How did I not know from the moment I first saw him?
It made some sort of warped sense that Daisy hadn’t recognized the father she barely remembered—but she’d been married to Ethan for well over a decade.
“What do you want with me?” she croaked.
“Oh, I just thought we could spend an evening together, Brenda, dear. We have so much to catch up on. Don’t you agree?” he answered smoothly, pulling a clasp-knife out of his pocket and opening it.
She shuddered, recognizing the weapon. She had given it to him for Christmas the first year they were married.
He examined the gleaming blade in the light of a bare-bulbed lamp on the nightstand. “Great knife, Brenny. I can’t thank you enough for it. I wouldn’t part with it for the world. You should see some of the things we’ve done together. But wait…you never did have a very strong stomach.”
She pushed herself up in the bed, bracing herself against the wall. Her gaze darted around the room, searching for something she could use to defend herself. “Don’t hurt me.”
“I’m afraid that’s one promise I can’t keep.” He started toward her, twisting the knife absently from side to side.
“Ethan…” There had to be something of the man she had loved left behind that mask. “You can’t! I—what about Daisy? She needs me.”
“Don’t worry about the baby, Brenda. I’ll take good care of her.”
The thought sent a charge of white-hot fury surging through her. She could taste the bitter tang of adrenaline slamming through her system. The idea of this monster being anywhere near her daughter lent her a surge of strength.
She forgot all about her own danger, lunging forward.
“Don’t you touch my child!” she screamed, fingers curled into taloned claws. She connected with his cheek, dragging bloody furrows down his gaunt face.
He growled, backhanding her in return. The contact knocked her into the wall, making her head ring and restarting the flow of blood from her nose.
“She’s more mine than yours, Bitch. She’s got her father’s genes.” He leaped forward quick as a cat and slapped her hard, the blow cracking like a rifle shot in the silent apartment.
“She’s only a baby!” Brenda growled. “Leave her alone, I’m warning you!”
Ethan laughed, the sound like broken glass grating. He stepped across the room and turned on a huge television, blaring the dialogue of an action movie at full volume.
“Or what?” he shouted over the noise. “You think you can stop me? Go ahead and try—no one will hear us playing now.
“As for the Angel, I’ll have her wrapped around my little finger before your body’s even cold. She’ll forget all about you before I’m done with her. A lot of potential in that one, not like that mama’s boy of yours.”
The fury was swallowed by pain.
“Robbie…?” she whispered. “What—what do you mean about Robbie?”
Ethan shrugged.
“He was obviously never going to amount to anything. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Opportunity presented itself, so I took advantage of the situation.”
Brenda sobbed, her heart shattering into a million pieces. She wanted to be brave, but this was too much!
Robbie didn’t have to die. He didn’t have to die. Oh, my God!
How had she not seen this side of Ethan? How could this have happened?
Her world was collapsing into a pile of ash…
There was a hint of movement behind Ethan, and her eye was drawn to it. She stared, numb with shock.
Robbie stood behind his father, a broken tree branch held like a baseball bat in his hands. His face was white and set—and twisted with hatred.
“Robbie?” she whispered again, filled with amazement.
“Yes, yes—I’ve already admitted it. I killed the damn Brat. Can we move on now?” Ethan snarled. He took a step, and his eyes rolled up in his head as Robbie brought the makeshift bat down with a resounding crack.
“Mom! You’ve got to get out of here. Hurry!” Robbie’s voice was weak and indistinct—like a radio station fading with distance.
She could make out details of the room behind him now—no, through him. He really was a ghost. And he was standing in front of her.
She’d never believed in ghosts. She’d never even liked horror movies, or stories around the campfire. I can’t deal with all this madness…
“Mom—there’s no time. I couldn’t hit him that hard. Get out of the house. Now!”
Robbie faded out of existence.
The underlying message finally broke through, and she scrambled off the bed, heading for the front door. She edged around the body on the floor, pleased to see a bloody gash on the back of Ethan’s head. It served him right.
Turning to run for the exit, she got two steps, and then her feet were jerked out from under her as an iron hand clamped around her ankle and pulled. She fell headlong with a cry of surprise. Rolling over instinctively, she kicked up with her free foot, connecting with Ethan’s chin and knocking him back.
He snarled again, a wordless animalistic growl, slashing at her with the open clasp knife.
She thrust her left arm up to deflect the blade, and it struck the cast covering her forearm. Plaster dust puffed from the point of impact. Scuttling crablike away from the madman, she glanced behind her to see where the door was in relation to her present position.
Ethan rose to a crouch, lunging forward and driving the knife into her thigh then worrying it back out.
Brenda screamed. The pain was agonizing.
A clatter of running footsteps pounded up the stairs outside the apartment.
“Help me!” she shouted. “Help me, please!”
The door burst open and Phillip was in the opening, his gun drawn.
“Freeze! Police!” he ordered.
Ethan barked with laughter, grinning through bloody teeth. He scrambled to his feet, lurching toward the newcomer.
“Look who came to our party! If it isn’t the helpful policeman. Or is it white knight—no, not white, are we?” The knife flashed from his hand.
Phillip’s gun went off, the report cracking in the still night. Ethan was thrown backward by the impact, a flower of blood blossoming on his chest.
Brenda struggled to get up. Turning to the doorway, she gasped.
Phillip was slumped against the doorframe, Ethan’s knife protruding from his side.
She limped over to him. Her leg hurt like hell, but probably not as bad as that blade in Phillip’s side.
“Phillip! We’ve got to get you to the hospital.”
“That would be good,” he agreed breathlessly—and passed out.
Chapter 64
The air was filled with shrieks of laughter and running feet. Children in brightly-colored costumes flitted from house to house caroling “Trick-or-Treat” at the top of their lungs. Jack-o-lanterns flickered on doorsteps. The air was crisp, and filled with wood-smoke from a myriad of chimneys. It was a perfect Halloween evening.
Brenda, limping slightly, strolled arm-in-arm with Phillip down the sidewalk bordering her street…well, her former street. She would never call it home again.
The house was already on the market—or would be as soon as it was cleared from crime scene status by the police and cleaned by a professional service. She even planned to hire someone else to pack it up. She was still resolved never to step foot inside it again. Too many memories, all of which were better laid to rest in the past where they belonged.
She glanced up at Phillip from under her lashes. She was tired of the past. She was finally ready to step into the future, and she couldn’t wait to see where it might lead.
Daisy ran up to them breathlessly, her face painted up in best fairy-tale princess style, to go with the glittering gown she wore and the tiara sparkling against her bright hair. There had been no more talk of a skelly-princess after the frantic call to 9-1-1.
“Look, Mama!” she said, laughing with exciteme
nt, “I gotted a dollar from Mrs. Willis, and two lollipops over at Toni’s house. And we had cupcakes and punch at school, and everybody took candy.”
“Really?” Brenda bit her lip. No one told me…
She’d been spending most of her time at the hospital—Phillip had only been released that afternoon—but why hadn’t Penny at least mentioned it to her…?
“Don’t worry. Grammy bought me a big bag of candy corn, and Papa gave me apples for everybody,” Daisy said, answering her unspoken question in that uncanny way she had. “And guess what? Tommy brought gummi worms! They were wiggly and gross, but they tasteded deeelicious.”
She smacked her lips theatrically, smearing her lipstick. “I love Hallyween!”
“Remember, sweetie—don’t eat anything till we have a chance to look at it.”
“Uh-huh. ’Cause there might be bad mens put something in the candy,” Daisy answered solemnly.
Phillip hunkered down beside the little girl, wincing slightly as the stitches in his side protested.
“I think you’re the prettiest princess I ever did see,” he told her, his face serious.
“Really?” She twirled before him. “I want to be a princess for real when I’m all growed up.”
Phillip laughed up at Brenda.
“Well, I think you’re already one very special princess.”
“Thank you,” she beamed. “Mama, can we go to Papa and Grammy’s next?”
“Are you done with this street?”
“Uh-huh. And Grammy promised to make popcorn balls!”
“Well, we can’t pass up a thing like that, now can we?” Brenda held out her hand, and Daisy took it trustingly.
“Mama…” said the child, looking up at her mother with a frown. “Robbie’s gone away for real now, isn’t he?”
“I think so, baby,” replied Brenda wistfully.
She wished she had gotten more than a glimpse of the ghost. It had been so wonderful to see her boy again…even under the circumstances.
“And Daddy’s really in the boneyard forever this time?”
Brenda shivered. She felt Phillip’s arm go around her, and leaned into the support gratefully.
“Yes, Daisy. This time Daddy is really gone too.”
Daisy looked down at the ground and stepped casually on a cricket that was chirping on the sidewalk, grinding it under the toe of her pretty princess pump.
“That’s too bad,” she said matter-of-factly.
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About the Author
Rie Sheridan Rose multitasks. A lot. Her short stories appear in numerous anthologies, including Nightmare Stalkers and Dream Walkers Vols. 1 and 2, and Killing It Softly Vols. 1 and 2. She has authored nine prior novels, six poetry chapbooks, and lyrics for dozens of songs. These were mostly written in conjunction with Marc Gunn, and can be found on "Don't Go Drinking with Hobbits" and "Pirates vs. Dragons" for the most part—with a few scattered exceptions.
Her most extensive work to date is The Conn-Mann Chronicles Steampunk series with four books released so far: The Marvelous Mechanical Man, The Nearly Notorious Nun, The Incredibly Irritating Irishman. and The Fiercely Formidable Fugitive.
Skellyman is her first foray into full-length horror, but she has worked up to it with dozens of horror short stories and flash pieces.
Rie lives in Texas with her wonderful husband and several spoiled cat-children. They keep her busy when she isn’t at the computer keys.
Her fan page on Facebook: allows fan interaction and offers news and contests:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Rie-Sheridan-Rose/38814481714
Her newly polished website can be found at http://www.riewriter.com or learn more about the Conn-Mann Chronicles at http://theconnmannchronicles.com/
Follow her on twitter at @RieSheridanRose
Copyright
Skellyman
Written by Rie Sheridan Rose
Executive Editor: Michael A. Wills
This story is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, locations, and events portrayed in this story are either the product of the author’s imagination, fictitious, or used fictitiously. No claim to the trademark, copyright, or intellectual property of any identifiable company, organization, product, or public name is made. Any character resembling an actual person, living or dead, would be coincidental and quite remarkable.
Skellyman. Copyright © 2017 by Rie Sheridan Rose. This story and all characters, settings, and other unique features or content are copyright Rie Sheridan Rose. Published under exclusive license by Digital Fiction Publishing Corp. Cover Image Adobe Stock: Copyright © 176768707. This version first published in print and electronically: October 2017 by Digital Fiction Publishing Corp., LaSalle, Ontario, Canada. Digital [Science | Fantasy | Horror | Crime | Romance] Fiction and their logos, and Digital Fiction Publishing Corp and its logo, are Trademarks of Digital Fiction Publishing Corp.
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