The Rot of Annie Dawson Part 5

It can get you into trouble but it can't get you out So then I went and bought myself a Colt 45

 

“Danika?” Stone asked, stepping closer to his sister. He wanted to grab her to understand what was going on. He couldn’t place where all the blood came from dripping from her sweet dress. Her face should be dirty with mud and sweat, driving mother up the wall, not blood. There was so much blood. “What happens?” He asked, but his door blew inwards to give him an answer from Hell.

               Stone spun around to find his father standing there covered in blood, so much blood it hides whatever clothes he was wearing, but Stone didn’t care about the state of his clothes. He cared about the ax in his hands, dripping with red.

               “What have you done?” Stone asked.

               “I --- I’m sorry, son,” Josh said, crying with every word falling from his mouth. “She put her rot in me. My God, what have I done?”

               “Daddy,” Danika cried.

               Stone didn’t look behind him to see what Danika was doing. He kept his eyes on the ax, the blade which had killed everyone in the house but the three standing in the room. He watched the ax take a step forward, waiting to see what his father would do.

               “Come here, Danika,” Josh said with a tone brimming sorrow for what he had done against his will. The witch had tainted him, reached into his soul, leaving her mark on him, and rotting out his soul. “So, I can send you to mommy.”

               “No,” Stone roared, dashing forward, taking the ax in his hands as his father, weakly, fought to be free the weapon. “You will not hurt her.”

               Danika started to cry louder, and Stone kneed his father in the stomach, throwing him back into the hall. Stone went after him, trying not to freeze at the sight of the blood on the floor. The blood he knew was from his mother and sisters. They were dead somewhere in the house. He didn’t have to go looking to know it. He would find their bodies later after he handles his father.

               “Danika,” Stone shouted, “go get Mr. Wolf, now. Run.”

               Danika had always been a good girl when it came to Stone given her orders. She knew he only loved her and wanted to protect. She didn’t have to be told twice as she fled out of the house, running for her life down the road.

               “No, you don’t understand,” Josh shouted after her turning back to his son. A new rage burned in his eyes, just like the eyes of Annie being cooked alive in the fire. He headbutted Stone right in the nose, shooting stars through his eyes, breaking the dam of blood, making it all rain down on his face. He stumbles backward, utterly daze from the dirty hit. He shook his head, trying to free his sight from the stars.

               He came to the world, still wishing on them that none of this was happening, but wishes were for fools. He ducked in time to not be hit by the ax. It dug into the wood in the doorway, and Josh booted him back into the room. The hit to Stone’s chest sent him flying back over the bed. He nailed his head on the floor but wasted no time in getting back up.

               Jeremiah and his father made sure Stone could fight. There had been far too many nights of Stone’s life boxing the two men he holds close to his heart.

               “Life is hard,” Josh would tell him,” and only hard men can stand up to it.” And then an uppercut would catch him in the chin.

               “You are the only male in the family,” Jeremiah said, “you have to be able to protect your sisters.” Jeremiah broke his jaw after saying that statement.

               But the boxing lessons did Stone good at this moment. His dad came dashing over the bed, ax over his head, planning to bring it down in Stone’s chest. Stone used all his might to kick the bed, sending it across the room and out from under Josh’s feet. For a second, it looked as if the laws of gravity blinked, unsure what to do before it gasped, pulling Josh downwards.

               Stone rolled out of the way, got to his feet, running for the hall. He couldn’t beat his father in hand to ax fight. He had to get a weapon something to win with, and he turned to the study. He bolted for the door running pass his sisters’ room. He glanced into there to see them sitting against the wall with their head missing. Blood was still on the floor as if it had simply been painted there, but Stone knew better.

               He didn’t have time to weep. He couldn’t dare go looking for his mother now. He wouldn’t be able to handle the sight of her body.

               Stone shoulder the door breaking it open looking for a pistol, any pistol to put his father down.

               “Kill me, Stone,” Josh yelled, running down the hall like a mad dog. The ax over his head and lunacy fringe of his stare. Stone spun, kicking the door in his face knocking him back. He spun back around, looking for the gun and only finding Azazel sitting on the desk.

               He picked up the angel of death as something bite into his hand. His blood raced to the handle of the gun, and something came rushing back into him. A flame, not hot, but warm with holiness, only the Angels of the Lord could will from the Heavens. The holiness flashed over his bones, grabbing his soul never to let go; it would be with him for is unnatural life.

               “Stone,” Josh said, making him spun around, pointing the gun at him. Josh stopped at the sight of the gun, dropping the ax and smiling. “I’m glad you became the man I wanted you to, son.”

               Stone didn’t say a word; all he thought back was the fear in Danika’s eyes, the sight of his headless sisters, and knowing his mother was dead somewhere in the house. He unloaded the pistol into his father’s chest. Each bullet pushed Josh back down the hall as Stone followed him out until all he could was hear the clicking of the gun.

               He didn’t look down at his father. He stepped over his dying father, went straight outside of his house, and sat down on the steps. He sat there crying to himself, still holding the gun as Jeremiah came running to the house with Danika in his arms. He stopped in front of Stone, not saying a word and looking at the house. He gave Danika to Jeremiah before he went in to see all the horrors.

                The hunter came out with tears in his eyes, sitting down beside Stone. “You two,” he said, “are coming with come with me.” He put his hand on Stone’s shoulder. “You now understand the fight we are in, son.”

Author's Note

If you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or works on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact in my when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A mess journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercise or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.