House of Sand: A Dark Psychological Thriller

by Michael J Sanford

  “Ugh, so easy. Thirteen,” Aza says. “Ty’s favorite, right? I miss her. She had spunk.” Aza winks at me and laughs.

  Joy pleas morph into muffled sobs.

  “I just wanted to help you get what you wanted,” Aza continues. “I knew you wanted to kill Mom. And lots of people. You think about it all the time. And I hear it. I know what you are and so do you. I just wanted to help you see it. Because we’re a team. You are what you are and I’m your helper. You should get what you want. Don’t you think, Mom?” Aza turns to regard Joy for the first time since re-entering the room.

  Joy shakes her head. “Baby, I know you’ve been through a lot, but—”

  Aza sighs dramatically and jumps to her feet.

  “I thought you would do it, I really did,” Aza says. She paces in front of us. “You just needed a little help. I think what you think, see what you see. Sometimes in my dreams, sometimes when I’m awake. I saw you kill Ty, even though I wasn’t there. I know how good it made you feel. You were so happy. I want you to feel like that again. You’re my dad and you deserve the best.”

  Aza stops pacing and faces me. I don’t recognize her. I don’t know if I made the creature standing before me or if she made me. Bits of the words she would whisper to me at night seep back into my mind. I couldn’t remember the actual words before, just pieces, but they’re becoming clearer. And I’m slowly beginning to understand.

  Aza looks at her wrist and says, “Tick, tick. It’s about that time.”

  She returns to the gas can and drags it around the bed, keeping out of reach of both Joy and I. She grunts and curses the whole time.

  Joy falls against me. She looks up at me. “I don’t understand.”

  “I do,” I say.

  What Aza said is true, whether she knows the way she claimed to or not. I burned our house down because I wanted to kill Joy. Even now, with her pressed against my chest, vulnerable and afraid, the desire is still there. And Aza is right about Ty. She didn’t deserve to die, but I’ve never felt more alive than when I beat the life from her. Even the man at the liquor store invigorated me. And as I watch Aza lift the gas can onto the far side of the bed, I can’t help but look past her to the body in the bathroom, and smile. I shouldn’t feel this way. I know I shouldn’t. But knowing it’s wrong doesn’t take the desire away.

  Aza climbs onto the bed and unsteadily lifts the gas can. She wobbles for a moment, but regains her composure and moves into the middle of the bed. Staring down at us, she appears as a terrible giant about to pass judgment.

  “Aza,” Joy whimpers.

  Without a word, Aza tips the gas can forward. The rich scent of gasoline fills the room as it sloshes over the bed and splashes onto Joy and I. Joy buries herself against my chest. I look right at Aza. Once half the can is empty, Aza steps forward, more controlled, and upends the rest of the gas directly on top of us.

  Finished, she jumps down off the far side of the bed and circles around. Joy shakes against me.

  Aza reaches behind her back and, with a smile, produces a long-necked lighter that must have been tucked into her waistband. At once, I recognize it.

  Aza twirls it around a finger. “Found it in the yard after you saved us. Thought you would want it back.”

  Aza kneels and extends the lighter toward the gasoline-soaked carpet.

  “What…are you?” Joy asks.

  Aza cocks her head to the side, but keeps her eyes on me. Always on me. “It’s not me,” she says. “It’s you. I know what you are. And you do, too.”

  Somewhere deep in the darkness of my mind and soul, it clicks. I’m not just a man, but a dark force, a hatred that runs deep in an abyss of violence. I didn’t want to admit it, even as I reveled in my murders. Even though I knew it was there, I couldn’t acknowledge it.

  “This isn’t you,” Joy says. “Baby, you’re just sick.”

  “You shut up,” Aza says, pointing the lighter at Joy.

  Joy whimpers.

  Aza groans. “God, Mom, get a grip. I love you and everything, but this has to happen. I can’t help what he wants. I’m just the messenger.”

  “Aza,” I say. “I don’t want this.”

  Aza smirks at me and shakes her head. “Nice try, but I know you’re lying. I live in your head.” She taps a finger against her temple. “It was confusing at first. Took a long time before I figured out what it was.”

  “How… How long?” I ask.

  Aza shrugs. “Pretty much forever. Didn’t you notice me in there?” She taps her temple again, this time with the lighter.

  Joy reaches for Aza, but comes just short of reaching her. Aza doesn’t even flinch.

  “It’s nothing personal, Mom, for fuck’s sake.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Joy says.

  “You’re right. I don’t. But Dad does.”

  Joy sits up, tightly pressed against me. “He doesn’t want this either. He’s sick. You’re sick, baby. Let’s just go home. Together.”

  Aza looks at the ceiling and sighs loudly. “It has to be this way. It has to happen. Tell her what you are, Dad.”

  I set my jaw.

  Aza eyes me sternly.

  I stare back. As I do, the words that hide beneath the noises in my mind reveal themselves. They’re the words Aza would speak to me as I slept. They’ve been there the whole time.

  “Aza, why?” Joy asks.

  “Say it!”

  Joy turns her attention to me. “She’s not right. That isn’t her. This isn’t you.”

  “Say it!” Aza screams.

  “I know who and what I am,” I say. “I have always been and always will be. I can never be destroyed, for I am eternal, pervasive, and enduring. None are beyond my reach. No one can hide from me. I hold no grudges and favor none. I am unending. I am forever.”

  “What does that even mean?” Joy asks.

  Aza lowers the lighter back to the carpet, finger poised on the trigger. “And what are you?” she asks. “What’s your name?”

  I grab Joy’s face and force her to look at me. “I’m sorry,” I say amid tears. I never had a choice. Sometimes bad things just happen. Some people are just broken from the beginning. And some people aren’t people at all. “I love you.”

  “What’s your name?!” Aza shouts.

  The voice, whether Aza’s or mine, was trying to tell me the whole time.

  “My name… My name is Tragedy.”

  Click.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I wrote this so you would know the whole story. I need you to understand.

  I hope now that you see I’ve told the truth. I lived his life like it was mine. Sometimes when I was sleeping. Sometimes when I was awake. It was more than just reading his mind, though I can still do that, too.

  I wonder if it’s your fucking metronome that drove him insane in the first place. It’s the one thing I don’t miss now that he’s dead. Tick. Tick. Tick. God, it is maddening. I know it’s your prized possession. You think it makes you appear more professional, knowledgeable, and wise. It’s a fucking bobble. I’m going to break it after everything else is done. A tribute to my dearly departed father.

  By now, you realize I may actually be dangerous. You regret forcing me to sit next to you as you read my journal entries. Over two dozen sessions. Leg to leg. You like feeling how warm I am. I know what you want to do to me. I know you think about my leg against yours when I’m gone. I know what it makes you do.

  Saying that, you now know that what I said about being able to step into a person’s mind is true. Yours was easy to crack. I moved in during our first session. You couldn’t stop wondering if my pussy was as smooth as my legs appeared to be. I became your favorite patient immediately. You think you’re not a monster because you don’t lust over boys. Just girls. As if that makes it more normal.

  There. That should be enough proof of what I can do.

  You also know now how my parents truly died. Even though my father wanted with every fiber of his bein
g to do it himself, in the end, he couldn’t. He was weak so I could be strong.

  Now you realize you’ve made several, very, very serious mistakes.

  I want to keep this last entry short, for I have so much more to do, so I’ll say this in hopes of concluding our last session quickly. No more story time. Time to get straight to the point.

  I am going to kill you.

  Your heart rate spikes and your fingers shake in a way you can’t hope to hide. You wonder if I’m serious, or if it’s just the delusions of a traumatized girl who watched her parents burn. You have two voices in your head, each saying a different thing. Only one can be right.

  But I am going to kill you.

  Your leg starts bouncing, which tells me you’ve read this far, so there’s no need to say anything. Can you feel how warm I am against you? You fight to keep still, remain calm, act like a professional. You try to decide what’s real and what’s not.

  You still don’t see me as an actual threat. You’ve spent most sessions thinking about how easy it would be to overpower me. It keeps you up at night. So, even though I’ve told you exactly what is going to happen, and even though you can’t stop shaking, you continue to reassure yourself that it’s all lies.

  Just so you know, I am not going to kill you because you want to fuck me. I’m not going to kill you because you failed my father. I am going to kill you simply because I can. And I want to. And with my father gone, I have only myself to take care of. It really is quite liberating.

  Shaking aside, you’ve been strong up until this point, but you can see you’re going to run out of words soon and then you’ll have to face the possibility that you’ve been wrong about me this whole time.

  Now you entertain the idea that I will actually try to kill you. You think about how I could do it. I’m just a little girl, after all. You don’t think it’s possible without a weapon of some sort. But you’ve set your office up to be a safe space. You know there are no weapons here. Except…

  You don’t want to. You try hard not to. But you sneak a look at your desk, looking for your decorative letter opener. Your second most treasured piece of shit.

  You don’t believe what you see on your first look, but a second glance tells you that it is most certainly not on its display stand. Where it always is. Where it should be.

  You know now, without a doubt, that I am dangerous.

  You know now, without a doubt, that everything you thought was a lie, wasn’t.

  You try to move away from me, but it’s too late.

  I’m already stabbing you in the neck.

  Michael J Sanford’s official website

  http://www.mjsauthor.com

  Sign up for the newsletter

  Click Here