Simmer: An Inferno World Novella

by Measha Stone

  SIMMER

  An Inferno World Novella

  Measha Stone

  Contents

  FAIR WARNING

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  DOLLY

  About the Author

  Also by Measha Stone

  FAIR WARNING

  If you’ve read stories in the Inferno World, you will already know this. But for those that are finding this world for the first time, please keep reading. Simmer is NOT a romance. It is a horrifying display of disfigured love. This story is taboo and graphic. The pitch black, horrific nature of this book may be unsettling for some readers.

  For those that dare, you’ve been warned. Welcome to SIMMER.

  Leaves crunch beneath my bare feet as I make my way to the coop, a pail of feed dangling from my fingers. Wind blows hard through the trees, and more leaves rain down around me. Winter will be here soon, and with it, bitter cold and feet of snow. Getting to the coop will be hard if Mark doesn’t get the path done

  He promised papa he’d have it finished before fall ends, but I’m worried he won’t. Papa’s had him rebuilding the smoke house with him all summer, and it’s put Mark behind in his other chores.

  “Don’t take too long, Nicolette!” Papa calls to me from the back porch. His eyes burn through my dress.

  “I won’t, Papa,” I promise with a gentle wave. He’s in a decent mood this afternoon, and I’m not willing to do or say anything to sway him toward a dark cloud.

  “Dinner needs fixing,” he yells out. It’s not a simple reminder.

  “On my way!” I promise as I speed up. The chickens are my chore: feed them, collect the eggs, and kill them when the time is right. I already have vegetable stew cooking on the stove, but I’ll need to make the cornbread. Papa likes cornbread whenever I make stew or any soup.

  I like biscuits, but Papa doesn’t care about that.

  The chickens scatter when I enter their space. I flick my wrist, sending their food sprawling on the ground, and they all come running back. After checking the coop for eggs, I head back to the house.

  Papa is still standing on the back porch, his static gaze not missing a single step I take. Smoke billows from his mouth as he puffs on his cigar. The stale smell greets me the closer I get, the empty pail hitting my legs with each step I take.

  “I’ll get Elijah, you finish up dinner.” Papa stills me with a hand on my arm. His fingers curl into my skin until I look up at him. “Did you hear me?”

  I didn’t answer him. He hates when we don’t answer him.

  “Yes, Papa. I’m sorry.” I bow my head, hoping he accepts my apology.

  “That’s a good girl.” He drags his hand up my arm, then cups my chin, pushing my head back until I’m forced to look up him.

  Papa’s a hardworking man. He always has been, and the elements of the mountain haven’t been kind. His skin is weathered and worn. His long hair needs a good brushing.

  “You’ve been good all day, Nicolette.” He runs the pad of his thumb along my bottom lip.

  “Thank you, Papa.” I don’t move away from his touch, knowing it will sour his mood, and he’s being generous.

  “Go on and get dinner finished. I’ll get Elijah. Mark will be in soon.” He drops his hand from my mouth and turns a dark look toward the shed off to the left of the house.

  I take a quick peek at the small structure standing two hundred feet from us. The roof needs repairing, but only Papa is allowed to work on the shed. He’ll fix the roof when he’s ready.

  “Go on, get.” He swats my ass with his large paw, propelling me toward the door.

  “Yes, Papa,” I hurry forward, shutting the screen door quietly behind me once I’m inside. Papa hates when it gets slammed.

  I pause just inside the door, watching as Papa steps off the porch and makes his way toward the shed. My stomach aches, twisting harder with every step he takes. He’s dragging his right foot a bit today. His hip must be hurting him again. I better make his tonic after dinner so he’s not in too much pain later.

  When Papa reaches the shed, my breath hitches. I shouldn’t be watching. If he catches me, I could ruin his mood.

  He pulls the keys from his pocket and works the heavy lock open on the latch. A chill runs over me as he opens the door. What light is left of the day streams inside the dark space.

  Papa’s talking, but I can’t hear clearly enough to understand him. A bird flies past the door, shattering my focus. I close the door and get to work on the cornbread.

  The stew is bubbling, so I turn the heat down on the stove as I put the cornbread into the oven.

  I’m washing the dishes when the back door opens. I tense at the familiar scent of wood and leather.

  “Go on, son. Get washed up and dressed. Nicolette’s made us a good dinner tonight. You’ll join us.” Papa’s voice cracks through the silence behind me.

  “Thank you, Papa. I’ll be down in a minute,” Elijah says softly. He shuffles behind me, toward the hallway. I turn my head enough to see the angry red marks crisscrossing his bare ass and thighs. There’s a thick welt across his back. Dirt from the shed floor covers his feet, splattered around his ankles and calves. It rained a few days ago. There’s more dried mud on his knees. I blink and turn away.

  “Smells great,” Papa brushes his hand along my shoulder. “Can’t wait to eat tonight. I’m starved.”

  I put the last dish into the drainer and turn off the water.

  “I used the last of the lamb,” I tell him as I wipe my hands on the dish towel. “We only have one more pound of beef and two pounds of bacon,” I say softly.

  His smile falls. “Make it stretch a few more days.”

  “I will, Papa,” I promise him. If he would bring us more vegetables and flour, I could make our grocery supply last weeks.

  “That’s a good girl.” His lips kick up into another smile. Not as bright as when he came inside with Elijah, but he’s not scowling.

  I push a smile onto my lips. He’s in a good mood. When he’s like this, it’s easy to be around him. I still have to be careful with the rules—Papa won’t tolerate anyone breaking his rules, good mood or not. But when he’s happy with us, he’s more generous. It’s a good day so far, and I’m not looking to mess it up.

  “The bread should be ready in ten minutes,” I say, gesturing toward the stove. “I’ll set the table.”

  Papa stares at me, his gaze distant. Like he’s floated off to another place and left me behind. He blinks a few times, returning to me.

  He plays with the ends of my hair, dark and stick straight.

  “You look like your mother more and more,” he says, but it’s not a compliment. Mama wasn’t good. Mama disobeyed too much and didn’t put the family first in her heart. I think it pains him to see so much of her in me.

  “I’m sorry, Papa.” I don’t like to see him hurting.

  “Nothing to be sorry for.” He drops my hair and steps back. “A beautiful woman you’ve grown into. And a good one.”

  “We have apples. I could make a pie for dessert if you want,” I offer, wanting him to stay in the present with me. When he thinks back on Mama, he gets sad.

  “No. No dessert tonight.” He shakes his head. “Go ahead and get dinner on the table. I’ll see what’s keeping the boys.”

  “Yes, Papa.” I grab the potholder from the counter and pull the oven door open. His heavy footsteps fade
as he makes his way down the hall.

  I busy myself with setting the table properly, placing the stack of bowls at Papa’s chair, the spoons beside them. I put the pot of stew directly in front of the bowls and the cornbread to the right of his spot. Once the napkins are laid neatly at all four chairs, I fold my arms over my stomach. Hunger twists my insides.

  It’s been a good day.

  Papa’s happy.

  Surely, we’ll get to eat.

  Everything’s ready when I get back to the kitchen. Nicolette has done so good today. It’s hard for her because she’s a woman. Her instincts tell her to rebel, but she fights hard to be a good girl for me. She wants to please me, to feel all the love I have to give her and the boys.

  I’ve done my best by them, never letting them experience a home full of fights and disrespect. I’ve protected them from that. The memories are distant, but they’re still there. The name calling, the disrespect. It’s burned into my mind, but Daddy fixed things for us. He made things better, and I’ve done my best to keep the peace in my own home.

  Elijah and Mark stand at their places, waiting for me to signal them to sit. Good boys, both of them. Elijah keeps his gaze down from me, but it’s to be expected. He’s still feeling guilty. I won’t tolerate any level of dishonesty in my home, and he knows that. They all do. I’m clear in my expectations. There’s less misunderstandings that way. But even knowing it was against the rules, Elijah gave his bacon to Nicolette. The boy can be too soft with her sometimes, that’s why I have the rules. To keep that from happening.

  “Looks good,” I compliment Nicolette. She needs to know I’m pleased with her efforts. Positive reinforcement for the good. Loving consequences for the bad.

  She lifts her head, gifting me with a small smile. She’s standing beside my chair, hands folded in front of her, her head still slightly bowed. Such a good girl.

  “Go on, boys. Sit,” I tell them, and they scramble into their seats. I hold out the chair for Nicolette and gesture for her to take the seat. Her tone is sweet when she thanks me. Once she’s tucked into the table, I take my seat and place my hands on the table beside the pile of bowls.

  “Well, I think you’ve outdone yourself.” I smile at Nicolette as I pick up the top bowl. I hold up the dish toward the pot and give her a nod.

  Like the good woman we’re teaching her to be, she uses the ladle to scoop a hearty portion of the lamb stew, filling my bowl. She puts it back in the pot and sits back in her chair, waiting for my permission.

  Can’t spoil the kids—a good lesson Daddy taught me and Madeline. Have to keep firm boundaries. I wish Madeline had taken the lessons more to heart. Nicolette has her looks. Sometimes it’s a comfort to see her in our daughter’s features. Other times, it’s a reminder to keep my strength about me. Moments of weakness will allow chaos into our home. And I will never allow that.

  I chew a large piece of lamb. Damn, she’s a good cook. I’ll need to make a trip to the store soon so she has a full pantry again. Can’t expect the best from anyone if you don’t give them the right tools. Daddy taught me that too.

  “Delicious.” I grin between bites and grab a piece of the cornbread. It’s still warm.

  The bread is sweet and buttery, exactly how I love it. She tried a few recipes, but she’s gotten it right now. I don’t think she’ll need any more reminding about her job duties in this area.

  “Go on, Nicolette. Your brothers are hungry.” I point to the pot, steam still rising from the stew. A hot meal. It’s a good reward for them today. Even Elijah. He took his consequence well, and that has to be rewarded too.

  Nicolette takes the top bowl from the pile and fills it, handing it to Mark, my oldest.

  “Thank you, Papa,” Mark says to me as he takes the spoon she offers him. I acknowledge him with a nod. Good manners are important. And showing appreciation toward those who provide is part of that.

  “Thank you, Papa,” Elijah says, bringing his gaze to mine. I hold his attention for a long stretch before giving him a nod. Once I’ve accepted his gratitude, he digs into his meal.

  “Go on, Nicolette.” I let her know she can fix her own bowl. She scoops up her stew, then picks up her spoon.

  “Thank you, Papa,” she gifts me with a small smile.

  The kitchen is quiet except for the soft clanking of their spoons inside their bowls. Each of them minds their manners, not shoveling their food into their mouths like ungrateful, spoiled brats.

  “Papa,” Mark puts his spoon down, “I was thinking today about the chicken coop. It’s got a hole in the back fence. If it goes untended, the chickens might get out.”

  He’s got a good eye for things that need fixing. Even better, he has hands that can do all the mending.

  “Then I guess you should fix it tomorrow. Take Elijah with you,”

  “Thank you, Papa.” Mark goes back to eating his stew.

  “I collected enough eggs for scrambled eggs for breakfast, if that’s okay with you, Papa,” Nicolette offers.

  “Bacon too,” I add, finishing off the last bite of my dinner.

  She stares at me silently, like she’s trying to figure out if she should say something.

  “What is it, Nicolette? You know you can tell me anything.” Always be open to hearing the kids out. Never make them think they don’t matter. Because they do. We’re a family, and we take care of each other. We love each other. We’re all we have.

  “Do you know when you’ll be going on a grocery run?” she asks tentatively.

  “Soon. Just make up a list like always,” I tell her, pushing my bowl away from me. Elijah catches my movement, slowly puts his spoon down, and pushes his bowl away as well. Mark follows suit.

  “It’s just…we’re low on bacon.” Nicolette holds her spoon over her half-finished stew.

  “Well, I suppose you’ll have to use that brain of yours to figure out how to make it stretch until I get into town.” I harden my tone enough for her to understand I can’t be pushed into doing what she wants. She’s not the ruler in this house. I am.

  Daddy let Mama rule the roost at first. She made the rules, dictated to everyone what needed doing, even to Daddy. The house was miserable, the tension so thick all the time.

  “Yes, Papa.” She lowers her gaze and drops her spoon into her bowl.

  “Eggs and bacon for breakfast tomorrow,” I confirm.

  “Yes, Papa.” She nods.

  “Good.” I turn my attention to Elijah. “Are you ready to give your apology?” I ask him. His eyes widen a fraction. He’s eager to get rid of his guilt, and until he’s made his apology and I’ve accepted it, it will weigh on him.

  “Yes, Papa.” He straightens his back. Good boy. He’s remembering the talk we had earlier. He can’t be soft. He has to be man, and men take their licks, admit their wrongdoings, and make things better. One day, he’ll make a great husband for Nicolette, the same way I did for Madeline, but he’s still learning what that means.

  “Good.” I turn to Nicolette. “Don’t forget the clothes on the line. It’s due to rain over night.”

  “Yes, Papa.” She toys with the end of her spoon. She’s lost a little weight in the last month. Her cheeks sink in.

  “Finish your supper, Nicolette. Then finish your chores.” Her eyes sparkle with my generosity.

  “Thank you, Papa.” She grabs the spoon, but waits before digging back in.

  “C’mon, Elijah.” I get up from the table, waiting for Elijah as he pushes back his chair. “Mark, remember what I told you earlier. I’ll be checking.” I give him a stern look, but it’s not really needed. Mark’s my oldest, and he’s taken my lessons over the years seriously.

  “I will, Papa,” Mark promises. He glances at Nicolette, love blooming in his gaze.

  Confident my children will follow my instructions, I leave the kitchen. Elijah’s behind me as I climb the stairs to the second floor of our simple home. It’s not much, but it’s everything we need. His footsteps fall softly on the wood stairs b
ehind me.

  I pass Nicolette’s room on the right, and Mark’s on the left. Daddy may not approve of me allowing them to have their private areas, but it’s the one area I’ve spoiled them a little. When I get to Elijah’s room, I stand aside, letting him enter first. It’s important he goes first. His apology needs to be heartfelt and true. It can’t be forced.

  He passes me, his head high and gaze fixed straight ahead. This isn’t the time for shame; this is the time to have pride in taking responsibility for his actions. He’s learning well, even if we have to repeat this lesson a few more times.

  “Papa, I want to apologize,” Elijah says, standing at the foot of his bed. I move to stand in the doorway and look at him. He’s gotten so big over the years, too large to take over my knee anymore. At eighteen, he stands the same height as me, even has a bit more muscle thanks to all the work he does around our little homestead up in these mountains. Even with his build and strength, he’s smart enough to know he’s not the man of the house yet. He still needs to follow my rules; he still has a few lessons to learn.

  “Elijah,” I step inside the room, “do you remember me telling you about my house growing up?”

  “Yes, sir. I do.” He nods, his hands going to his belt.

  “Not yet, son.” I shake my head. We can’t rush the lesson. “And what do you remember?”

  He drops his hands to his sides, his fingers fidgeting. “That when you were young, you and Mama didn’t get along. You fought all the time, and it made grandpa stressed.”

  “That’s right. We didn’t listen to the rules, we fought, and we were greedy. We weren’t treating each other with the love we had. But then my daddy fixed things, made our family whole again, and we created a loving home.” I step closer to him. “But it wasn’t easy. We all had to pull our weight. We all had to follow the rules and learn from his lessons. Just like you.”