Sunny Eve

by Shayla Hyde

  “That isn’t the point, Dad,” I exhaled. "Why are you keeping secrets from me?"

  He gaped at me in silence, red-faced.

  "Why, Dad?" I repeated sternly. I wasn’t going to back down.

  He sighed deeply and shakily whispered, "To keep you safe." "Was mom..." I paused, looking him in the eye, "Was she murdered?" "Of course not!" he exclaimed in surprise. "It was a car accident.

  You know that.”

  "Do I?" I squinted at him. “If that’s the case, what are you trying to keep me safe from? Cars?”

  He placed his head in his hands. "Eve, I want to be honest with you, I do."

  "Why can't you?" I exclaimed. “I saw the last page in her journal. I know someone was coming after her. Who was it?”

  "No, no, no, Eve. I-I can’t tell you, and the reason why I can’t tell you is-is because I don't want to lose you, too. I'm afraid that-that if I tell you the truth, those things will know," Dad rambled anxiously,

  "and then they'll come for you, too."

  "Things? What things, Dad?” I leaned against the table on my elbows. “Please, tell me. Don’t you think I deserve to know the truth?” He nodded, teary-eyed. "I do," he whispered, “but you’ll never believe it.”

  "Try me," I whispered.

  He hesitated briefly, lost in his own thoughts. Then, he nodded.

  “Okay. Okay, Eve. I’ll tell you everything, but I need to do something first,” he said quietly. He slid out of his chair and grabbed the TV remote from the counter.

  “What? You gotta record a game first? Seriously, Dad?” I complained.

  He ignored me, switching the television on and turning the volume all the way up. He went to every window, lowering all the blinds. He was trying to ensure that no person, living or dead, was listening to us. He came back to the table, sitting across from me again. "Listen carefully,” he whispered, his voice hardly audible under the newscast playing on the TV, “because this is as loud as I’m getting.”

  I slowly nodded twice.

  “When you were born, I was shocked that you had the same birthmark as your mom. I didn’t understand, you know, how it was possible. It was an exact replica. She told me it was because of a witch named Mary Wilson. Mary placed the mark on her bloodline in the early

  1900’s. Every woman born in the family had this sun-shaped mark that was meant to protect them from evil. I thought it was just crazy-talk until..." he trailed off, a tear finally spilling onto his cheek.

  "Until what?" I urged him to keep talking.

  "Until I saw it in action," he added. "We went out one Fall night. Your mom was a horror movie junkie. She had to see all the new releases, no matter what. So, we left you with Grandma, and I took her to the old drive-in theater back in Langley.”

  “It was the very last showing of the night, so we had the whole place to ourselves. We got some snacks and sat in the back of my old pickup to watch the movie. After a large glass of Coca-Cola, she said she was

  going to use the ladies’ room. I waited and waited, but she didn’t come back for over five minutes. I got worried and decided to go check on her.”

  I stared at him, anxiously waiting for him to go on. My heart was beating in my throat.

  "The women's bathroom door was wide open, and she was nowhere

  in sight. I yelled for her and didn't get a response. That’s when I heard rustling in the woods, coming from behind the bathrooms. Something told me to follow that noise, and I did. The closer I got to it, the further away it went. It went on like that for what felt like miles until it finally stopped.”

  “Wha-what did you see?” I asked, my voice crackling.

  “That’s the funny part,” he whispered, “I don’t even know what I saw. I stumbled across your mom laying on the ground, and there was this- this thing on top of her, biting her. It was manlike, but it wasn’t human, and it had these-these red eyes.”

  “What, like a vampire, or something?” I widened my eyes.

  “I told you that you weren’t going to believe it,” he sighed, “but that’s not even the most bizarre part. I tried to get that thing off of her, but I couldn’t. It was so abnormally strong, I-I had no impact. I thought my wife, my everything, was going to be killed in front of me, but then the damndest thing happened. Her birthmark, your birthmark,” he paused, staring at my neck, “it lit up and set that monster on fire in just a few seconds. He burned to ashes right there in front of us.”

  "Wow," I whispered, amazed that I'd had an eerily similar experience. "She was in the hospital for a few days after, but there was no bite mark on her neck. It was like her birthmark had healed her, too. The doctors assumed her blood loss was from a menstrual cycle, and we went with it because what else could we possibly have told them? It was only a few weeks later, Halloween night, her twenty-seventh birthday, that I lost her," he muttered, a dejected frown on his face. "So, it wasn't a car accident," I stated.

  “No,” he shook his head side-to-side. “It wasn’t. Your mother was convinced that there was a clan of these things coming for her. She kept having these nightmares about them. She said the one she killed that night at the drive-in was a member of this clan. She told me they were seeking vengeance.

  “They wanted her to die," he muttered softly. "Your mother was so scared that night that she sent you to stay with Grandma again, and I am so glad she did. I thought the whole situation had just been working on her mind, you know? She had been attacked, and she was paranoid. I didn't for a minute think that she was actually in any trouble. So, I made the biggest mistake of my life.” He cupped his eyes in his hands, rocking back and forth in his chair.

  “I hadn’t started trucking yet. I was working the graveyard shift at that old lumber plant in Langley at the time. I went to work that night,” he sobbed, his volume increasing, “I left her there. I left her all alone.” I reached across the table, resting my hand on my father’s forearm while he cried.

  "When I got home from work the next morning, your mother wasn't in our bedroom,” his tone returned to a whisper, and he dropped his hands from his face. “All the lights were off in the house. I looked everywhere for her, but she was just... gone. The back door was standing wide open, so I went out to the backyard. That's when I saw the smoke rising from a clearing in the woods behind our house. I ran in the woods, following that smoke until I found the fire and what was

  left of a human skull in the flames. It was hers. They, um, they didn’t find her body for a few weeks. It was buried a few miles deeper into the

  forest," he whimpered. "What I saw that day... it’s something that I will never be able to erase from my mind." "I'm so sorry, Dad," my lips quivered.

  "This is the reason why I've always been so protective of you," he admitted. "I didn't want to make the same mistake with you. I didn't want to lose you to those things. It was my fault you didn't have friends back in Langley. I never let you go out and experience life.

  “I thought maybe if we got away from there and came to a city as big as Portland that you would somehow be safer from those things. Maybe the likelihood of you getting attacked by one of them is slimmer. More people, more potential targets, you know. But then Bradley was murdered, beheaded just like your mom, and I started worrying that it was some kind of sign that they know where you are."

  “Is that why you asked me if I was happy here this morning?” I sniffled.

  He silently nodded.

  "Thank you for being honest with me," I softly whispered. "I'm just sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't know if you would believe me. The only person that ever did was your grandma."

  I nodded, "It's fine, Dad. I believe you." I cleared my throat. "You said Mary Wilson was the witch that put this birthmark on us. Is she any relation to Ida Wilson?”

  Ida Wilson was the most feared lady in Langley, Washington. She was notoriously known to the kids at my school as “The Wicked Witch”, and no one would dare bother her. She lived close to my now-deceased grandmother, and though they
had apparently been good friends while she was living, I never met Ida.

  Dad smiled softly, “yes, Ida is her daughter. I’m surprised you remember her. It’s been so long now… since Grandma passed away.”

  I forced a weak grin, “Yeah…”

  “Anyway, um, I’m not feeling up to dinner tonight, so if you’re hungry, I just put some groceries away,” he slowly rose from the table.

  “Help yourself to uh, whatever you want.” He switched off the noisy television and meandered away to his bedroom without another word.

  Alone at the table, I started to conspire. Just the thought of talking to Ida Wilson frightened me, but I needed to try. Maybe she could help me, but would she? I thought and thought about it. How would I play this off?

  If things went the way they were supposed to, Dad would be leaving again in two days. Saturday. Apparently, his boss hadn’t been very pleased with him when he cut his last trip short, so he would have to go talk to him. Hopefully, he still had a job.

  I shifted in my chair, sliding my cell phone out of my pocket. I dialed

  Iris’s number. It rang seven times before going to her voicemail. “It’s

  Iris! Leave your info and I’ll call you back!” Short and sweet. I ended the call and decided to try one more time. This time, she groggily answered on the third ring. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Hey, sorry, were you sleeping?” I whispered.

  She chuckled softly, “Yeah, but it’s cool,”

  “Do you have any plans,” I whispered even quieter, “on Saturday?” "Not that I know of," she yawned into the phone. "What do you have in mind?"

  "How do you feel about a little road trip?"

  "Yeah, sure. Where are we going?" Her voice perked up.

  "Langley, Washington," I nervously chewed my fingernails. "My hometown."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

  The next morning, while Dad was out talking to his boss, I talked over the details with Officer Simmons, Iris's adoptive father. I had to do a little bit of truth-bending where I saw fit, so she'd be able to come with me. I told him my dad was doing the driving and that we were going to Langley to visit family. It took nearly thirty minutes of persuasion and deliberation before he finally gave me a very reluctant answer.

  "We want to make sure Iris is safe, you know? Lunatics out there these days," Officer Simmons' disembodied voice explained through my cell phone.

  He sounded so much like my father.

  "I understand, sir," I nervously twirled my hair.

  His antagonistic, croaky voice mumbled, "When should I expect her to be home?"

  "Early Sunday morning," I apprised him, a smirk on my face, "did I just hear a yes?"

  "Well, I suppose that will be fine," he begrudgingly replied. "Just please be careful, will you?"

  "Of course," I agreed, now in slightly higher spirits.

  He breathed into the phone. "I've told Iris she should invite you over for dinner sometime. We've heard a lot about you, and we'd like to put a face with a name, you know."

  I wasn't sure if he genuinely wanted to meet me or if he just wanted to have a perpetrator to pin the blame on if something happened to Iris, but I accepted.

  "That sounds great," I agreed, "I'd like that."

  "Great. Well, here she comes now. I'll let you tell her the news." Her father chuckled into the phone. It was the first positive emotion I'd heard out of him since the call began.

  I briefly heard static and muffled voices.

  "What did he say?" Iris suddenly questioned me, a glimmer of hope in her voice.

  "He said yes!”

  I was thankful I wouldn't have to make the lengthy drive to Langley on my own, but I was nervous about meeting Ida Wilson. Maybe she would have a solution or a loophole to please the Primevals. Maybe Ida, since her mother was the original mark-placer, would know how to remove it. Only then would the Primevals have no bad blood with me. I

  just hoped she wasn’t as bad as the people of Langley made her out to be.

  I anxiously wondered how my dad's talk with the boss-man was going, but I told myself whether he left on Saturday or didn't, I still had to go see Ida. I didn't know what I would tell him, but it wouldn’t be the truth. As long as I could help it, I wasn't going to involve him. If he knew the danger I was in, he would do everything in his power to protect me, and I didn't want my nightmare to become a reality.

  "Thank, goodness," Iris exhaled. "So, Saturday morning?"

  "Yes. I'll pick you up tomorrow night," I told her. "Remember, act natural around Dad. He doesn't know we are going anywhere, and I want to keep it that way."

  "Got it," she confirmed. "I'll call you later. Parents are taking me out for breakfast."

  "Okay," I agreed, then ended the call.

  I slid my phone in my pocket, nervously peeking through the living room blinds when I heard a familiar loud engine coming closer on the street. Dad's semi-truck peeled up the driveway a moment later and I quickly dropped the shades. I rushed over to the couch and threw myself on it. I heard his engine shut off, followed by the slamming of his door and his leather boots scraping against the concrete driveway. The door opened, and Dad stepped inside. He was dressed professionally in a plaid button-up, dark blue jeans, and his fancier black boots. When he noticed me, he looked surprised. "What are you doing up so early?" He squinted.

  I shrugged and quickly lied, "Couldn't sleep."

  "Ah," he nodded. He headed toward his bedroom, unbuttoning the very top button of his shirt.

  "Wait," I said. I was surprised he didn't have more to say.

  Dad stopped in his tracks and wordlessly faced me.

  I stuttered, "How- how'd it go?"

  He sighed heavily and threw up his hands in an "I don't know" motion. "Not really sure yet," he admitted. "Well, why not?" I peered at him.

  "He told me he’d let me know something," he said.

  I exhaled softly and nodded with a frown, "I told you that you shouldn’t have come home early.”

  He dropped his shoulders and shrugged, “Excuse me for being worried about my daughter." He faced away from me again and continued to saunter down the hallway.

  “You worry about your daughter too much!” I shouted. In response, he slammed his bedroom door.

  Later that day, I pulled my mom's journal out of the box I'd hid it in in

  my bedroom. Dad hadn't left his room a single time since he’d got home, and I wanted to have a valid reason to knock on his door. I tapped on it three quick times. "Dad, I have something for you," I called out.

  When he didn't respond, I pressed my ear against his door and listened carefully for any movements. I heard nothing.

  "Dad?" I shouted a little louder, knocking a few more times. I still heard nothing. My thoughts became dark, and my knees started to wobble. In a panic, I shoved the door open.

  He was lying still on his bed. Too still. I quickly rushed to his side. His eyes were tightly closed, and his mouth was gaped open. I jerked the blankets off of him and scrutinized his chest movements to make sure he was breathing. I could faintly see his ribs expanding and depressing. I felt relieved and started to violently shake him awake. His eyelids finally pried apart.

  "W-what?" He shouted, his speech slurred. He leaned up on his elbows.

  "Dad, are you drunk?" I peered at him. "You scared me to death."

  "I'm not drunk," he insisted with a frustrated scowl, but the scent of stale alcohol in the room and the empty bottle of whiskey on his nightstand said otherwise.

  I opened my mouth to pop off with something I shouldn’t say, but then I realized he was staring at the journal in my hand. "Oh, yeah. This," I said, delicately holding the journal toward him, "I wanted to give it back to you."

  He sat up, leaning against his headboard and violently snatched it out of my hand. “You shouldn’t have taken it in the first place.” "What's up with you?" I folded my arms over my chest, "Why are you day-drinking? Did you get fired?"

  "Me? Fired?" he scoffed
arrogantly. “Please.”

  "Then, what is wrong with you?" I interrogated, examining him. His eyes were red, puffy, and his hair was sticking up all over the place. "It's nothing that you need to worry about," he waved me away, irritated.

  "Why not?" I squinted at him.

  "Because I said," he snapped at me coldly. His eyebrows were furrowed as he angrily stared into my soul. “Leave me be, Eve."

  "Why are you being like this?" I shouted at him, my voice cracking.

  He spat back with, "Why are you bothering me?"

  I glared at him for a moment before I backed away, slamming his bedroom door on my way out. Like Jekyll and Hyde, my dad, when sober, is usually the sweetest, most easy-going guy in the universe. When he's drunk, though, he occasionally becomes an entirely different person. An arrogant, self-righteous person that I can't stand being around.

  I marched to the living room and grabbed the keys to his Nissan from the key rack. I did as he said and "left him be." I would come back in a few hours, but for the time being, I needed out. I also couldn't risk him drunk-driving to follow me, so I grabbed his truck key. I marched outside, slamming the front door shut. It was sunny out, but the air was crisp as I treaded to the car.

  I cranked up and belted out of the driveway without even checking to see if Dad was watching. I drove and drove for half an hour with no

  destination. I didn’t know where to go. I eventually found myself idling in the parking lot of Hollow Point park. There was no one else there, and the sun had just begun to set. I decided to get out and sit at the old wooden picnic table on the outer edge of the park. It was close to the exact tree I'd been hiding out behind just a couple nights before. I stepped out of the vehicle, letting the door shut behind me. I glanced around feeling slightly paranoid about being there alone, but I stupidly decided to carry on. As I passed by the exact spot Jake had attacked the jogger, I noticed a large crimson stain on the sidewalk. It almost looked like a paint spill. I grimaced and stepped over the spot.

  As soon as I reached the picnic table and sat down, my phone started to vibrate wildly in my pocket. I assumed it was my dad freaking out, you know, as usual, so I didn't bother with it. I was only doing what he'd told me to do. Instead, I quietly admired the park.