Don't write much, but hey - the place has a literature section, so why not post?
2:32am, 18th June, 2005
Enveloped in darkness, I padded barefoot from the comfort of my bed to Jimmy's room. Finding the door-handle bathing in a slash of moonlight, I twisted it as I heard my son sobs echoing through the still halls of our home. Peeking my head around the corner, I found him curled in the center of his bed tightly, as if he was surrounded by a ring of fire; tucking his legs tightly up against his chest.
"Jim?" I whispered, surveying his small, shaking frame as he whimpered like a petrified animal.
"Daddy!" he cried.
There was something in his voice that night - something that made my chest crush against my heart and clutch it within a cold grasp. I began to move towards the bed, but he held his hand out, reaching out to grasp mine.
"Quick! Grab my hand, it doesn't like it when we're together!"
"What doesn't?"
"Just hold my hand and climb up here!"
I looked at my son, and he looked back at me - his eyes shimmered like moonlight on a river; wavering and glistening as his trembling hand met mine. I glanced around the room, surveying the scene. There was a slight draft teasing the scraps of paper stuck to his walls. Jimmy had always been a good drawer, and the shards of 2am light highlighted this. He always drew two figures, both equally disproportionate yet clearly reflecting the image of myself and his mother.
I clambered onto the bed, sitting myself cross-legged in front of my son, who's dilated pupils darted around the room in despair.
"Now, are you gonna tell me what's the matter? Adults have to sleep too, Jim..."
"No, no, no, Daddy, you can't go to sleep!"
"Why not?"
"Because it'll get you! It's angry at you!"
"What is?"
Jimmy's voice faded into silence and he covered his eyes with tiny, clammy hands. I gently pulled him in close and he buried his face into my chest. Stroking his auburn hair, I tilted his face to look up at me.
"What's angry at me, Jim?"
"I-it says you don't love me, and it doesn't like us being together," whimpered Jimmy.
"What? That's silly! Of course I love you, Jimmy. You're my little guy, and I love you more than anything in the world - even chocolate, and you know how much Daddy loves chocolate, right?"
Jimmy managed to let a small, squeaky giggle before allowing silence to swallow the room again.
"But you know, if the thing your talking about is angry at me, you've gotta tell me what it is so I can tell it to go away!"
Jimmy paused, but then nodded. He reached out into his bedside drawer, retrieving a folded up piece of eggshell-white paper from within. He placed it flat on the bed and beckoned me to look.
The picture was like nothing Jimmy had ever done before - it was majoritively red crayon scrawled into a twisted mass in the center of the page. There was a small hint of pink at the top, with what looked like facial features scribbled onto it - frowning like a distorted cartoon character. There were words peppered around the edge - "CHEAT", "LIAR", "FINISHED" scribed in a blood red typography. The wind outside grew stronger, roaring like a great beast as it pummeled the house with heavy rain.
"Who is this?" I muttered, struggling to decipher the meaning behind the sickening chaos I was presented with.
"It says you know who it is"
"Why does it say words like "cheat" and "liar"? You can't have been taught those at school, you've only just started reading"
"It says you know what they mean"
My speech crumbled, and I folded the paper up aggresively, almost ripping it in two. Looking down at Jimmy, I slowly placed his trembling frame onto his side and knelt down - meeting his eyes through his clouded spectacles.
"Alright, Jim, we don't want to wake mummy up, so you better go to sleep now, okay?"
He nodded and yawned - whatever I did, I managed to scare what was bothering him away. In that moment I thought he perhaps just wanted me to look at his drawings - pay more attention to him. I wasn't the best dad, I knew I could be a better husband too, and I made mistakes, but he seemed to be happy in my company. I kissed his forehead and left the room.
The picture was still burning a hole in my pocket, pushing itself against my leg in a bid to escape. I crept back into my bedroom and glimpsed at my wife, who was asleep - tucked away with her favourite red blanket sprawled across her. In that moment, watching her body slowly rise and fall perpetually, I began to contemplate the things I did wrong for the family - leaving her for another woman then begging to be let back in, cheating her out of money, gambling, drinking - I was not a good man. I brought out the picture again, and looked at it once more.
It had changed.
This time, the figure was more defined - with disproportioned limbs escaping from the cascade of crimson spiderwebbing from the center, it's face contorted into a rage, and one singular sentence at the bottom.
"How can you live with yourself?"
I heard a bloodcurdling scream - Jimmy's scream. I shot up, shrieking at my wife to do the same, blasting her name through the halls of the house - "MIRANDA, MIRANDA, MIRANDA"
I burst into Jimmy's room, and was met with his body strewn up against the wall - dissected from foot to neck, with his intenstines dangling from his stomach and his face crushed in two.
But he wasn't the only one there.
Miranda, stood in the same blood red from the picture, clutching a knife in her crimson masked hands, stared back at me - the light catching her piercing eyes. I collapsed to the ground, trembling and wailing - I hadn't treat her right, and this was the cost. I was a liar, I was a cheat, and this was it - finished.
I saw her feet come into view through my blurred, washed out vision.
"How can you live with yourself?"
