Daddy Won't Kill You (An Occult Horror)

by Gebbie, Caroline

  It pushed him all the way to the dust and cobweb encrusted cellar wall. He grabbed his chest as pain caused him to gasp but still the evil darkness came forward. It forced him into the wall, held him unable to move as the cool slickness of it pressed him back against the bricks of the cellar. He could not struggle, and the cold sapped his strength, he was ready to give in and felt his knees give way, but it held him upright.

  He blinked as shapes appeared in the mist. It was Lauren as a teenager, no it was Val. Steve watched as the smoke cleared in places giving him a look into the past. A spiteful looking man appeared in the mist and knocked Val to the floor, in front of the chair. She cowered before him as he kicked her again and again. Curled on the floor she tried to protect herself, but the assault continued until she was still. The chair rocked in the background.

  Steve gasped at each punch and kick, almost feeling them physically. He watched as the man laughed and then walked into the darkness and was gone. The mist swirled and Val was back, older now, it could be Lauren just a couple of years ago. The man appeared behind her. He hit her hard, knocking her to the ground. He fastened a chain around her waist and kicked her before walking back into nothing.

  The dark swirled again. Val was back, but much older, maybe fifty-five. The man appeared; he was angry again. Val handed him a drink, an evil smile on her face. The man sat in the rocking chair and drank, his face contorted with agony and then he was still.

  Steve grabbed for his chest as pain shocked through him, and somewhere outside Val started to sing.

  “Shush little pumpkins don’t you sigh.”

  “Dad you okay,” Chase shouted from the stairs.

  The voice brought Steve back to the present. He bit down the pain and pushed forwards into the dark. “I’m good,” he shouted. “Stay there.”

  He pushed and forced against the dark, gritting down hard and putting his shoulder against the mass. He moved a few inches from the wall. The dark was pushing back, but he was angry now, and he forced against it with thunder in his eyes and a renewed vigor. It shrank away, and he stumbled forwards hitting the ground. “Thank you,” he said.

  From outside Val sang, “Mummy’s gonna stab you in the eye.”

  Steve closed his eyes it was too much; he couldn’t take it.

  “Dad,” Chase called.

  Steve got up and looked around. “I’m okay. You two sound?”

  “Lucy Lockett lost her pocket,” Lucy said, her voice faltering on the words.

  Steve smiled he could see the radio. “And Kitty Fisher found it,” Steve sang. “Chase.”

  Chase’s voice quivered only slightly, “And not a penny was there in it.”

  Lucy finished sounding a lot better, “But the lining round it.” She giggled at good memories.

  From outside Val sang, “And if that eye don’t really hurt.”

  Steve ran for the radio and grabbed it from the shelf. He noticed other items a camouflage net and a fuel can. He headed to the stairs.

  “Mummy’s gonna bury you in the dirt,” Val sang.

  Steve was almost at the stairs when he fell. He hit the dirt floor hard, and the radio dug painfully into his chest. He scooted over onto his back, but nothing was behind him. He lay back relieved.

  “Dad,” Chase shouted.

  Steve looked up the stairs. Chase was peering over the edge, about to come down. “I’m here, and I have it,” Steve called.

  He could hear Val laughing, it was an evil sound like an old witch, and she sounded so close.

  “So shush little Lucy don’t you cry,” Val sang. “Daddy won’t kill you, but will I?”

  Steve bolted for the stairs, pounding up them two at a time and pulled the kids into his arms. He slammed the door to the cellar and pulled a wooden shoe box over the cover.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Steve guided the kids into Lucy’s bedroom and sat them on the pink bedspread with my little pony pillows stacked against the headboard. Her slippers were little pink ponies, and they were tucked neatly under the bed, a magazine of some boy band was open on the bedside table. Outside they could hear the chair rocking back and forwards. Val was singing, quietly the noise grated on their nerves.

  “I want Mummy to stop,” Lucy pleaded.

  Steve hugged them close for just a second. They felt so good, and he didn’t want to let go, but he must get help. He pulled away and plugged in the radio. It powered up, and he gave the kids a big smile. The feeling of joy as such a basic thing was wonderful, they would make it.

  Steve twirled the frequency knob and the radio sent back static until he found a local emergency frequency, he prayed silently that he remembered the right one. He closed his eyes and spoke into the mike, “This is Steve Scott at the old Parker cabin. We need emergency evacuation, can anyone hear me?”

  He waited. The radio sent back static, nothing but static. He had a vision of old movies and the static that ghosts sent. Lucy’s lips started to tremble, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “It doesn’t mean they didn’t hear,” Chase said, his voice hopeful.

  Steve nodded and tried again. “This is an SOS at the old Parker cabin. Please, can anyone hear me, please come we need help.” Steve released the mike and the radio hissed static at him. He felt his heart drop, but he had to keep trying. “I have two children and I need help. If anyone can hear me, please answer.”

  Static.

  He threw the mile at the radio and slumped down onto the floor. His chest and left arm ached, and he was so exhausted he could not face anymore. He leaned against the bed. Despondency was like a lead blanket holding him down. There was nothing he could do. He had let Lauren down when he lost his job and now he was letting the kids down, he couldn’t save them.

  Lucy started to cry, and he pulled her down and hugged her to him.

  Chase picked up the mike. “This is Chase Scott, anyone who can hear, please send help. He released the mike; static hissed back at him like an angry snake. He keyed it again; determination wrinkled his forehead. “We are at the old Parker/Scott cabin, the nearest place to the trailhead, if you can hear this, please come and help. Or send the police.”

  Steve got up and sat Lucy to one side of Chase him the other. His pride for the strength Chase was demonstrating filled him with new hope and energy. They would get out of this. He had an idea. It was a long shot and was dangerous, but there was nothing else to do. “I’m going back to the cellar. You two stay here and Chase keep talking. Someone will hear.” He pulled them close. “I’m the proudest Dad in the whole world, and I love you more than life. Now put the radio on the floor over there.” He got up and tipped the bed onto its end, despite the pain in his arm he pushed it till it blocked the window. He grabbed a couple of the pink pony pillows and pretended to throw one at Lucy. The sound of her giggles was reward and inspiration. Passing the kids the pillows he walked to the door, Chase and Lucy huddled around the CB radio. “Lock yourself in.”

  “Daddy.” Lucy clutched the pony to her as she fought back her tears.

  “Everything’s good Sweetie.”

  “Dad, you said we can’t hurt Mum?” Chase asked.

  “I would never hurt your Mum, but that thing out there, that is not Lauren... but we will get her back, I promise.” Steve stepped out of the room before his courage left him.

  Chase locked the door and went back to the radio. “Come on Lucy Lockett, let’s get Dad some help.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Steve pulled the bedroom door closed as gently as he could and waited to hear the key turn in the lock. They were safe for now, but leaving them was the hardest thing he had ever done. It was almost a physical pain to wrench himself away from the room and leave them to the mercies of Lauren but he knew he had to and the quicker the better. The hallway was shrouded in darkness, with just a faint luminescence from the kitchen lighting his way. He reached for the light switch, but stopped, it may draw Val’s attention to the cabin.

  He could see the shoe b
ox he had placed over the cellar hatch, he shuddered at the thought of going back down there, but he would do it to keep the Pumpkins safe. His mind screamed hurry and he kicked off towards it the sense of urgency pulling him forward. As he neared the box a smoke black cloud formed in the corridor. It smelt of corruption and he stepped back to avoid it as it spilled along the corridor towards him.

  A cold sweat ran down his back as a girl shaped figure appeared in the fog before him. He tried to shout but his throat was as dry as sand and the noise was strangled by his larynx. She reached out a hand, clawing at the smoke and turned towards him. An empty eye socket stared back at him from a young gore stained face. The blood spilled from her eye, to run across her cheek and splashed onto the white of her nightdress, covering the teddy design on her chest.

  Steve closed his eyes tight and willed the vision to go. “No. You’re not real.” He looked again, and she was gone but the cloud of corrupt blackness swarmed over the hatch.

  Through the cabin walls he heard Val singing. “Shush little Pumpkins don’t you cry.”

  Steve looked at the cloud, guarding the cellar. His legs buckled, and he almost collapsed. He closed his eyes and leant against the rough, wooden wall of the cabin. He imagined the children, Chase on the radio, being so grown up it hurt to watch him, and little Lucy so trusting curled up next to her brother. “Right, let’s do this,” he said to the cloud.

  He walked towards the hatch and the darkness that hung there. Keeping his head high, he pushed into it, and was surprised that it had a physical presence. It was like walking into thin jelly, but he kept going pushing his legs through the cold, damp goo.

  Once inside it was like walking through a cold black fog that chilled his bones so much he worried they might shatter. It reduced his vision slightly but he could still see through the wispy mist that stung his eyes and sucked the breath from his lungs. Fight this, he knew he had to fight, to stay strong and beat the evil that threatened his family, but the cold sapped his strength, and he was slowing. A decomposed hand snaked out towards his face. The finger bones poked through rotting flesh, their whiteness stark against the blue corruption. Fear gripped a skeletal hand onto his heart but he fought it down and pushed at the hand. His fingers sunk into cold flesh. It felt like mushy peas and his stomach rolled, but he walked on defiantly into the mist. The hatch was just four feet away, the shoe box barely visible. In his path was a boy, one leg was missing, hacked crudely away leaving the tattered remains of flesh and bone, sinew and cartilage. Blood spurted from a torn artery onto the floor. A puddle formed and spread towards him, blocking his path. It ran oil black, across the wooden floor inching closer to him within the smoke curtain. He hesitated, not wanting to step into it, but he knew he must, time was short.

  As his foot hovered over the blood, the vision changed. He gasped for breath before him was Lucy. Her neck cleaved open into a huge gash, which pumped her life blood into the fog. “No, no, no,” he chanted. “Not real.” It wasn’t Lucy, but some poor sweet girl who looked so like her, he sobbed into the mist but kept walking. “Not real,” he chanted. “Not real, not real.”

  He reached the hatch, and the fog seemed thinner, pushing the shoe box to one side he reached down for the handle, he was going to make it. At the feeling of relief a force like an Alaskan wind hit his back and pushed him forwards, down onto his hands. The cold sunk into his bones and tried to push him away, but he resisted with all his might. It blew at him, whistling past his ears. Like an evil black wind, it buffeted his body forcing him over. This was not going to happen, he would not be beaten by mist. A red hot anger formed deep inside his gut rising up and providing the strength to fight back. He spun round; the mist was there, concentrated around him. It seemed to challenge him, to threaten, but wind eased, and the mist pulled back. A snarl ripped from his throat, and the pressure eased up, was it afraid of him? In the second's respite he pulled up the hatch and stepped into the cellar.

  ***

  Chase huddled on the floor next to Lucy. He was determined to keep her safe and knew that he must be strong. He flinched slightly, every time his dad cried out. Part of him wanted to unlock the door and go help, but he also wanted to hide in the wardrobe and lock the world outside. The feel of Lucy shaking against him was all that kept him going. He pulled her close and stroked her hair before returning his attention to the radio. He depressed the mike. “This is Chase Scott, at the old Parker/Scott cabin. If anyone can hear this, please we need help. We need it now.”

  Outside the window they heard scraping. Lucy pushed against him and squealed, but this was not her normal squeal of delight, this was terror. She covered her eyes. “Where’s Bunkie?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry he’s hiding,” Chase said, wishing he was with the fluffy toy, it was probably safer than in here.

  From outside the cabin they heard Val. “Chase, let Mummy in.”

  Lucy started to rise. “Mummy.”

  Chase pulled her back, dropping the mike to hold her close. “It’s not Mummy, remember.”

  They sat curled up together, and Chase bit his lip hoping the pain would hold back his tears.

  Val was leaning against the cabin's window, the axe head between her cheek and the glass. Her eyes were closed and she looked at peace. “Mummy just wants to cuddle you, come on my babies let me in,” she said to the glass.

  From inside the cabin she heard Chase. “Mum if you really care about us, go away.” His voice shook slightly.

  “Then who would make you a pie?” Her eyes opened wide, and her manic grin would be at home in any asylum.

  Lucy stood and looked at the bed, leant up against the window. She started to walk towards it. Chase grabbed her arm and pulled her back again. “We’re kinda off pies,” he said.

  Val’s voice carried clear through the walls of the cabin. “But Mummy wants to cook.” She cackled like a witch and ranted at them. “Chop you up, chop you up, really nice and small. Make a pie from my babies, and feed it to them all.” She laughed an uncontrollable and evil sound that bounced off the cabin walls and reverberated along the wooden floor to where they sat.

  Chase keyed the mike. “This is Chase Scott, please if anyone can hear me come quickly and bring a gun.”

  Val snarled and moved away from the wall, back across the deck until she hit the railing that surrounded it. She raised the axe high above her head. It glinted in the moonlight, and flashed at the window as she brought it crashing down into the glass. The pane shattered and showered glass fragments high into the air. They hung suspended reflecting the moonlight before gradually flashing down, scattering over her and tinkling as they landed on the deck.

  Fragments had scratched her face and a sliver or two embedded into her skin. Blood ran from them, untouched and unseen as she raged at the bed that prevented her entry to the children. She pushed at it with the axe but it was wedged tight and would not move. Fury consumed her and she pulled the axe back and slashed and chopped and fumed at the barricade. Again and again she slashed and chopped but the bed was solid. As she chopped strips of wood would fly off, and cracks appeared, sending her into an even deeper rage.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Steve froze on the steps. The sound of Val, tormenting the kids, turned his bowels to liquid. He wanted to run to them to make them feel safe, but he must keep going. “Lauren, fight her, help them,” he shouted at the walls.

  He heard the axe shatter the window and fear pushed him forwards he must hurry, he must keep them safe. He stepped off the stairs and rushed into the gloom of the cellar. The dark was back. The cold, wet, mist surrounded him, forcing him back against the steps and sucking the air from his lungs. A decomposing arm appeared out of the gloom. Skeletal fingers twisted through rotted flesh and skin slipped from the appendages as they snaked towards his face. The finger bones, clawed at his cheek, like sticks beneath slime they scratched across his face and pulled his lip.

  Shock and revulsion forced air into his tortured lungs and broke th
e paralysis that held him. He thrashed the arm away and strode into the dark. Anger and resolve, as well as terror, hurried him forwards. The appendage dissolved before him, and he moved across the dirt floor. Above him, the axe struck the solid wooden bed as Val attempted to get to the kids. God give me the strength to get through this, he must hurry. “Lauren fight this,” he screamed at the top of his lungs as he ran across the floor.

  He had reached the cobweb encrusted back of the cellar and the shelving with the items he needed. He loaded his arms, quickly, clumsily and turned to start back. The dark was before him, deeper now it looked impenetrable and pressed towards him. Above the axe sang as it ruptured the wood, and anger surged through him. He gave the mist a look of pure hatred and walked into it. It pulled back away from him as if cowering and slinked into a corner.

  Adrenaline drove him across the floor and to the stairs, with his arms full he took them two at a time, feeling the rickety steps give as he bounded upwards he hoped they would hold out. They did, and he climbed out into the hallway. The chopping stopped, and silence descended onto the cabin. His heart sank, had she got them?

  Steve stared at the bedroom door. Like a trapped beast, his heart pounded in his chest, and his feet froze on the spot. Were the kids safe? That solid piece of wood could be hiding joy or agony, and the silence rang warning bells in his mind. Move. They were fine; they had to be it was all he had left. He wanted to rush to the door and tear it open to hug the children until morning came and the sun chased away all his nightmares, but he could not fight her in there. He turned and headed through the kitchen. With panic fuelling his limbs, he hauled the table aside and unlocked the door. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he stepped out into the night.