We Are Always Watching

by Hunter Shea

  Now was the big question: to run or creep?

  Screw it, Debi thought, sprinting for her bedroom. If someone was in the house they were going to hear her anyway. Might as well get from point A to point B as quickly as possible. She did her best to stick to the new floorboard that Abraham had put down and used to sneak up on her and Matt.

  She closed the door behind her with just the slightest click.

  Last time she saw her phone, it was on the bedside table, plugged in because the charge was low.

  It was gone.

  The charger was still plugged into the wall socket, the empty connector lying atop the Mary Higgins Clark book she’d been reading.

  “Shit, shit, shit.”

  She checked the drawer, just in case. No dice.

  Someone had taken the phone.

  Along with her husband, his friend, and her father-in-law.

  Her purse was also missing, which was a double fucked sandwich.

  The keys to their truck were in her purse.

  The Simmons wanted to make sure they were good and stranded out here. Just like sitting ducks, lined up in a nice row at a traveling carnival. Pay your buck and try your luck!

  What the hell was the prize here?

  Total annihilation?

  West!

  She couldn’t leave him alone out there any longer.

  Shrugging all pretense of stealth, she ran out the front, wary of the more direct route out the back door. She sensed something ominous in that area of the house. Sometimes, a mother’s intuition had to be heeded.

  West was crouched behind the picnic table, rising the second he saw her.

  “Did you find Dad?”

  She shook her head, motioning for him to keep his voice down.

  “Where can he be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you call for an ambulance?”

  “I couldn’t. My phone is gone. So are the keys to the truck.”

  “Fuck.”

  For the first time ever, she had no desire to correct his language.

  He was right.

  Fuck!

  “Do you think Faith is gonna die?”

  “I don’t know, honey. If the wound seals around the knife, she could be fine for hours.”

  “We have to find Dad.”

  Debi knew what Matt would say if he were here.

  You have to get the hell out of here. Don’t worry about me.

  A muffled shout rooted them to the spot.

  “Was that Dad?” West whispered.

  “No, I don’t think it was.”

  “It came from inside the house.”

  She squeezed his hand harder than she’d intended.

  He was right. A man had just barked something. He sounded angry. It most definitely wasn’t Matt or Abraham.

  And she knew exactly where it was coming from.

  The basement.

  “Come with me,” she said softly.

  There was a half-window set low to the ground on the side of the house. The glass was painted over, but she hoped to God, who had apparently abandoned them, that it was thin enough for them to hear what was going on inside.

  ***

  Matt couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  For the moment, his vision was clear. No double vision. No blurriness. Not even a hint of a headache.

  For the first time since the accident, he wished he couldn’t witness what was before him with such soul-deadening clarity.

  He was on his back on the unfinished basement floor. The smell of the dank cellar was exactly what he’d expect it to be, but with an undercurrent of a ripe, sickly odor that made his stomach clench.

  Matt knew where that odor was coming from.

  The man’s bulk seemed to fill the entire basement, though Matt knew that was an exaggeration. His pale flesh glistened under the dim light, rings of sweat spotting his denim overalls like Minnesota’s lakes. Drops of sweat dripped off the tips of his long, black hair. His face was all square angles, with a wide nose set between narrow eyes as dark and bottomless as the ass end of a black hole.

  It was his eyes that terrified Matt the most.

  The flat gaze reflected at him seemed as detached from humanity as a freshly cut blade of grass from the sloping lawn it once called home.

  “Everyone wake up!”

  Gregory Simmons stepped out from behind the behemoth. His old classmate was massive as well, but seemed puny in comparison to the other man. He carried a rusty sickle in one hand, the flaking blade resting against his thigh. “You don’t have any more old pals stopping by, do you? Because it sounds like someone’s upstairs to me.” He turned to the enormous man. “Go check it out.”

  The man’s footfalls sounded like thunder as he ran up the stairs. He clomped about for a couple of minutes and came back, breathing heavily.

  “Nothing?” Gregory said.

  He shook his head.

  “Well, we’ll have to keep an ear out, then. We’ve got important business to attend to.”

  Matt heard a groan, turning to see his father on one side, James on the other. Both were trying to sit up, hands massaging their heads.

  When Abraham came to, he stared at the man beside his neighbor, grimacing. “I should have known.”

  “You play cards down at the Post, don’t you old man?” Gregory said. “You know you’ve always got to have your ace in the hole.”

  “More like another goddamn monster.”

  “Dad, what’s going on?”

  Matt sat up. When he tried to stand, the hulk took a deliberate step toward him, his hands flexing into fists. Matt took the cue to remain seated.

  James coughed. He looked like he was having a hard time focusing. After taking two heavy blows to the head, it was a wonder he was even alive.

  “You’re going to give me back what’s mine,” Gregory said. “I’ve waited long enough.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Abraham spat. He fumbled inside his shirt.

  Gregory grinned. He dangled a key in the air. “Looking for this?”

  Matt’s father heaved a gargled chuckle. “Go ahead then, open the door. You know how to work a lock, don’t you?”

  “You must really think I’m stupid, Abraham.”

  “You really don’t want to know what I think of you.”

  Matt felt helpless. He had no idea what the two men were talking about, or why his father didn’t appear the least bit surprised that a man the size of a wrestler crossed with a grizzly bear was standing guard over them.

  “Where are my wife and son?” Matt asked.

  “Well taken care of… I suspect,” Gregory replied. “My boy here got a little creative and has your wife trundled up all nice. I have something special in mind for her. Sometimes, I have to let him do things his way. Keeps him focused. As for your son, nice kid, last I saw, my daughter was with him, though not in the way I’m sure he wet himself over when he jacked away in that sagging bed of his every night. But hey, thanks to him, we had to step things up a bit. Seems your boy had intentions on calling the police. Now that’s something we couldn’t let happen. Ain’t that right, Abraham?”

  “Let Debi and West go,” Matt said. “They have nothing to do with any of this.”

  “Don’t waste your breath,” his father said, staring at the ground.

  “It’s a little too late to separate the wheat from the chaff,” Gregory said. “No, we’re just going to take our child back and finally set things right. Why couldn’t you just let go and die, old man? See what pain your stubbornness has caused?”

  Abraham spat, a gob of his phlegm landing on the big man’s boot.

  “You could have sent your mongoloid over any time to finish me off,” he said.

  The big man’s chest puffed up. Gregory gave his son a reassuring pat on the arm.

  “I don’t like the way you insinuate that my boy is a killer. Now, you and I, we’re of a different breed. Aren’t we?”

  James retched, his vomit reeking of
blood and bile. “Matt, where the hell are we? What’s going on?”

  “I did what was necessary,” Abraham said.

  “You murdered part of my bloodline!” Gregory swung the sickle close to Abraham’s face. It was only meant as a threat. He could easily have sliced his nose off if he’d wanted to.

  “Your bloodline is poison,” Abraham said.

  “What’s he talking about?” Matt said, staring at his father. The squat man refused to look him in the eye. “Who did you murder?”

  Gregory snickered. “I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you. It’s some real bad business. Not the kind of thing you discuss over dinner. ‘Can you please pass the rolls? Thank you. So, did anyone else take a life today? No? Oooh, those green beans look wonderful.’ Am I right, Abraham?”

  Matt grabbed his father’s arm. “Dad, what the hell did you do?”

  Abraham’s rheumy eyes rose to meet his, the lines around his mouth deeper than ever.

  “It was your… your sister.”

  Time seemed to stop. Matt’s stomach gave an urgent signal to empty his bowels.

  “Stella?”

  “She was a monster. She would have ended up like him.” He motioned his head at the huge man beside Gregory.

  “What does that mean? I don’t understand. You killed my sister?”

  “She wasn’t your sister.”

  Gregory seemed to be taking great joy in the baring of the skeleton in their family closet. “Go on, Abraham. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  Matt stared at his father with utter incomprehension.

  “She was your half-sister. Your mother was raped by Isaac Simmons, Gregory’s father.”

  Gregory interrupted him, shouting, “Does saying it was rape make you feel better? I hear young Violet Ridley practically begged for it.”

  Abraham shot him a withering look, but didn’t take the bait. He continued, “He impregnated her. When Stella came out, she nearly tore your mother to pieces. We tried to raise her. Tried to deny what had been done to your mother, what would become of Stella. But as she got older, it became impossible to deny.”

  Matt inched away from his father. “Deny what? Because she was the product of a rape that gave you the right to kill her?”

  Abraham shook his head.

  “It was her blood. There was something wrong with her. It comes from them.” He glowered at Gregory Simmons and his towering son. “When they mate with someone outside their bloodline, something goes wrong. Very wrong.”

  It took every ounce of effort not to punch his father square in the mouth – anything to stop the spewing of this madness.

  “Do you realize how insane this sounds?” Matt said.

  When his father didn’t reply, he said, “I saw Gregory’s daughter. She’s as normal as West. Why would you assume Stella would turn out like… like him?”

  The sickle thunked into Matt’s calf. The pain was immediate and exquisite. Matt’s mouth opened in a silent scream.

  “I’m getting tired of everyone insulting my son!” Gregory roared.

  Abraham jumped to his feet but was easily swatted back by Gregory’s son.

  “It only happens when they don’t mate with their own kin,” Abraham said, breathing heavily and in obvious pain.

  Matt’s vertigo came rushing back like a tsunami. He felt the back of his skull bounce off the ground, but barely registered the pain.

  Sinking into oblivion, he was consumed by one thought: Dad killed Stella. Dad killed Stella. DAD KILLED STELLA!

  Chapter Thirty

  West’s heart was somewhere in his throat.

  He couldn’t swallow. Could barely breathe.

  His mother was crouched beside him, hearing the same unspeakable things.

  A quick look to her to confirm that he wasn’t losing his mind gave little comfort. His mother was pale with dread.

  “Mom, Grandpa Abraham has a girl locked up in a room down there.”

  Her eyes were wet with tears.

  “What?”

  “He showed me earlier. That’s why I ran to Faith’s house. To tell her. The girl is her sister.”

  “Why the hell would he lock her sister up in the basement?”

  “To keep the Guardians… the Simmons family… from hurting any of us.”

  She craned forward, pressing her ear to the glass.

  “This can’t be happening.”

  “We have to do something.”

  “Shhh.”

  West crab-walked away from the window. He’d heard and seen all he wanted to tonight. His mind burned with sensory overload. And there was still Faith out in the field, bleeding to death.

  She was just a pawn in a long standing game. She didn’t want to kill him. Not deep down.

  Bullshit. You never know what goes on in someone’s head, West thought. Why else would such a hot girl even talk to you? She was keeping a close eye on you.

  “Mom, how far would it be to get to a main road?”

  She chewed on a thumbnail, listening to what was happening in the basement. “Too far. By the time someone found us and we got the authorities out here, it might be too late.”

  West felt a strange feeling of calm wash over his body.

  When your choices were limited, there was less to confound your brain. You either did one thing, or another. Simple as that.

  It sounded as if running for help was out of the mix.

  So he and his mother would have to somehow get in the basement and free his family.

  Just how the hell they would do it was a mystery, but knowing this was the only viable road to take, he was ready to think of ways to salvage their dire situation.

  “They don’t know we’re free,” he said. “We could take them totally by surprise.”

  His mother exhaled, shoulders sagging. “There’s no we in this, West. You’re going to hide away someplace safe. Or better yet, you go get help. I’ll find a way to get your father out.”

  “You can’t do it alone. There are at least two of them down there, and they were able to overpower dad, Grandpa Abraham, and James. You’re going to need my help.”

  “What I need is to know that you’re safe.”

  A chilling thought crossed his mind. “It sounds like there’s just Mr. Simmons down in the basement and his son. Faith is in the field. Her sister Rayna is locked in the room. Where’s her mother?”

  And better yet, what’s her mother? Grandpa Abraham said that when the Simmons men mixed with women outside their kin, they gave birth to abnormal children. If Faith and Rayna were what everyone considered normal, did that make Mrs. Simmons a relative? Was she Gregory’s cousin? Or worse, his sister?

  But then where did the son come from?

  It was almost too much to think about. His brain felt as if it were on fire.

  His mother looked around, scanning the moonlit field. “Crap, I hadn’t thought of that. I didn’t hear her down there.”

  “Which could mean she’s somewhere out here,” West said.

  “I can only hope she found her daughter and is taking caring of her as we speak.”

  “But what if she didn’t?”

  His mother grabbed his hand and stood up.

  “Okay, we need to arm ourselves. We could grab some knives in the kitchen.”

  West thought about it. “We need something bigger.”

  “You sound like you have something in mind.”

  West wasn’t sure if his plan was the best, but it was the only one he could think of. After years of immersion in horror stories, he knew a thing or two about ways to defend oneself or take proactive action. He was also pretty confident in understanding the mindset of a psychopath.

  Maybe all that time wasted, wasn’t wasted at all.

  “I’ll need that screwdriver,” he said.

  She handed it over to him.

  “We need to drive out to the old barn,” West whispered, making his way around the house, keeping a watchful eye out for Faith’s mother.

  “Th
ere’s a barn out there? Where?”

  “Not far. I can show you.”

  “How are we supposed to drive the truck with no keys?”

  “I saw people break into cars in a movie using a screwdriver. I didn’t know it would really work, so I watched a bunch of videos on YouTube. It wasn’t just something made up for the movies. I’m pretty sure I can do it. First, we need to get inside Grandpa Abraham’s truck.”

  His mother said, “If we have any bit of luck tonight, his keys will be in the ignition.”

  During his long afternoons just walking around, West had peered inside his grandfather’s truck several times. There was a storage area behind the front seats that was filled with tools and hard plastic cases. He’d even gone so far as to rummage through it all one day, wondering if the old man had stolen all of the tools, because he sure as hell didn’t use them to fix the farmhouse. Some of them were new, a lot old, and what he came to realize was that they were probably the spoils of victory from playing cards. The men around here were sure to have plenty of power tools on hand.

  “No luck,” he said when he opened the door and looked to the ignition.

  “Of course not.”

  He bent over the front seat and found the drill case. He opened it and heaved a sigh of relief. It was a battery powered drill, not electric. He pulled the orange trigger, the drill whirring to life.

  Luck hadn’t totally abandoned them yet.

  They slipped into their second hand truck, hackles raised when the hinges on the driver’s side door groaned. He closed his eyes, recalling the videos he’d watched, trying to work out the steps in his mind. Again, this wouldn’t work with a new car that used those key fobs. It was the first time he’d ever been happy they’d traded their nice car for this shit box.

  He found a drill bit that looked to be about the size of a key.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” his mother said, watching their backs.

  “You and me both.”

  He inserted the drill bit into the ignition and pulled the trigger. The drill met some resistance, then started to spin, destroying all of the lock pins. He pulled the drill out and dropped it on the floor. Jamming the screwdriver into the ignition, he gave it a sharp twist. He and his mother recoiled at the sound of the motor rumbling to life.