were happy."

She recalled how, waking up on Fridays, she felt as if a colossal weight would leave her, for she knew that, back from school, her mother would have prepared something delicious to eat that they could enjoy without worrying about not putting the tablecloths on the table or using the right glasses, and they could listen to loud music, and eat dinner in front of the TV, and laugh and talk about whatever.

"But as I got older, things got worse. My father began to fear that I would become... a slut or something, and he was stricter than ever, and one day..." her whole body felt strange, numb "one day he found me talking to some boys from school, in the music store." 

Her voice trailed off, if someone had told her then that that day would mark the rest of her life, she would have believed it without hesitation, but never as it really happened. Self-absorbed, she didn't notice that Albert released a little distance.

"Did he hit you?" he asked in a tremulous voice.

Violet shook her head shyly, nodding. It was a single blow, dry, straight to the face, and the teenager had been left lying on the floor as a hail of curses rained down on her.

" He left the house right then and there, my mother just looked at me. I think...it was the first time she had ever looked at me like that, like she felt guilty. I remember she went out after she sent me to bed, said she was going to the drugstore, and when she came back in the evening... well, she told me she ran into him" she added, spitefully "She didn't tell me much, just that... that she hated him, but I think she said that because she had drunk, I remember a bottle of alcohol, more or less. Saturday came and my father didn't come back, we weren't surprised, Sunday came and he didn't come back either. My mother said that if he didn't come back by Monday, she would call the police, but it wasn't necessary..." then her face darkened "The police called us and we went to an address. I didn't go in, but my mother did. They had found my father early Monday morning, he was dead."

The image of her mother, returning from the police morgue, was one she treasured with great affection. She remembered the woman holding her in her arms and whispering the words that had made her most blissful in her entire life, and when they returned home, they both smiled and cried, not in grief, but in relief.

"Those were the best weeks of my life" Violet continued "I thought we were finally going to be happy, because we were free of that bastard... And then one afternoon, I came home from school, and I saw a patrol car outside our house..."

She had thrown her backpack on the ground, running after the car, shrieking, desperate. It was the last time she could see her mother up close, and the beginning of a new nightmare.

"It turns out the bastard had a lover, and she told the police she overheard my mother threatening to kill him the same night he disappeared. There were other witnesses, and since he died when he fell into a ditch, well... Anyways, the newspapers told all about it. Damn Mrs. Betsy was furious, she was saying Mom was a liar for saying in court what my father was, and then...the jury found her guilty, they thought she was a desperate woman who lost her mind when she saw her husband with somebody else, and that's why she did it."

Violet had not been able to attend any of the trials, because she was still a minor, and followed the gruesome story like everyone else, through the newspapers. She learned to hate them, the reporters, the cops, the lawyers, those people who looked at her and whispered, and then told the story to their sons and daughters who didn't hesitate to harass her, the murderer's daughter, the devil's daughter....

"She's in state prison, and I haven't heard from her, Mrs. Betsy said if she tried to call or write me she was going to prevent her from getting through to me. She was sentenced two years ago, she has forty-eight years to go" she added with a bitter smile "This town felt sorry for a lying, abusive son of a bitch, but not for my mother, not for me."

When was the last time she talked about it? Never, as far as she could remember, because no one was going to understand her, not that stupid doctor who treated her like the unfortunate daughter of a criminal, not any of the idiots who lived in the town; now, she felt as if she had just spit poison, the sour taste that burned her insides had left her body, and after that came the tears, carrying away the vile residue that stained her soul.

Violet felt a hand on her face and startled. Albert's thumb caressed her cheek, and the man's eyes also glistened with weeping.

"Don't cry" he whispered softly "Don't cry anymore... Listen, I... I won't let them hurt you again, ever. No one will ever hurt you again, Violet..."

It was a siren song, but they were also the kindest words she had heard in years, and Violet let out a whimper as her tears redoubled. Albert, with trembling hands, held her by the nape of her neck and drew her head to his chest in a sort of embrace, and stroked the short, dark hair for long minutes.