“Turning the corner into the graveyard, I found an older man willing to help me. He hid his eyes from me beneath a cap covering shabby hair. For pay, he just wanted a simple dinner to end the day. We walked back to my family's estate in silence for the majority of the way before he spoke.

  “‘Do you know, boy, the town is speaking about you behind your back?’

  “Exhausted, I simply nodded.

  “He frowned in concentration, trying to find his words. ‘It’s not your fault what people think of you, it's just your lot in life that it happened to end up this way.’ His tone was meant to be encouraging, but it wasn’t believable. He meant to give a broken, sad little boy hope. He failed.

  “As I took him to my mother, he asked me to grab a water basin from the kitchen with a rag to help him clean her up the rest of the way. I did as he asked, leaving him in the room with her.

  “As I started back up the stairs and approached the door, I could hear him whispering to himself.

  “‘A pity she died so pretty. She’s so still and beautiful.’ I heard his heavy breathing from the other end of the door. ‘It would be terrible to let you go to waste, oh, but the boy will be back with us any moment. We’ll finish this later,’ he said with his lips smacking together.

  “I stood in the hallway, frozen in fear, not sure what to do. I decided I had to do something. I quickly scurried back down the hallway to collect a few more things, a candle, for instance, before approaching the door with very prominent steps.

  “I opened the door, and he took the basin of water and began to clean my mother off. When all the blood and sweat were off her, he asked me to go collect some clothes that she could be buried in while he cleaned her the rest of the way. The dead soil sheets and the smell were very strong.

  “I left the room again to do as he asked, collecting a few more items—including another candle for myself—before coming back. My mother was already covered with a new sheet before I walked in. I set the clothes down, and he shooed me out of the room. It was when he bent down to pick up the clothes that I caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were hollow, dark, empty things full of hunger. I knew what he wanted to do to my mother’s body. I knew that he thought as the rest of the town did; that I would be better off dead. He would be doing the village a public service by getting rid of the cursed child. It would be a little reward for him afterward, getting his knockers off with my beloved mother’s corpse. The pit in my heart grew heavier.

  I heard him call for me from the upstairs bedroom. ‘Oye, boy! It’s time.’

  “I guess he couldn’t wait any longer. His hunger grew too strong.

  “Oh yes, it was time. I knew a thing or two about dark hunger that needed to be fed.

  “He walked down the stairs, ‘Oye, boy! Where do I take your mother to?’ he barked at me.

  “Obscured in the shadow of the cupboards, I called him over into the kitchen. I had left the door open to the basement mortuary. He didn’t see me as he entered the room, barren and empty.

  “I heard him walk toward the edge of the steps that led to the darkness below. I could hear the whispers calling his name, beckoning him deeper into the darkness, down the steps, and into the empty black. I guessed he couldn’t hear them singing his name.

  “‘Willis… Willis… Willis…,’ they called to him. He froze at the edge of the steps.

  “His breath caught in his chest as a shaky voice uttered out, ‘M-M-Mother?’

  “Apparently, I guessed wrong.

  “I sprang from the cupboard, holding my father’s bat. I swung it over my head into him. My aim was off. I only got him on the shoulder. He howled and swung his fist around, slapping me back. I swung again, hitting him in his knee, hearing a sickening crack. The sound startled me, and that was the second time he needed to grab hold of me. He slammed me to the ground at the mouth of the steps. I pulled my father’s knife out of my pocket, where I kept it, but he slapped it into the darkness. We struggled for a moment, but in the end, I was still a boy and he was a man. He very easily overpowered me and wrapped his hands around my throat.

  “I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. I felt my eyes well up with tears as he began to unbuckle his belt. I heard the whispers again.

  “‘You know what will happen next,’ they said. He flipped me over, giving me my first breath back, then pinned me again. The hungry dark continued.

  “‘You know he will kill you after.’ I felt one of his hands pull my pants down.

  ‘You know what you must do.’ I saw my father’s knife at the front step waiting for me.

  “I screamed and reached with everything I had left. I grabbed the knife and swung backward, feeling the blade sink into flesh. I heard him yelp and stagger.

  “The hole in my heart was set ablaze, and something primal and primitive burned in me. I screamed with all of my rage at him, all my disappointment and disbelief. I toppled on top of him while he tripped and fumbled around with his pants. I swung down and caught a few of his fingers and hands. My second swing caught an ear and part of his neck. I had nicked something at that moment. With my final swings, I sliced his jaw and then an eye, and kept going. I slashed and stabbed until my hands hurt and the screaming in my head stopped. Over and over and over again.

  “He was dead.

  “I was alive.

  What happened next

  I’d rather not say

  But rest assured

  ‘Twas necessary

  What needed doing

  Surely was done

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Whether perceived obligation or desperation

  I used what I had

  What little it was

  My family’s stopgap from oblivion

  I’m the only one

  The shadows soon claimed him

  I’d just as soon follow

  I’d fought off the darkness

  But my light it had swallowed

  In misery, in loss, the depths of despair

  The sad simple truth is:

  Life is unfair

  A curse! A curse!

  Our family is cursed!

  Superstition and rumor

  Lies that are sold

  Tarnish the varnish

  Right off our souls

  A curse! A curse!

  Our family is cursed!

  “I dragged the body to the steps and kicked it into the mortuary. It fell, sliding down each step until it crashed into a heap at the bottom.

  ‘All right,’ I said, trying to wipe the blood off my face, smearing it instead. ‘I’ll grab the candles and my violin.’

  “I hastily grabbed the last candle and my few remaining personal items and returned feeling sluggish. My head was swimming. In the kitchen, all the blood on the staircase was gone, and the knife was clean and dry. Before I could question it, I heard the waking night speak.

  “‘Hurry down the steps, young master, and set the candles where I tell you.” My head began to pound, but I did as it asked, carefully descending the steps. To my surprise, however, there wasn’t a body at the bottom for me to step over or avoid.

  “‘Come here, child, hurry to the center,’ boomed a deep voice as if from the depths of a well. I could feel my fingers grow cold, and my neck began to sweat. I moved, but felt my legs were heavy like lead. I dragged my feet, but it was like walking through a swamp. I felt a heavy weight all around me, and my vision began to fade.

  “‘Don’t sleep, child,’ the long emptiness said. ‘You mustn’t sleep—not yet. Light the candles.’

  ‘My body won’t move,’ I replied wearily, ‘I feel heavy; weak.’

  “‘Hurry!’ the voice spoke urgently. ‘Light the candles. You’re going into shock.’

  “My hands shook, but I lit the first candle and watched as it pushed back the dark, lighting up the in-between spaces in the world around me. The dark intensified, pushing back against the light, almost as if it were alive. The candlelight illuminated the image of a raised stone grave in front of me.

  “The name on the headstone was my grandfather’s. In the light of the candle, I felt the warmth return to my bones, and I moved a little bit easier.

  “When I lit the second candle, it was across from my grandfather's grave and showed my siblings’ unnamed resting place. They were all buried together.

  “The tomb that I was drawn to next was my father’s. When I lit that candle, I thought I smelled his family’s cherry tobacco, which he loved to carry so much. Breathing out, I saw my now cool breath. The three candles created a triangle of light. I found myself in the middle as I waited. My head grew heavier as I felt the presence thicken in the room. The deep well voice spoke again.

  “‘To bridge the gap of worlds and to make right what was done, you must play your pain into the red violin between the light and music. Let it swell and dance with each other. Then, call forth your heart's desire.’

  “The pressure in my head only worsened as I felt the empty place in me that was set ablaze with rage now grow still and dim. Cold ice rushed through my veins. Reality struck me. What have I done? I’ve murdered someone. I crumbled into tears and wondered why this was all happening to me. Why me? Why am I even alive?

  “‘Hush now,’ the dark spoke again, its voice smooth like silk. “Don’t fall into that pit in your heart. I will tell you a secret. I will tell you how to see your parents again.”

  “My head snapped up, but the voice cut me off.

  “‘Music moves beyond all spaces, and darkness bridges all worlds. You must write and perform a song from the precipice of darkness. It will create a bridge over the pit of despair you feel, allowing you to see your family again, and, better still, to keep them near. Just so long as you play the song perfectly.’

  “I felt my hands ache with tension. There was a loud rushing sound in my ears. This was all up to me. Me and my red violin.

  “I flipped open the case and pulled out the violin. I lifted it to my shoulder, set my jaw on the chinrest, and played. I remembered the cold face of my mother. I remembered the eyes of the people in the village and how they stared at me. I poured my heart and all of my feelings into the song, but that primal rage was gone. No matter how hard I reached for it, I couldn’t access that raw emotion that all pure music needs.

  “I stopped and took a deep breath.

  “To call forth my heart's desire, I pictured us happy, all of us, all together. We were laughing at one of my father’s jokes—I heard the laughter. I saw and heard my mother singing while my father played the piano. I felt my little feet dancing to the rhythm of the music. My face remembered the joy we all shared together. I felt hope that we could share it one more time.

  “I felt something shift in the air, like a cyclone wind, blowing in from three different sides. I played the music of those moments in the light of the three candles. I played with our unified emotion of love for each other. I played, and I could feel the dark pit in my heart slowly sewn up, getting stitched with each fleeting fond memory. Nothing was more important than this song. My eyes closed, focused on every memory. I drew in the wind with sweet melodies of better times.

  “I heard distant footsteps approaching, though I dared not stop playing. But I opened my eyes to see. There, in between the different candles, there was no longer just empty blackness, but there seemed to stand shadowed, stone archways. I felt heat in my chest like fire. It rose up in me, and I knew it well. Anger.

  “In my heart, I hated the people in town for treating my family this way. For treating me this way. For making me kill that sick, disgusting, old man. No, they were all sick, they were all empty, hollow things. They weren’t humans anymore; there was no light in their eyes.

  “The way my mother looked at me was with the fullness of angelic light. This wasn’t a place worthy of my mother’s love, of my father’s kindness, of my siblings' fresh start.

  “This world was empty and hungry and would only take them again, take them from me. I channeled my hate into my playing and my longing for something better.

  “The paths my family walked, swam, and shifted away. I no longer heard their footsteps, but I saw the three tunnels connect to one place and become one. That one tunnel led the way. Keeping in step with the tune, I walked the path and followed the tunnel into a familiar graveyard that was in town. Yes, this would do.

  “I was sure that this would do. In time with my step and in rhythm with my heartbeat, I let the anger within me swirl, towering over all other emotions, all other reasons. I let that deep place within me boil over with that heat and rage. I nurtured it and let it rise up like a pillar of fire, touching the sky.