by Brynne Asher
The sight of the blood had been enough to make Ayden barf and then pass out.
When he’d come to, embarrassed and messy, he’d lashed out at me.
Demon Denny.
Same song, different verse.
“Why would you even want to date him?” Lula asked. “Your names rhyme. It’s so matchy-matchy.”
“I kind of like the matching names. It’d be our thing.”
“He’s not right for you,” she said.
She was right.
Ayden Bash was popular.
His parents were known for letting him throw legendary pool parties in their massive backyard.
My dad was known for being a religious nut job who wouldn’t let my friends come over. The only reason I got to see Lula was her parents lied for us.
Ayden was so freaking cool.
A sheltered life and no TV meant I lacked the social skills and knowledge to be even a little cool.
Ayden wasn’t right for me because he was out of my league.
I might not have been a loser, but I didn’t have a large pool of friends, either. In the high school hierarchy, I wasn’t a jock, nerd, stoner, goth, or any other subcategory.
I wasn’t on the chart because I didn’t fit in anywhere.
Lula must have known how I’d taken her comment because she grabbed the chain of the swing and pulled me toward her. “You’re too good for him. He’s superficial and an ass.”
“Better an ass than a freak,” I pointed out, digging my toe in the sand to jerk away.
Even though I was supposed to go right home after school, the thought of sitting inside had made me feel claustrophobic. With the bad day I’d had, I’d needed to breathe fresh air and pretend I was free.
Normal.
I’d met up with Lula at the park near our school, but I only had a few minutes left before I’d have to run home. I didn’t want to spend my precious time reliving my major mortification.
There’d be plenty of time to do that for the rest of my life.
“Tell me about Matt,” I said, knowing she couldn’t resist talking about the new kid she had a crush on.
She gave me a look, the kind that told me I wasn’t fooling her, but then she grinned. “I said hi to him today.”
“Progress.” I spun around, twisting the chain.
“Yup. Have you seen him yet?”
I shrugged, lifting my feet to twirl quickly before rotating to wind the chains again. “What’s he look like?”
“How do I describe perfection?” She rubbed her chin, her eyes going unfocused and dreamy. “He looks like…” She paused before standing up straight, her voice urgent when she hissed, “Your dad!”
My stomach churned violently, and not from my spinning.
Fighting the urge to hurl, I asked, “He looks like my dad? Eww, dude, that’s disgusting.”
“No, your dad! He’s here!”
Stumbling off the swing, I almost fell when my hood got caught between the twisted chains. I righted myself, relieved I’d pulled on the sweater before leaving school. If my dad saw the belly shirt I borrowed from Lula… I didn’t even want to think about the consequences.
“Oh fuck,” Lula muttered. My gaze followed hers, and I died a little inside.
Ayden Bash and his friends were coming toward us, skateboards in hand.
My worlds—school and home—were about to collide. The whole thing was going to be apocalyptic.
Annnnnd this is the point where Ashton Kutcher jumps out and tells me I’m being Punk’d. Right?
Right?
“Where are you supposed to be?” my dad yelled, his face already turning red. There was a vein on his bald head that throbbed when his anger reached its peak.
The guys stopped to watch the show, though Lula frantically gestured at them to leave.
“I had some extra work to do,” I lied.
“On the playground?”
“No, I’d—”
“Lies! All of it!” he yelled, gathering more of an audience.
“Ohh,” one of the boys sing-songed. “Someone’s in trouble.”
He has no idea.
My dad turned to Lula. My best friend, God love her, was insane enough to look ready to go head-to-head with him.
“Go home,” he ordered. “Tell your parents they should do a better job at parenting and keep you away from my daughter.”
He sneered the word, like I was an awful burden. His cross he was forced to bear.
When Lula opened her mouth, I widened my eyes and shook my head. I rarely got to see her as it was. If he took that little bit of time away, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. Her defense of me right then wasn’t worth that.
Dejected, her eyes closed and her shoulders slumped as she turned and started for her house.
My dad watched her go. “Maybe now she’ll stay away.” He looked at the boys, and I could’ve sworn his eyes landed right on Ayden. “That goes for you all. My daughter is one of Lucifer’s warriors. She’s the devil’s spawn! Save yourselves—save your souls—and stay away from her. And go to church before Satan himself has you for his Sunday morning brunch.”
I didn’t want to look at them, but I couldn’t help it. Morbid curiosity had me scanning the group of boys, taking in the way they snickered and elbowed each other. When my gaze hit Ayden’s, he wasn’t smiling.
My heart fluttered, my hopes rising.
Maybe he cares.
Maybe he knows I’m hurt, and it bothers him.
As my future husband, he’ll make sure no one ever talks about this again, and we can pretend it didn’t happen.
But slowly, Ayden’s deep dimple on his left cheek showed. He pushed his blond hair from his eyes, but my heart didn’t go funny because he was laughing.
At me.
It was like a nightmare. Everything slowed and a sense of foreboding filled me even before he raised his index and pinky finger into horns. Loudly, he proclaimed, “Even her own dad knows she’s a freak. She’s Demon Denny.”
Tears burned behind my eyes as my humiliation choked me. I turned toward home.
“Get in the car,” my dad snapped. “I don’t trust you to walk.”
Spinning back, I took a few steps. When I was in front of him, I looked up and let my seething words tumble free. “I hate you. I’ll always hate you. I wish I could go live with grandma.”
Once, a few years before, Lula had gotten into a fight with her parents while I was there. It’d been over something stupid—and thanks to her period starting—she’d lashed out in hormonal anger. When she’d screamed that she hated them, there’d been so much sadness in her parents’ eyes. Lula had instantly apologized, sobbing and hugging them. They’d reassured her that nothing she said would ever make them stop loving her.
I watched my dad’s eyes, but there was nothing like that. No sadness. No hurt or pain. Not even anger.
Just ridicule.
On the outside, he wasn’t a bad looking guy. I’d heard some of the moms talk about how it was too bad he was crazy, because he was handsome.
I didn’t see it.
His ugliness on the inside tainted his appearance, giving him deep scowl lines, a red face, and cold, hard eyes. Hatred was a poison slowly eating away at him.
Shaking his head, he gave a humorless chuckle. “If your grandma wanted you, she could have you. But she doesn’t.”
My dad’s mom was amazing, which was why it majorly sucked that I didn’t see her much. Going to her house was like a vacation. She let me read as much as I wanted from her awesome library. She taught me how to bake. She told me the craziest ghost stories.
She loved me… or, at least, she seemed to.
When I’d asked why I couldn’t stay with her longer, she’d apologized and blamed my dad. She’d reminded me that we had to play it carefully, or he’d take away what little time we had.
Knowing she was out there and loved me gave me comfort. No matter how alone I felt, I had Lula and Grandma.
I was lo
ved.
Even though I was pretty sure he was lying, the idea that my grandma had lied broke my heart worse than Ayden Bash ever could.
“But when I visit—” I started.
“I have to beg her,” my dad said. “Lay on the guilt trip as her only son, the father of her only grandchild. Don’t let her loving act fool you. She’s too scared of you to want you around.”
Not willing to give him a reaction, I stomped toward the car, ignoring him as he called, “She sees the evil inside you.”
My tears spilled over as I got in, but I quickly wiped them away.
As my dad drove, I looked out the window to see Ayden and the boys watching, still laughing and taunting me.
My life is hell.
*****
Five months ago…
“Are you ready?” Lula asked, her hands behind her back.
Her fiancé, Chase, stood next to her in a similar position.
My eyes darted between them. “What’re you guys up to?”
“Nothing,” she lied, bouncing on her toes. “Open the door.”
With one last narrow-eyed glare, I turned away and punched the code the lawyer gave me into the lock that covered the door handle. Once it was off, I inserted the supplied key and turned it, holding my breath.
Bracing for the worst.
Shaking off the bad habit, I forced my shoulders to relax before pushing the door.
When it flung open, two loud pops sounded behind me, making me jump.
“Welcome home!” Lula and Chase yelled as confetti rained down.
Home.
All my life, I’d never felt like I truly belonged anywhere except when I was there.
My grandma’s house.
No, my house.
I blinked back tears, the moment bittersweet.
“Denny,” Lula started, ready to offer the kind of comfort only a best friend could.
“I’m okay.” I shot her a wobbly smile despite my burning eyes. “This is a good day. She’d be mad if I ruined it by wallowing.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She’d tell you to feel however you wanted.”
“That’s exactly what she’d say.” I took a shaky breath and stepped aside, sweeping my hand out. “Please, come in to my home.”
“I’ll start grabbing things from the truck,” Chase said.
“Start with the champagne and rum,” Lula called after him.
“Yes, dear.”
“He’s a good husband already,” I said, stepping inside. My laughter died in my throat when I looked around, my stomach dropping to the bare floors.
It was gone.
All of it.
The entire living room was empty, other than her old couch. Heat pounding, I hurried into the kitchen and dining room to see the same. A few bits and pieces remained, but everything else was gone.
Circling back to the living room, I almost ran into Lula. “Someone robbed my grandma.”
She shook her head, her black bob swaying with the motion. “No, someone robbed you. You’ve got to call the police.”
“Whoa,” Chase said from the doorway.
“She’s calling the cops.” Lula took the bottle of rum from him. “And then we’ll drink.”
“Hold on.” Chase returned a moment later with my purse. “Write down everything that’s missing first.”
“Oh, good idea.” I pulled a notebook and pen out, clicking it as I tried to gather my racing thoughts. “I don’t even know what was supposed to be here. The lawyer said I inherited everything, but he didn’t tell me what everything entailed. Or, if he did, I didn’t process it. I was a little numb and in shock.”
“It’s okay. Call the lawyer, they’ll have a list.”
Before my shaking legs could give out, I sat on the hardwood floor in the middle of the mostly empty living room. Fishing out the lawyer’s business card from my purse, I dialed and waited. After talking to a receptionist and two paralegals, I was finally connected to the lawyer.
“Ms. Underwood,” Mr. Dempsey greeted. “I’m told something is wrong.”
“Yes, sorry to bother you, but I’m at my grandma’s house and everything is gone.”
“Everything?”
My eyes landed on the couch. “Almost everything. Her couch is still here. A hutch in the dining room. A few other things, but my understanding was I inherited it all.”
“That’s all there is.”
“No, she had tons of knickknacks and some great furniture.”
“Unfortunately, your grandmother’s insurance documentation wasn’t up to date, so there’s no record of what was there before her passing.” Mr. Dempsey’s voice softened. “Ms. Underwood, it’s not uncommon for the elderly to sell their possessions. Sometimes it’s to help with expenses. Other times, it’s so their relatives are not stuck with that burden.”
“I didn’t want to sell the stuff!”
“She may not have known that. In her mind, clearing out the house was doing you a favor. I can’t say for certain, but our firm was there to inventory and lock up the place within twenty-four hours of her death, as per our policy.”
Twenty-four hours.
Twenty-fucking-four hours.
Plenty of time.
When I didn’t say anything, Mr. Dempsey cleared his throat. “If there’s anything else—”
“No. Thank you.”
Standing, I paced the room with my heart in my throat. There was one last place I needed to check, but I couldn’t bring myself to.
Lula and Chase came in, their arms full of boxes.
“The lawyer said they had twenty-four hours to lock the place up,” I told them. “This was all there was when they got here.”
Lula’s face twisted in anger, her eyes narrowing as she set the boxes down. It was clear her thoughts had gone to the same place mine had when she repeated, “Twenty-four hours?”
“He took it. All of it.”
“Call him,” she insisted. “I know you said you never would, but maybe he still has everything.”
“That’d be just like him. Extortion or ransom or whatever.” Some of the tension in my chest eased. “I can call him. Hell, I can grovel and beg with the best of ‘em if it means getting it back.”
“We’ll give you some privacy,” she said, waiting for Chase to put down his boxes before pulling him outside.
Amping myself up, I dialed a number I knew by heart, but one I’d hoped to never use again.
“Hello?” a man answered, his voice sharp.
“Dad? It’s Denny.”
There was a moment of silence followed by a chuckle. The chuckle. The only laughter I’d ever heard from him, and it was cold and humorless every time. “I’d almost forgotten I was a dad.” He sighed. “It was nice while it lasted.”
My blood boiled, but I suppressed it. I knew better than to engage. “I won’t take up much of your time, but I’m at grandma’s house, and—”
“Don’t you mean your house?” he asked, sounding happy. Ecstatic, even.
But not for me, like Lula and Chase were.
He was just fucking thrilled about what he’d done.
“You took everything,” I whispered, still somehow surprised by what he was capable of. “Do you still have it? I just want a few things, you can—”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You took all of Grandma’s stuff.”
“I didn’t. If someone took her things, it serves you right. My mother was a good woman, and you don’t deserve the remnants of her life. You’re cursed. Everything you touch dies, Haden. You destroy it. I’m just glad you won’t have the chance to do the same with her belongings.”
Heartache warred with fury inside of me, building and building until I could either crumble or explode.
I went with explode.
“That’s not true! I’ve never done anything wrong. You’re the one who’s evil. You’re just a crazy old man who’s going to die alone.”
“I’d rathe
r die alone than be the creation of the devil.” Before I could hang up, he added, “Speaking of hell…”
“What?” I gritted out, clinging to the last fraying thread that he’d tell me where my grandma’s things were. If he’d donated everything, I’d scrape together every penny I had to buy it back.
“It’s supposed to be cold tonight. You might want to start a fire. I know my last one kept me warm.” With a laugh—one filled with cruel happiness—he hung up.
“No, no, no,” I whispered. Scrambling, I ran down the hall and threw open the door.
My heart shattered in my chest, the emotional pain so tangent, it stole my breath.
They were gone.
My grandma’s books were gone.
Running back into the living room, I dropped to my knees and slid across the floor. I was vaguely aware of the skin on my knees tearing and burning, but the agony in my heart overshadowed it.
The front door banged open and Lula asked, “Are you okay?”
I ignored her as I shoved the screen in front of the fireplace to the side. My head swam, nausea threatening to empty my stomach. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I pushed the soot around.
A few covers were left, the plastic film yellowed and warped. Some books were missing their edges. Others were completely destroyed.
My movements became frantic as I dug through the mess in hopes of finding one salvageable book.
But there were none.
With one flick of a match, that monster had destroyed beautiful words and priceless memories.
The books—one of the few bright spots in my childhood—were nothing but ash.
“He did this,” I choked out, lifting a handful of scraps only to sob when they disintegrated in my palm.
There was more I wanted to say, more names I wanted to call him, but I couldn’t speak past my bawling.
Lula wrapped her arms around me, holding me close and calling him creatively vile names for me.
Inheriting my grandmother’s house, though bittersweet, was supposed to be the turning point in my life. The start of something good.
But thanks to my father, he’d tainted that, too.
With her things gone, I didn’t feel as strong of a connection to her as I’d wanted.
Even the house felt… different.
Maybe I am cursed?