| Backing away, James watched in horror as his brother’s body convulsed violently. Blood bubbled from the wound and saturated the carpet. James stood--teeth grinding, chest heaving. For a moment he could do little but fixate on his distorted reflection in the expanding puddle. Finally, reality struck him like an open hand to the face. “Oh, no,” he whined as he kneel aside his brother. “What did I do now?” Contorted face blanched and waxen, Mike took a last strained breath before expiring. “Oooooooooh, not again.” James swayed nervously as the enormity of his actions festered in his thoughts like a cancer. He had not only killed the cat, but his brothers as well. Dad would be furious when he found out… If he found out. Acting on instinct alone, he grabbed the handle of the hammer, braced his legs on his brother’s shoulders, and pulled. The claw tore free, and John blinked as warm brain and skull fragments spattered his face. Secreting the hammer in a gift box, he snatched a pillow from the sofa and propped it under Mike’s head. It completely concealed the puddle. The hole in his brother’s skull ogled James like an angry red eye. There was no way that his parents could miss the wound. Like a gift from heaven, Mike’s new Yankee ball cap tumbled from the mantle and landed on the floor. “Yes,” James cheered as he pulled it over Mike’s head. Draping a blanket over his brother’s body, he paused to admire his work. The illusion was perfect. Mike appeared to be fast asleep. Satisfied, James collapsed into Father’s recliner as he mulled over which toy to open. “Honey, what’s going on in here?” Mother asked. Startled, James whirled. “Nothing mom.” She shed her pleasant expression in the span of a heartbeat. “What’s that on your face?” Reflexively, James brought his hand to his face. Beneath his palm, brain smeared as gritty flecks of skull abraded his sensitive flesh. “Oh no,” he whimpered. Mother’s irises floated in pools of white. “What did you do?” Her glance flitted from the playpen, to Mike, to the kitten, and back to him. James read the accusation and suspicion in the paragraph of her features. Mom turned to the stairs. James reacted. Diving at her from the chair, he took her to the ground. Stunned, Mother laid prone. Taking a plastic icicle from the tree, James promptly drove it though her eye. She twitched a little, but not as much as Mike. “Oooooooo, Mommy,” he cried as his murderous fugue dissipated like mist on a plain. Sliding off of her body, he pulled her head onto his lap and rocked. Who would defend him now? Tears burning his eyes, James got to work. # # # An hour later, his father’s booted footfalls resounded through the quiet house. James sat by the tree, preoccupied with his action figures. “Why’s it so dark down here?” Father asked as he loomed in the doorway. “This place is like a morgue.” “They’re sleeping,” James replied. The tree twinkled brilliantly with a myriad of colors. |