My Sister And I: A dark, violent, gripping and twisted tale of horrifying terror in the Scottish Highlands.

by Sean-Paul Thomas

  I thought about how this was all my fault. I should have known better than to accept his generosity just to satisfy my own selfish agenda. I should have been more like my sister, cold and hard from the get go, and ran from him just as soon as he’d made himself known to us. Thanks for the ride, but we’ve got to be on our way! This is what happens when I let people in.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  I leaned my face and lips close to Chris’s ears. I told him that he was a good man. That he didn’t deserve this. That he didn’t deserve to go out like this. I told him through my sobs, snot and tears how I wished that in another life he could have been my father. That I could have been his daughter. I didn’t care if my own father, still standing over us, heard every single word or not. I even half expected my own throat to be slashed next for such blasphemy.

  Then I whispered Chris my name. I told him my meaningless, insignificant, miserable, shitty little name. But I think he was already gone by then. What light that was left in him had already long since vanquished from his eyes.

  My father was still ranting and raving like the lunatic he was, pacing back and forth behind me. I wasn’t listening to him in the slightest though. I heard more splashing down by the loch shore. When I glanced up and over with my tear-filled eyes, I could just about see the blurry image of my sister emerging from the water. For a long time, she stood on the water’s edge, quietly observing the whole crazy scene of horror unfold.

  The speed in which she’d swam all the way back here showed me that she was both startled and concerned for my wellbeing after hearing my screams and cries. But my father’s presence had turned her into an unemotional rock once more and she continued to stand and stare at us on the edge of the shore, both doing and saying nothing.

  If she did have any feelings for what had just happened, then she’d never make those feelings known in front of my father. Which I completely understood and fully forgave her for, instantly. What the hell was she ever going to do against him? My dad raged in her direction though, just as soon as he was fully aware of her presence.

  “Whit the fuck are ye just standing there gawking fur, eh? Put your fuckin’ clothes back on and help me clean up this fuckin’ mess.”

  My sister did what my father asked and hurriedly put all of her clothes back on. Just as soon as she was dressed, she went and gathered up all of my clothes too. That’s when I felt the big, hard, excruciatingly painful kick from my father’s right boot, slamming into my ribs with such awful pain and brutal force that it sent me tumbling further down onto the pebbled beach below. The sharp, violent blow, shocked and winded me severely.

  “Whit the fuck are ye waiting for in all, eh? Ye wee fuckin’ shite? Get fuckin’ dressed tae, ye wee cunt!”

  I tried my best to keep my rage, tears, grief, and sorrowful cries inside. My sister approached and handed me my clothes. She lightly patted my head and hair, careful not to let her gesture catch the unwanted attention of my father’s eye, before running back up the slip road slope towards his departing presence.

  Using my t-shirt, I wiped my tears as best I could and dressed myself in no particular urgency. Once I was ready, I slowly made my way past Chris’s lifeless body and towards the slip road, giving his sad, unmoving frame one last longing glance of sorrow.

  From the bottom of the slip road I could see my father and sister both up and rummaging inside Chris’s truck, clearing anything out that might belong to us. He then poured a tin of gasoline that he retrieved from the back of his car, around the inside and outside of Chris’s truck. He made all three of us drag Chris’s stiff, heavy body, down to the water’s edge before pushing him out into the loch to let the gentle, rocking waves carry him away.

  As I walked back along the beach, deliberately trailing behind my father and sister, I turned every now and again to watch Chris’s big, lifeless body drift further and further away. He looked like some small raft floating out to sea.

  Dad ordered my sister and I into his car. Me in the back and my sister up front. We did exactly what he said, no questions asked. The last thing he did before driving us all away was to throw a lighter into the truck’s front compartment, letting the cabin ignite into a flaming fireball inferno hell.

  By the time we drove off the secluded slip road and back out onto the main road, a thick black trail of smoke was already pouring up at a rip-roaring rate into the darkening and picturesque sunset sky.

  Chapter 17

  Every once in a while, on the long car journey back home, my sister made little, sympathetic glances back towards me, like she wanted me to know that she felt for me or that she shared my pain even though, deep inside, I knew she did not.

  She always chose her moments to glance my way with great care though, like while dad was distracted by some other drivers on the road that were more inferior to the laws of the road than him, or singing along to one of his crappy and annoying music CDs, or glancing out at another stunning, scenic mountain range or a loch that had caught his eye on the horizon. The latter was something that I couldn’t quite understand or fully comprehend. I mean, how on earth could a person full of such rage, hatred, evil, and destruction even begin to appreciate such beauty and wonder in the world?

  By making me sit in the back of the car, all by myself, he’d made it very clear who he blamed for our little, off-the-beaten-track, adventure. As it turned out, dad confessed that he’d been following us all along yet had kept his distance from our unsuspecting sights. He also said to my sister, but loud enough for me to hear over his deafening music, that we’d also made him proud, especially by how we’d dealt with the young Austrian tourist who’d picked us up. Yes, very proud indeed. Well, up until the moment when I’d decided to extend our adventure further north with the truck driver, instead of giving thanks for the ride back over to the mainland and making our way south again. Back to our humble adobe in record time.

  “I dinnae ken how many chances av given that sister of yours back there!” he blatantly ranted right in front of me. “Ah mean, why can she no just be like you, eh? Your fuckin’ near perfect, ma darlin’. Fuckin near perfect, ye are. Like a fuckin’, well oiled, soldier machine.”

  Still, my sister didn’t acknowledge the praise or say anything in reply. She never did. She just kept looking straight ahead, out of the window and into the darkness, now that the sun’s rays were fully extinguished.

  “Ah mean…” he continued, ranting on and not really caring whether she was taking it all in or not. “If you were oot here on your own with-oot that wee cunt arse in the back there dragging at your heels, you’d be home in no time. You could have destroyed ma record. No bother. And ma da’s record for that matter. And you’re a fuckin’ lassie for fuck’s sake!”

  Dad chuckled and shook his head, like he couldn’t quite believe that a little girl of all people could be better at something than a man. And an adult man at that.

  “Gramps would be rolling aroond pishin’ in his fuckin grave right aboot now if he kent his own granddaughter was a better man than he—than fuckin’ I. A better man than fuckin’ I for that matter. And you’re no even a fully-grown woman yet. Fuck me. You’re gonnae be something special, lass. Something fuckin’ special indeed!”

  When we finally made it back home a few hours before dawn, and just when the night was at its darkest, dad had another surprise in store for us. Instead of pulling up into the farm house, letting us inside and sending us both to our beds without a warm shower and without any supper, he bizarrely kept driving.

  He drove past the farm house and down along the old, muddy back road. A road only ever used by passing tractors or four-by-fours with people brave enough to venture down them.

  Dad continued to drive along the dark, coastal mud track, moving ever closer towards the thick forest a few miles south of our home. I wondered what the hell he had in store for us now? I knew my sister was wondering the same thing too. But where I was beginning to seriously tire of my father’s challenges and spontaneous
adventures, she seemed to be relishing in them as her eyes widened and her body became more alert. But none of us said anything regarding the burning question that needed to be asked.

  My ribs were still aching and throbbing from dad’s most recent hard boot imprints left on my body and I had no intention of provoking another beating from him in the foreseeable future. If I had to best guess, then I’d say he was going to make us camp out in the woods again for another few days, as punishment for pissing him off.

  He brought the car to a halt just inside the treeline edge of the dark forest. He told us to get out. We did what he asked, without question. He popped the car boot up and we followed him around to the rear of the car. He pulled out a couple of spades and handed one each to us. He took out some thin rope, too, and slung it over his shoulder. Lastly, he grabbed some tape and a thin, metre-long, plastic pipe. A pipe I’d seen him use before whilst installing our new shower last year. He then slammed the boot door shut and told us to follow him, quick smart. And we did, right into the dark forest.

  We walked about a good mile or so into the pitch-black woods. My sister and I walked side by side while dad continued to walk a few metres ahead. For one inane second, I thought about getting my sister’s attention, either by taking her hand or gently tapping her on the shoulder and motioning her to turn and run away with me. I was sure that together we could both outrun and outsmart my father in these woods. But I knew in my heart that my sister would never go along with it. She’d never leave father and come away with me, even if she thought she could get away with it.

  I swiftly put those thoughts to one side. How could we ever outrun and outsmart a man who always seemed two steps ahead of us at all times? I shook my head and tried to distract myself with something trivia. For the first time since dad had brutally murdered Chris up at the loch, I realised that most of the white paint on my sister’s face had disappeared, most likely washed away from her swimming expedition in the water while Chris and I had watched on from the shore. The paint on my face was probably washed away too, but I couldn’t be sure.

  Dad came to a sudden standstill inside a small clearing surrounded by trees and bushes. I noticed the ground was very soft and muddy here, even a little slippery underneath my feet. Dad turned around. He threw his wad of rope and pipe down onto the dark and dirty forest floor, just in front of a bush, and told us both to start digging while he watched and supervised.

  My sister and I glanced briefly at each other. We didn’t understand what was going on, but my gut instinct told me that it wasn’t good. Nothing that came out of dad’s head was ever good or had any long-term decent intentions. I realised that now. For the first time in my life, the urge to just turn and run from him, without my sister by my side, almost overwhelmed my impulses and urges into doing just that.

  The feeling was so compelling that I could feel a nervous bile rising from within my stomach and up into my throat. The urge to vomit finally got the better of me. I couldn’t fight it or hold it in any longer. I turned and puked into a nearby bush. My dad didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His expression painted a thousand words. He just glared at me with a look of pure and utter contempt before gently shaking his head in disgust.

  My sister was the first of us to strike her spade into the soft dirt to dig. I think she did this to defuse the tension between me and father more than anything else. I soon followed suit. As we dug, dad drew an outline in the shape of a rectangular box, around where we were digging. It was about five feet by two feet in diameter. The shape of a small coffin was my initial thought as soon as he’d finished making the mark. I knew then that this little late-night outing into the woods wasn’t going to end well for someone—most likely me, but still, like a scared, brainless sheep, I continued to dig.

  When the hole was at least three-foot deep and five feet in length, dad made us stop. He told us to put our spades down. He asked me to pick up the wad of thin rope still lying beside the nearby bush and bring it to him immediately. I did as he asked. But as soon as I handed it over, he violently grabbed a hold of my arms with a vice-like, iron grip.

  Startled and shocked by his actions, a delayed scream and yelp finally left my lips. As I struggled in his arms, he turned me around to face my sister who looked just as stunned and as shocked as me. He asked her to take the rope from his shoulder and quickly tie my ankles together, before binding my wrists right after.

  I struggled out as frantically as I could with the dwindling strength remaining in my lower body and legs. I could hardly move my arms and upper body though as my dad’s grip was so strong and fierce. But still I kicked and lashed out more and more with my legs and feet.

  Dad whispered into my ear that it would be easier for me if I just relaxed and let it happen, that I didn’t need to struggle. That it was going to happen regardless of what I did or aid, so I should just be a good girl and be silent and still. Why make things harder than they already were?

  But inside, I felt absolutely terrified. I couldn’t let this happen. No way. I refused to believe that this was just another of his tests, another of his sick and twisted survival games. I felt I was fighting for my life. Fighting for my sheer survival in this world.

  My sister, hiding her own discomfort well, took the rope from dad’s shoulder and brought it down towards my struggling lower limbs and kicking-like-crazy feet. She hesitated for the slightest of beats, just enough to make father’s anger rise up and out and directly aimed at her.

  “Dae as you’re fuckin’ telt!” he roared. “Tie her fuckin’ ankles, now!”

  With his new rage consuming him from the inside out, he intensified his grip around my arms and shoulders, squeezing his strong firm arms even tighter around me like some enormous and super strong jungle snake. I could feel my chest and lungs being crushed into submission while my heart pounded away hard in my mouth. The pain in my already-bruised or broken ribs, increased to near-excruciating levels.

  My sister saw the pain and discomfort I was in and swiftly began tying my ever-growing limp ankles and feet together. Once she had them securely tied, dad forced both my wrists together and made my sister tie them too, tight and hard. As soon as they were bound, dad released his firm hold of me and pushed me down onto the muddy ground.

  The horror and emotion of the situation suddenly became too much and I couldn’t stop myself from bawling and sobbing out, yet again, just like I’d done only a few hours earlier, back up at the loch in front of father, while kneeling and mourning over Chris’s lifeless body.

  Dad picked up the roll of tape and leaned closer down towards me. My sister took a few steps back, still saying nothing at all, but breathing hard. I could clearly see she was upset. That this whole crazy charade was taking its toll on her too. But she didn’t have a clue on how to act or how to handle the situation in front of father. So, she did the easiest thing that came to her. Absolutely nothing.

  I wasn’t angry with her. Far from it. If the situation had been reversed, I would have done exactly the same thing in hr situation—absolutely nothing and remained quiet, still and obedient and await further instruction from the man who’d instilled that fear and obedience into me.

  As father reached down to tape my mouth shut, I begged and pleaded with him, probably for the first time in my life, not to do whatever the hell he was about to do. I cried and sobbed for him to give me another chance to prove myself. To prove my worth. That I could be a better person in his eyes. A better daughter. That I could and would be more like my sister from that moment on. That I could make him proud, if only he would give me another chance. I was so desperate to live, to survive, I would have said anything, done anything in that terrifying moment.

  I knew my words were all for nothing and falling hard against death ears, but I roared them all the same.

  “Nay mare chances for you, ye wee shite,” he raged. “You’ve had years tae learn to be like your sister. Fuckin’ years, ye wee wining cunt. But all you’re dain now is holding her back fro
m showing her real potential. Every decision she makes she’s always hesitating, seeking oot your fuckin’ approval first, or seeing how it will affect you, mare than her. You’re like a fuckin’ albatross aroond her neck, lass.”

  I continued to cry and beg for mercy, even though I knew in my heart it was the worst possible thing I could do. I was turning into the complete opposite of what he wanted from me.

  “Even now, ye cannae even be like your sister. Dae ye think she would be sitting there now, bawling her wee cunty girl eyes oot like a wee fuckin’ spoilt princess? Naw, she wouldnae! She’d be calm and collected and welcoming tae the next fuckin challenge!”

  “Well, we’ll see how ye dae with this next wee fuckin’ experience.’ He continued. ‘Now, listen and listen, fuckin good ma lass. Am gonnae drive your sister all the way back up tae that fuckin island again, back up tae they fuckin’ standing stones. And she’s gonna make her way all the way back doon here as fast as she fuckin’ can again. All the while you’ll be stuck in that fuckin’ groond waiting on her. And if she is as quick and as smart at getting from one side of the country tae the other, as I believe she is and withoot you holding her back like a fuckin’ lead balloon, then she’ll be back tae dig ye up in no time. Naw time at all, to stop ye from freezing and suffocating tae your fuckin’ wee whiny death!”

  He then tore off a thick length of tape and unleashed another evil glare.

  “Now, ma wee fuckin’ angel, ye cannae get any mare fairer than that now, can ye?”

  Before I had time to scream or protest or comprehend anything he’d just said, dad shoved the tape over my mouth, picked me up like an old pillow, and threw me face up onto my back into the dirt, into the coffin-shaped hole I’d just dug for myself.